It's Baaaaaaaaack!

This weekend I was talking with my sister-in-law Judy about the pending annual pollen storm that lasts at least six weeks every spring. She said she could feel it coming. Her nose told her. Judy's instincts were right on. Monday afternoon, when I reached my car outside the Marta train station, it was coated with a layer of yellow pollen. I thought, "Oh no! The pollen is baaaack!"

I think that this is the longest I've been without updating my blog. That's because I recently moved yet again. I left my dumpy old apartment in Brookhaven because I was tired of the continual maintenance problems, the thin walls, and noisy neighbors. It was also really dangerous turning left in or out of that place because it sits on one of the busiest 6-lane arterials in the city. It always made me nervous, and I witnessed numerous accidents from my balcony, right in front of the building.

So I went through the pain, expense and massive time expenditure of moving to a slightly bigger place about three miles closer to work. The end result? For $200+ more a month, I now live in a place with funny loud mechanical noises and rattling pipes. During my first six weeks here, I experienced five times the number of maintenance issues than my last place had in the 11 months I was there. (I have the spreadsheet to prove it!) It takes me 20 minutes to drive the 1.6 miles home from one of the train stations nearby, or 12+ minutes to drive the one mile from a different station. (I could run home faster than that.)

Clearly I should simply never move again. Obviously I have bad luck with moving. It's as if I've broken a mirror every 7th year of my life.

I admit, I like the apartment. It has skylights, big closets, high ceilings, ceiling fans (a necessity in the South!), a huge fenced patio, and seems much bigger than my old place. I can't hear my neighbors except when they party on their patio next to my bedroom window late at night or leave their poor little dog outside whining and pining to come back inside on the weekends. (It breaks my heart!)

One drawback is lack of covered parking. I am not used to having to scrape ice off my car - hadn't had to do that in years. I'm definitely not going to like the lack of car cover, but I'll just have to live with it.

The apartment is unique because it is above some retail shops and restaurants. I can walk downstairs and get a good dinner for 10 bucks or a pedicure for $20. It's also extremely convenient to the interstates and isn't far from downtown.

So there. Now that things have finally slowed down at home (but are insanely busy at work), I've updated my blog. Finally!!

More later.

Moving: Never a Stree-free Event

This must be deja vu because I swear I've written this same post before. Moving, for me, is often a comedy of errors. Usually, if something can go wrong, it does.

Six days days before my move, I busted a toe pretty badly. Let's just say it hurt like you-know-what. Four days before my move, the worst winter storm to hit Atlanta in decades arrived. Needless to say, no one in the city raised a shovel, and the half foot of snow on the ground morphed into four inches of solid, immovable ice. Two days before my move, I strained my back (just from general moving tasks like lifting heavy dish pack boxes).

Then on Friday, I moved. That part went OK, despite the ice. I did a ton of the work myself (plus had my brother Dave's help) the day before, but for the big stuff I hired Buckhead Movers. I actually got an excellent moving crew and am still thanking God for that huge favor. It ended up costing me less than I expected because the work (@$170/hour) got done quickly. That rarely happens, I swear.

My new apartment was recently renovated. Before moving in, I didn't understand why the bathroom had this big, long, beautiful cabinet but no drawers. There was space for drawers, with cover plates over the drawer openings, but no drawers. The apartment manager-slash-caretaker—a fantastic guy by the name of Justin—looked at the old construction contract and, sure enough, the contractor had taken a shortcut. Consequently, he was called back out and installed the drawers before I moved in. Yay.

By Friday night I realized I had no hot water in my kitchen. I checked all the valves under the sink; everything was wide open. All weekend I had no hot water in that faucet. On Monday morning while I was talking to Justin about it on the phone, I tested it, and sure enough, water came out of the hot water side and heated up. This morning, I got up and there was no hot water again.

Also by Friday night I discovered that the toilet in my master bath had stopped flushing. I knew it had worked once before and just assumed one of my movers had clogged it. Justin came out Monday, plunged it a few times, and it worked. He left; an hour later it stopped flushing. . . again.

Yesterday I went in to the office for the first time in eleven days. (We were told to work remotely during the inclement weather, due to icy road conditions.) I lasted five hours sitting at my computer before I had to come home. My back couldn't handle all that sitting. It was (and still is) truly 'out.' I haven't had this kind of incapacitating back pain in five years.

Meanwhile, Justin had called his favorite plumbers; but, after 30 minutes of effort, they were unable to fix the non-flushing toilet. They replaced it with a brand new one. By the end of their two-hour visit, the hot water was working in the kitchen sink again. I couldn't wait for them to leave so I could lie down. But guess what? I woke up today, barely hobbled out of bed to feed the kitties, and there was no hot water in the kitchen again. Obviously, it's time for a new hot water heater.

Deja vu! My last apartment needed a new hot water heater too. But the difference is that the manager over at Brookhaven Condos made me suffer through three weeks of cold showers before lifting a finger to fix it.

Here's another funny story. I'd purchased a new washer/dryer at Brandsmart to be delivered on Saturday. I specifically told the salesman that I needed an 8-foot dryer hose because there is a hot water heater in the middle of my utility room. So he sells me a cheapo "expandable to 8 feet" aluminum hose, along with a 4' electrical cable. When the delivery and installation folks arrived, they couldn't install my W/D because the 8' hose is a piece of crap (once it is stretched out, it just bends and breaks), and the 4' cord was too short. We couldn't swap the washer and dryer locations because the drain hose for the washer was too short.

The delivery guy was beyond unprofessional, carrying on in quasi-English about how those stupid salesmen at the store don't know what they're doing and how "Dey only want yo' money!" I called the store and got more grief from the sales manager. He had the gall to tell me that that hose is the only kind they sell. When I informed him that I had told the sales guy specifically how much clearance I needed, he argued and said, "I can't help it if he doesn't understand English," in reference to the sales guy (who has an African accent). Note that I'd actually been pleasantly surprised at the excellent sales experience at Brandsmart—I truly liked my African American sales guy.

That racist comment really set me off.

After the sales manager argued with me some more on the phone, I said, "Take it back. Take it all back." Only then did he become nice and stop arguing. He claimed he'd refund me the lousy $25 for the dryer kit and said that if I went out and bought the necessary parts, he'd send an installation team out Monday. So, over the weekend, I went to Lowes and Home Depot. I spent nearly $50 on a better ("slinky") hose, an aluminum elbow and connector, and a 6' electrical cord.

Because the delivery guys had failed to bring product manuals, I downloaded the dryer installation guide from the Internet, and I hooked up the appliances myself. Now I need to call that sales manager back and ask to have my delivery/installation fee refunded.

Another thing I noticed and pointed out to Justin yesterday was that there are no lights underneath my kitchen cabinets. Lots of space, but no lighting. Guess what? Turns out, that work was outlined in the contract too, but the contractor (despite putting cabinet lighting in all the other renovated units) just forgot.

The plumbers were great. Before putting the toilet paper on its holder, one of them asked me, "By preference, are you under or over?" Too funny.

I said, "You're the only man to ever ask me that!" Talk about attention to detail. Needless to say, these aren't the same guys who were contracted during the renovation. As one of them said, "Contractors give me most my work." Ain't that the truth!

Last night I was in bed by 5:45PM, nursing my back. Today I stayed in bed till 11AM, and I'm on my way back to bed now. I can barely sit at all. I certainly can't get in the car and drive. Looks like I'll be working on my next day off to make up for missed work this week. And then some.

A Southern Snow Shovel

I currently live in an in-city high-rise on Peachtree Road that houses hundreds of Brookhaven residents. This is one of the worst places I've ever lived. The elevators are broken much of the time—way too often. The plumbing is old and not well-maintained. Pipes burst, flooding apartments or the downstairs storage area, on a regular basis. Worse, the front office staff response to incidents like that is, "Well, it's a high-rise; water is going to flow down!" In other words, flooding is to be expected, and I should have known that before I stored all my valuables in my assigned storage bin in the basement.

I kid you not.

My hot water heater was 25 years old (at least ten years past its normal 'life'), and it took three weeks of cold showers last February and excessive coaxing to get management to replace it. They'd told me it was only about 10 years old, but the serial number displayed a manufacture date of 9/85. My icemaker didn't work when I first moved in, but the maintenance guy didn't believe me. Despite no ice falling at all in the 24 hours since I'd lowered the lever, he said it takes "days" for it to fill the bucket. A week later, they replaced the ice maker. And the kitchen faucet.

There have been dozens of other issues. Needless to say, the building management and staff here is a tad inept. I didn't expect any differently when the snow started to fall after 8PM on Sunday. A basic rule of thumb for winter storm safety is this: remove the snow while it is still snow. Later, it becomes slush; then it turns into thick, lumpy, solid ice that is impossible to drive or walk on.

As the snow fell Sunday night, as clearly predicted several days in advance, building staff didn't lift a single finger to remove the snow. Consequently, by Tuesday a solid moat of ice had formed around the building. The driveway was impassable, leaving hundreds of residents imprisoned here in the building for days.

On Day 3, I was worried. I am scheduled to begin moving today, and the movers are due here tomorrow. I finally ventured downstairs yesterday to see how the driveway looked. As I exited, I bumped into the non-English speaking groundskeeper on his way into the building. My first thought was, "Oh good, they are finally out working on the problem." That was when I looked down and realized that what he was carrying was not a snow shovel but rather a garden hoe. "Oh my god," I thought to myself sarcastically, "He thinks that's a snow shovel."

Needless to say, the 4" thick ice moat was still 100% intact.

Yes, this is the South. No, it doesn't normally snow this much. And, usually, if it does snow a significant amount, it doesn't stick (or stick around). Typically, it's gone in a day. But this was different. The weatherman clearly advised us that the storm would start Sunday night, dumping up to six inches of snow on Atlanta. We were also forewarned that the storm would continue on Monday, in the form of sleet, freezing rain, and ice, and that temperatures would remain below freezing for several days.

We all heard the news, well in advance. If I was still in NY, or even D.C., building maintenance crews would have stayed up all night shoveling snow, and residents would have awakened to a clear driveway and clear sidewalks.

My apartment building management and maintenance staff chose not to respond. This does not surprise me. God forbid there ever be a real emergency in this decrepit building. They will be sadly unprepared.

Today, I pray for sunshine and temperatures above freezing. I just want to move tomorrow and get the heck out of this broken-down place!

On a side note: I haven't been in my car since Sunday. One reason not to get on the road this week is because your less intelligent breed of southerner thinks that he can drive on this treacherous ice at normal speeds (which in Atlanta is 20mph over the limit). Take this moron, for example, who spun his tires on the ice so long that he killed his BMW in flames. See You Tube for the (illegally recorded) newscast.

The Hazards of Moving

Last night I was watching the Seattle-New Orleans playoff game when I got up to go do something and ran right smack dab into an Oreck hand vac situated on the floor of my dark bedroom in a place previously unoccupied by any objects. . . until I'd started the moving process, that is. One of the hazards of moving is objects not being in their usual places, lying in wait to stub a toe or bruise a limb.

And I am the queen of moving bruises. I still have a bruise on my left arm from my last move—11 months ago!—a dark purple mark that my dad mistook for a tattoo this past summer.

Yesterday, it was my pinky toe that took the brunt of the hit. I yelled out in pain, and went straight to the floor to hug my toe. Both my kitties came running mmediately to see if I was OK. Baby proceeded to bite me in the back to ensure I was still alive (and able to feed her going forward). She does this whenever I yell out in sudden pain.

I suspected the toe was broken, but since the skin hadn't changed colors, I wasn't sure. So I got back in my chair to watch the game. Later, I got up to get an ice pack from the freezer. Suddenly, from the kitchen, I could hear the Seattle fans going ballistic. I turned back toward the TV to see a Seattle running back making his way down field as if in slow motion, flicking off tacklers like fleas as he completed an astounding 67-yard touchdown. It was one of the greatest plays I'd ever seen in football.

I was jumping up and down and hollering, "Go Hawks! Woo-hoo!" It was an amazing run that made me forget (momentarily) about my toe, until I realized that jumping up and down on it was probably not a good idea.

I was glad to see the Hawks win that game. Don't get me wrong, being a Cajun at heart, I am a Saints fan. But Seattle is closer to the heart for me.

I went to bed and just knew that my little toe was broken because it hurt to touch the sheets. This stinks! This is moving week for me. I have a ton of work to do. Fortunately, I started packing the week before Christmas and moving boxes and small furniture items into two storage units ten flights down from my apartment. This reduces the amount of time the movers have to spend treking back and forth on the elevator next Thursday. These guys get paid by the hour, and I'm so sick of moving that I want it over as quickly as possible.

Hence, I always end up doing half the work myself.

To make matters worse, we are expecting a huge winter storm (and potentially six inches of snow) to hit the area tonight and tomorrow. I keep moving further south, but that doesn't seem to reduce the amount of snowfall I endure every winter. This is Atlanta, for Pete's sake. It's not supposed to snow that much here.

I'm waiting for the emergency clinic to open at noon so that I can get my toe X-rayed and splinted. I debated going at all, and instead treating it at home, but the last time I did that with a significant injury (torn hamstring), I only made it worse. That was 2.5 years ago, and my hamstring still hasn't healed. Don't think I'll risk it with a toe. Not on moving week.

Happy New Year, 2011!

Yesterday when I was waiting on the exposed, windy train platform to go to work at 06:30, I was wearing a winter coat, gloves, and ear muffs. This afternoon as I left the mall to drive home, I threw my coat in the trunk and put the top down on my convertible.

This weather is bizarre.

Since the week before Christmas, I've been packing for my next move. Believe it or not. And I woke up at 5:00AM today, so I'm too tired to ring in the new year.

If I believed in having New Year's Resolutions, I would have to vow to quit moving. At least for a year. I sure hope my new place is quieter and has less (or no) maintenance issues than this place. The maintenance man may as well set up a cot in here because this place has had every problem imaginable. It's a miserable old, unkempt building. I've only been here 10 months, and I can't wait to leave.

Well, it's 9:00 and I'm off to bed, so happy new year to all! May you be "too blessed to be stressed" (as a gem of a woman named Merry at work says every day), and may you be blessed with happiness, health, and love throughout the coming new year.

And... most importantly, Happy Birthday to my adorable niece, Maddie!

Famous Last Words

I gave all my winter coats to Good Will this year because they were too big. When I was shopping for a new coat, my sister-in-law Judy mentioned, "You won't need a winter coat here [in Atlanta]."

At 6:30AM this past Monday when I got into my car in the open air parking deck at my apartment building, my BMW thermometer indicated it was 21 degrees. As I drove out from under the deck, the temperature dropped even more. The drive to the Marta train is only a couple minutes, so I don't bother turning on the heat. It would never warm up in time.

I was wearing a turtleneck, jacket, coat, scarf, gloves, ear muffs, and hat. Standing on the open train platform, the wind ripped right through me. It was very cold. The next day was even windier and colder, when my car registered the temp at 16 degrees! Waiting for that late train in the eye-tearing wind was the longest five minutes of my life. My gloved fingers burned as if frost-bitten when I got on the warm train. The wind chill factor must've been below 10.

The next day we had freezing rain and ice. I slipped on the ice in the parking lot next door while picking up my mail on the way home from the Marta. Big mistake. Traffic was a huge nightmare. Atlanta motorists had lost all sense of civility.

I live in a huge shopping district, where traffic is absolutely horrendous this time of year. Add ice, early darkness, and below freezing temps to that, and you get some pretty grumpy drivers.

Leaving the parking lot, I grumbled to myself about the monstrous SUV parked next to me blocking my view as I backed out of my space in my tiny car. So I backed out very slowly. I was halfway out and nearly jumped out of my seat when someone laid on their horn. I looked around the SUV, and there was a Jeep wrangler at least five full car lengths away, horn wailing at me for trying to inch out of my space safely. All they had to do was stop and let me out, as most Atlantans would in the same situation, but they'd come flying through the icy lot and were in a hurry. I pulled back in and let the jerk pass. Turns out, her "emergency" was that she needed to get to the sub shop at the end of the shopping strip; there she made a dangerous u-turn to whip into the space closest to the sub shop.

I had some choice words for her as I passed and left the lot assured that she will die early of clogged arteries from too many salami and pepperoni subs.

I finally got out of the shopping plaza to drive the remaining block home. But then I could barely make the left turn into my apartment building from the infamously dangerous Peachtree Road. The three lanes of northbound traffic was backed up as far as the eye could see. The challenge wasn't turning in (as it usually is), it was getting into the middle turn lane, which folks in the opposite direction had decided to use (illegally, mind you) as a driving lane. I have seen so many accidents caused by people driving in the turn lane in front of my building.

So I was facing oncoming traffic in the turn lane for the first time ever. This time, I was the one who blew the horn. Finally I got home and swore I wouldn't go out again until the temperatures were above freezing.

People get so antsy here when the traffic piles up. They block intersections, rudely jump from lane to lane to be "first" in line, and create a hazardous driving experience for everyone else. This week they went over the top. I really hate driving. It's much more tolerable in the warm weather when I can put the top down and enjoy it. It's times like this that I miss the NYC subway and bus system!

I gotta move off this road. It's bad enough that my apartment is an ongoing maintenance/noise nightmare and that the elevators are broken half the time; but it is just too dangerous to turn left in and out of my apartment complex. I suspected that that would be an issue, but I needed a place to live, so I took it.

Time to start packing for move #47. (I think. I lost count....)

On the brighter side, I'm tickled to death that I don't have to travel for Christmas this year! For once, it's just an hour's drive to my parents' house. Yay!

Jelly's Own Thanksgiving

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone! We had a wonderful feast at Mom & Dad's on Thursday. It was a good family gathering. My sister Lisa and her kids came from Tennessee, and my brother Dave's family was there, of course. The group of 17 included my sister-in-law Judy's parents and my cousins Debbie and Jenny (and Jenny's family).

The only local family members missing from the event were Buddy the dog and Jelly & Baby (my sweet adorable kitties). However, today I discovered that Jelly (clearly it was Jelly, not Baby) had her own little day-after Thanksgiving celebration in the closet of my second bedroom. On Friday I'd gone to City Dog Market to buy the girls' usual two bags of Innova dried food—the regular kind and the low-calorie kind, which I mix together.

Usually I dump the bags of dry food directly into a big plastic container. But this time I didn't. I decided the food would stay fresher if I waited a couple weeks, until the current supply of Innova was fully depleted. As I placed the two bags on the closet floor, my thoughts about the possibility of anyone trying to get into the food quickly dismissed any such silliness: "My girls are good girls. They would never chew through the bags."

How wrong I was. I got home today from some local exploring by car (in search of my next home) and was surprised to see one of the bags of cat food on its side on the floor, a large hole carefully carved out of it. There were a couple small scraps of the foil paper-lined bag on the floor. But as I write this, I realize now that there was much less volume of paper scraps than the size of the hole warrants. Hmmm. . . . I can't wait for that to show up in the litter box.

Clearly Jelly is the culprit. Going to the effort to chew a hole in a bag is more trouble than Baby would think it's worth. If Baby wants food, she either eats Jelly's food or she sits next to her bowl, looks directly at me from across the room, and meows. Once. She knows I'll feed her. Baby only eats when she's hungry.

Jelly, on the other hand, thinks about food constantly. It's not like I don't feed her enough. It's that she likes to eat a lot more than she needs (not unlike most Americans). What's funny is that the bag that she chewed open contained the low-cal food, not the good stuff. I laughed at her for that misstep. Burglary is obviously not her forte.

On Thanksgiving, I was good. I am very careful about what foods I choose at these large gatherings at my mom's. The food is always so good. If I ate everything I wanted to eat, I'd be shopping for a new, larger wardrobe in no time. But I've managed to lose close to 40 pounds and have spent a small fortune on an entirely new wardrobe, so I'm not about to overdo it.

Clearly Jelly is not as concerned about her wardrobe.
















HAPPY HOLIDAYS!

Fall in Atlanta

Hard to believe that we are less than two weeks away from Thanksgiving. Last night I had to turn on my A/C for a couple hours. True story. Temps are in the mid-70's in Atlanta this week. Yesterday I found excuses to run errands just so I could put the top down and enjoy the sunshine and low humidity. It was bliss.

Things have been busy here. My brother Dave and his wife Judy held their big annual Halloween bash at their house. This party is such a big ordeal that they start decorating their house and the extensive haunted forest (out back) about two months in advance. They are still un-decorating now and might be done by the time they put up their Christmas tree.

The weather was perfect, and the costumes were fun. Two of my cousins were able to make it to the party, too. I went dressed as a cop again. I noticed that there were a lot of witches at the party, and cowboys too.

Last weekend my friend Rebecca from GW came down with her husband for an overnight stay. They had tickets to see their favorite musician Sufjan Stevens at the 100-year-old Tabernacle in downtown Atlanta. I'd never seen anyone so excited to go to a concert before. Tim and Rebecca are hard-core fans of this artist and had never had the pleasure of seeing him perform live, so this was a big deal to them.

I'd never heard of Sufjan, but he was good. Not only was the music great, but he put on a fantastic show as well. It's hard to describe Sufjan. He's extremely talented—plays about 17 instruments, I believe. I think the best way to describe his sound is "folk/pop/rock."

He had two of everything - two pianists, two bassists, two drummers, two brass, and two backup singers/dancers. Sufjan would change 'costumes' on the fly on stage by switching out hats and other attire. And boy is he a cutie! It was an unusual show, and I liked it.





I don't go to concerts very often, so I'm not used to staying out as late as we did. Just as the music was beginning, I looked at my watch and thought, "Hmmm. It's almost my bedtime." Three hours later we were fighting the parking garage traffic for what seemed like forever to get out. But it was worth it to see this unusual and very popular artist and his cult-like following.

Earlier, while downtown on a very cold and windy day, the three of us visited the World of Coca-Cola, which was pretty neat—especially the 4-D movie.


Today my 7-year-old niece Maddie is playing in her first piano recital, so we'll have another family get-together for that. Her sister Katie just turned five years old this past week; but, rather than attend her birthday party this afternoon, I'm taking my parents to the High Museum to see the Salvadore Dali exhibit.

It is fall in Atlanta. The trees are in peak color, the weather is gorgeous, and I'm still enjoying life!

Finally... a Real Job

I started my new job in Midtown three weeks ago. I am still thanking God every five minutes for this job, which is with a fantastic organization—easily the best I've ever been part of.

I work in a highly secure building, and there are certain rules about public disclosure that I must abide by. Technically, I'm not allowed to name my work place on any public forum. Let's just say it's a large financial institution. But it's not a bank.

My job is information security. I have so much work ahead of me that if I were to stop and consider it all, it would boggle my mind. So I take it one step at a time. The people I work with are fantastic. I've never felt more welcome on a new job. Complete strangers pass me in the hallway, stop and say, "You must be new here. What's your name? Welcome!"

Most are seasoned veterans of the organization. My boss has been there 15 years, my "buddy" (who is showing me the ropes) has been there 25 years. My IT support person, 18 years. Most of the folks I've met have been there, on average, 20 years. This is unlike any place I've worked the past 20 years—there is virtually no turnover.

That's because nobody leaves (by choice, anyway). The real kicker is that everyone I've met is truly happy to be there. I'm not used being surrounded by contented people. What I am used to is the constant ranting of complainers and whiners—especially on my short-lived Wall Street job of 2007-2008. This job makes that place look like a complete joke. What a bunch of whiney, overpaid brats! Looking back, I can't even believe I had to live with so much crap on a daily basis.

I've heard from several folks in the Atlanta area that I'm very lucky to have found a job with this organization. Many people are envious. Others want me to find jobs for their friends.

The building I'm in is new and is gorgeous—all marble with high ceilings and beautiful decor. There is a nice gym, a partially subsidized cafeteria, and a coffee/gift shop. My cubicle is great; it's pretty sizable and comes complete with coat closet. The location is perfect, just steps from the Marta station. And the company pays for public transportation, so I take the train to work. (The waiting list for on-site employee parking is 11 years. Like I said, people don't leave.)

I have a brand new Blackberry, tablet notebook PC, large monitor, and travel bag on rollers. My IT person wears a suit. She is helpful and friendly. Now, that is impressive. I am so weary of self-entitled IT people (read: brats) who choose to wear jeans to work when all around them are dressed professionally. My boss is a dream; he is completely hands-off and lets me do my job. All the micro-managers of my past have served no purpose other than generating migraines.

The benefits package rivals that of a former employer, Microsoft—something I never thought I'd be privileged to say again. While most companies are offering two weeks' annual paid time off to new employees, mine offers twice that.

One of the best things about this job is that I have three days off every week. I have my choice of flex work schedules. I chose a 4x10. I work four ten-hour days and take the fifth day off. This truly is a life changer. Americans work too long and too hard. Having that extra day off every week makes going to work the first of the week a positive thing. I go in refreshed, having had three full days off for chores, errands, family time, and relaxtion. Ever since I left Duke Power in the mid-90's I've longed for the day I can work a flex schedule again. My day has come!

I keep pinching myself. Did I really get this lucky? After years of being miserable in the workplace, what did I do to deserve this wonderful job? Will this last? I truly want to retire with this company. I have never felt that way about any company I've worked for. Besides, this is the only place I've ever worked that offers a pension plan. Man, nobody does that anymore! For years, I've been worried about my retirement. Finally, I'm not worried any longer.

The downside? It is this: the stupid hand soap dispensers in the bathroom operate on an electronic eye that doesn't seem to detect my hand waving furiously in front of it, begging for a squirt of cleansing foam.

But the fact that I, for once, don't have to glue a nametag to my chair so that it doesn't get "borrowed" from my cubicle, never to reappear, makes up for my one single complaint that the soap dispensers are ignoring me. Besides that, the restrooms and facility are the cleanest I've ever worked in.

Honestly, I have no complaints.

Man am I lucky! Thank you, God!

A Short Film from Afghanistan

My nephew Jason came to visit us in Atlanta this week while on a 30-day leave following his 7-month tour in Afghanistan. He took some excellent photos over there, and shot some video that I've watched several times. It gives me chills every time I see it.

In the shots where you see three machine gunners returning fire, Jason is the Marine in the middle of the three. You can identify him by the white rectangular object strapped to the left side of his helmet. (Jason, that had better be a bar of soap and not a pack of cigarettes!)

Click here to watch the video posted on YouTube.

Also, you can vote on a small subset of Jason's photos that were entered into an international photography competition at this link. Just click on the stars in the upper-right hand corner of the page to cast your vote.

Drive Down Memory Lane

I took a road trip to Charlotte this weekend to see Chris, one of my two oldest friends. Here we are yesterday:


And here we are 30 years ago:


It is pretty hard to believe that it's been over three decades since the two of us, along with our friend Missy, were a trio of inseparable high school girls.

What is even harder to believe is that Chris's eldest son is 24, and she and her husband are celebrating twenty five years of marriage this year. Of all the couples I know, Chris and John are one of the happiest. You should see them together—they are best friends. They laugh a lot, which I think is the glue that holds a marriage together.

I fell in love with their cocker spaniel, Molly. This was my first time meeting her. She served as the welcoming committee. She was so excited to meet me that her little squiggly butt nearly peed on me. She's little Miss Social, kind of like my Baby.



It's funny, John thought that since I'm a "cat person," I wouldn't care too much for a dog. Are you kidding me?! I love puppy dogs. I'm just too busy moving to actually have one. Cats are much easier to keep at home when you live in an apartment, and I'm not too thrilled about the thought of walking a dog (rain or shine) every morning at oh-dark-thirty no matter what kind of mood I'm in. Besides, a dog needs a yard. High-rise apartment buildings just don't seem suitable for puppy dogs.

Anyway, I had a great time with Chris and her family. The drive was only four hours. It was 90 degrees and cloudless today, so I had the top down for the entire trip home (with literally four layers of sun screen on my face - SPF 15, 70, 25, and 30). I was slathering the 45 on my arms on the interstate.

It was weird driving down Independence Boulevard in Charlotte on my way to Chris's house. I lived in that city for nearly 10 years, back in the 80's. First I passed the old Charlotte Coliseum, now called "Bojangles Coliseum," which sounds so cheesy. I was delivering a pizza nearby there in 1985 or 86 when I was robbed.

Then I passed Briarcreek Road, where I had an apartment when Hurricane Hugo hit us (200 miles inland) on September 22, 1989, making most streets impassable and knocking out my power for five days. I'd been out drinking with friends the night before; I came home, put in my ear plugs, and slept through the massive Category 3 storm.

Then I passed the infamous Sharon Amity Road, where I was hit by a truck in my VW Rabbit while delivering a pizza late at night. That was September 22, 1985. I don't recall that event or most of the decade surrounding it.

I drove by a car dealership where I'd purchased one of the 17 different cars I've owned in my life (most of those in Charlotte).

I also passed by the newer office complex where Microsoft Product Support Services is now located, not far from the old location on Tyvola Road where I serendipitously started my computer career in 1991.

It was surreal to be back in Charlotte all these years later. And then to hear the stories from Chris about those days—because she remembers stuff that I'll never be able to recall—like my hiring her husband to be a driver at a Picaso's Pizza store I ran back in the day.... And all the other great stories about how she met John while she was still in college and engaged to another guy. Apparently I played a role in the plot to tell her parents of her dilemma at the time. I honestly don't recall any of that because it all happened in the month of my accident.

We laughed so much this weekend that my stomach hurt. I love Chris. There is just nothing in this world like an old, best friend. And even though we've seen each other only every few years since the old days, every time we get together it is as though no time has passed at all.

Happy Times in my New City

Moving to Atlanta has turned out to be a really good thing for me. After nearly five decades of living, I've finally found out what makes it all worthwhile. Yes, the secret to happiness is this: owning a convertible. Not just a convertible, but a convertible in a nice, sunny warm climate.

For years I've hated driving a car. That's because most cities I've lived in suffersfrom relentless gridlock, especially Seattle, NY and D.C. In fact, I dreaded moving out of NYC to a place where I had to own a car. I just didn't want to deal with it.

Of course, it would have been prudent of me to buy another hybrid—a nice, eco-friendly, squarish vehicle that makes 40 miles to the gallon and comfortably seats four people.

Blech. I'm so glad I didn't go that route. I love my convertible. Now I know what BMW marketers mean by the "ultimate driving experience." I actually look forward to getting in my car. Plus, it's really hard to get pissed off at idiot drivers when you're sitting back in the fresh air, the wind whipping your hair about your face, and the sun warming your skin.

The really funny thing is that, for the first time in years, truck drivers toot their horns at me. I can't help but have fun with that. (I'm competing with my 83-year-old Aunt Geraldine for the most toots in one road trip and, so far, we're still tied at three.)

Besides having so much fun driving, it's been great being close to family. My social life has improved by about a thousand percent. A week ago, my neighbor Lisa and I discovered a wonderful female pop rock singer who ranks right up there with Norah Jones (if you ask me). Samantha Murphy opened for the Chapin Sisters at the Red Light Cafe in the Virginia Highlands area of Atlanta. We enjoyed music so much that Lisa & I each bought Samantha's CD, Somewhere Between Starving and Stardom, and I haven't been able to stop playing it my car ever since.

The next day, I met up with my family at the Art in the Park Festival in Marietta. We really enjoyed the show, and everyone was in a good mood there because of the gorgeous weather. It was a cloudless, low-humidity, breezy, perfect day. My nieces got their faces painted while the rest of us perused the artists' booths. After that we had another fabulous home-cooked meal at my mom's.

Then today I attended the big annual Yellow Daisy Festival at Stone Mountain—a world-class art show featuring over 300 artisans, a live band (the Gwen Hughes group was pretty good!), plenty of sunshine and food.

Tomorrow a friend of mine from Tails High (a cat rescue group in Alexandria, VA) will be in town, and I've got dinner plans with her. That's another plus about Atlanta - it's a major travel hub, so you can get to just about anywhere in the world from here.

Next week I've got an ISSA conference, and the week after that is the international HTCIA conference. I am so lucky that all the good conferences are in Atlanta this year.

Busy, busy, busy! I am really having a good time and meeting lots of neat people here.

Real-life Video of Life at Camp Bastion

My sister-in-law Jacqui, the Navy doctor, forwarded an email to us this week that was passed around to folks who gave their time to help injured soldiers (and locals) at Camp Bastion hospital in Helmand Province, Afghanistan. The email contained a link to a recruiting video made in April 2010 for the British Army Medical Services in an effort to recruit non-military medical professionals to do a six-week stint at Bastion.

Jacqui, a radiologist, is featured early in the 14-minute clip, working in an operating room where a young soldier is being treated for a gaping wound in his lower back and shrapnel embedded in his buttocks. She is also shown at the end of the video examining the CT scans of a patient who miraculously survived a bullet to the brain.

Director and cameraman David Varley had this to say about his film:

I filmed some traumatic situations, leg amputations, brain operations, IED (improvised explosive device) victims, both soldiers and civilians, I managed to film the medics through their eyes rather than focusing on the patients. I think what interested me the most was how they coped with the environment, what got them through?, the answer, team work, friendship, camaraderie and a serious dose of black humour, never directed at patients of course, but generally at each other.
We managed to capture the medics at work, rest and play giving a memorable recruitment film that directly targeted NHS professionals.
- from http://www.1st4film.biz/

The short video might move you to tears, as it is exemplifies how ordinary people brought together under the extreme circumstances of real war can do amazing things that save lives.







Stills included here are credited to David Varley, Managing Director, ONFilm Group and (HomeOnFilm.com) and 1st4film.

Making Me Proud

My brother Pete's family always makes me proud. He and his wife Jacqui have raised two wonderful young men, both of whom will no doubt be memorable contributors to society. This morning around midnight, their son Jason came home to the U.S. after nearly eight months sidestepping IEDs in the desert.

My entire family is utterly overjoyed to have Jason back and in one piece. Words don't describe the feelings we are all having, which approached giddiness late last night. I cannot wait to see Jason when he is granted some liberty.

Just a few days ago, Pete and Jacqui dropped off Jason's brother Matt at the Citadel, where he will be attending college on an ROTC scholarship. Matt is a wonderful kid with a great sense of humor. He is a rock star in my book. They are both sweet boys. And they're smart, like their dad.

To top all that off, Jacqui's younger sister Jessica greeted the Obamas at the Naval Air Station in Panama City this week. Here she is, in all her glory, shaking hands with a First Daughter:



How cool is that!? The expression on Jessica's face says it all. She can't believe it herself!

Wikileaks: Who Polices the Internet?

This is a question that has been brewing for 30 or so years and has finally come to a head. Who is responsible for governing the information posted on the Internet, and under what laws are the posters of this information governed?

We spoke on this topic at length last summer in my cyber ethics class in grad school. The ethical implications of Wikileaks' recent actions are obvious, and I don't want to get into that issue here. Never mind that some of us might feel that these guys should be taken behind the barn and shot. Clearly the site's owners feel no moral obligation to protect the citizens of the world. As I said, that's a whole other (ethical) debate.

The other side of this issue is the legal implications—the fascinating argument regarding who polices information posted on the ubiquitous Internet. Because the Internet is not constrained by (and is therefore absolved of) geo-political boundaries, technically there are no laws that can be enforced here to stop further postings of classified government materials on the Amsterdam-based Wikileaks site.

The First Amendment cannot apply because that is U.S. law. U.S. laws can only govern web sites hosted in this country. Although the legal system has yet to catch up with the digital age and struggles to do so on a a daily basis in our over-saturated court system, the U.S. does have some basic "Internet" laws in place like the Computer Fraud and Abuse Act (CFAA), which governs computer hacking. It also passed Digital Millenium Copyright Act (DMCA) that proscribes circumventing a technological measure that effectively controls access to a work protected under copyright. It has the Stored Communications Act (SCA) and the Electronic Communications Privacy Act (ECPA) that criminalizes unauthorized access to stored communications and limits the government's ability to compel ISPs to produce subscriber records. In 2003, the U.S. enacted a bill Controlling the Assault of Non-Solicited Pornography and Marketing messages sent electronically (the CAN-SPAM Act). Sadly, computer-related law does not expand much beyond those big items. See Title 17 and Title 18 of the United States Code for more information.

But because Wikileaks is in Amsterdam, none of our laws apply. There is nothing the Pentagon can do to stop the rogue organization from publicly posting leaked information. . . hence the appeals for the site owners to simply “do the right thing.”

Maybe the U.S. government should instead declare cyber war on its own Federal employees in an effort to prevent further leaks rather than focus its energies on Wikileaks? After all, the information being disseminated is 'classified,' which means that only those who have undergone an ardurous background investigation that is required to obtain a security clearance had access to those documents (or should have had access).

Was the Pentagon paper leak a failure in process (i.e., an error), or was it truly a deliberate leak executed by one or more cleared individuals? No matter how many people the U.S. government gives clearance to, it's impossible to control the actions of each and every one of those individuals. So why not crack down on the electronic systems that store and transmit that data in order to prevent further leaks?

Check out the ‘seeders’ map at the beginning of Wired Magazine's Threat Level feed entitled "Cyberwar Against Wikileaks? Good Luck With That." Clearly this is a global issue, where technically no one country is ‘in charge.’

The fact of the matter is that there is no legal recourse here. Do you think the question of whether (and how and by whom) the Internet is policed will ever be answered? I’d have to say probably not in our lifetimes.

Chance of Afternoon Showers

Here in the South at this time of year, the weather is predictably sunny and hot every day, with the exception of about 20 minutes every afternoon when big black clouds roll in suddenly and leave just as quickly. Sometimes it rains, but more often than not the clouds just pass over.

On Friday around 2pm I had to take a trip up to Alpharetta to meet up with my boss briefly to pick up my check. I hadn't driven my car for a week and had been cooped up in the house working for several days. I was anxious to put the top down on the convertible and enjoy the outdoors.

As I approached the on-ramp to highway 400, I saw clouds to the north. It was that time of the day. The sun was out and the clouds seemed distant. I'd been in this situation a dozen times before (top-down, clouds ahead) without getting rained on, so I continued onto the highway. These clouds were gray and seemed harmless - not like the ominous black clouds that sway me to pull over and put the top up.

A minute later, however, as I approached the toll booth, my windshield was suddenly spattered with a handful of big round drops. I was in the far left lane (the cruise lane at the toll station), so I didn't have a choice but to stay there.

On the other side of the booth, the clouds opened up and very quickly poured buckets on me and my car, top down. It all happened so fast. I made it over to the right lane and onto the shoulder as soon as I could do so safely. It was raining laterally from behind, so I realized that this wasn't going to be a shower that I could just quickly drive through with the top down.

Sooner or later, I knew this would happen to me. There I was on the shoulder getting poured on as the electric top slowly came up out of the trunk and over my head. It only takes about 30 seconds to put the top up, but it seemed a lot longer. My white 'parachute' capri pants were soaked.

I merged back onto the highway and within a minute the downpour had stopped. I looked around at the interior of my car - the seats were all wet. I started laughing. Here I was in my wet car on my way to see my boss (and meet a couple other gals on our team for the first time) when I found myself with see-through pants. I couldn't show up looking like that.

The sun was shining brightly, so I pulled off at another exit and put the top down again. It was about 95 degrees, so I hoped I would dry out pretty quickly.

Sure enough, 15 minutes later when I arrived at my destination, the car was dry, and so was I. Well, that's one way to clean out the interior!

Big 50th Birthday Bash!

I had more fun last weekend than I've had in a long time. This year, my eldest brother Dave turns 50. For several years, his wife Judy and I have said we need to do something special for this event. Somehow, Judy managed to pull off a huge quasi-surprise party on Saturday that brought friends and relatives from as far away as California, Seattle, Louisiana and Costa Rica.

Of course, the big to-do was held at a Cajun restaurant to satisfy my family's taste. The food was excellent, although I heard at least two people say that the Gumbo didn't hold a candle to my mom's or my sister's Gumbo.


Dave knew there was something going on for his birthday that day, but he didn't know what, exactly. Around 60 people showed up at Pappadeaux Seafood Kitchen in Alpharetta at 5:30. (It goes without saying that Dave is a very popular guy.) A delicious buffet table was already set up with jumbalaya, blackened Tilapia, popcorn shrimp, crawfish fondue, and more goodies. The drinks were flowing. M&M's imprinted with Dave's baby picture were scattered on the tables. Everyone was wearing "old fart" nametags. At 5:45, Dave was led in blind-folded by Judy.

To Dave's surprise, nearly every male guest (and many of the women) were dressed in a black shirt and khaki shorts—a getup that Judy calls "the Dave uniform." It was Judy's idea to email all the invitees a couple weeks ahead of time and invite them to dress like Dave does. Her email recounted how her husband would go into the closet to change into clean clothes and come out wearing an outfit identical to what he was wearing before. Come to think of it, I don't recall seeing Dave in a different outfit in recent months. The Dave uniform was a hoot!


The big 50-inch TV in the party room flipped through an expertly-made slide show depicting over 130 pictures of Dave and family from his 1960 birth to present day. It took the efforts of five different people over the course of two months to get those slide show DVDs made, beginning with the digital photo collection provided by my dad. In the end, my nephew Connor and Dave's friend Paul came through with the goods.

It was great fun seeing ourselves in those photos. Growing up, we'd spent plenty of summer vacations with my cousins from New Orleans, all of whom showed up at the party, except Ariane who'd fallen ill the night before. Her nutty husband Tommy made it, though, and he (as usual) was the life of the party. Among others. It was a roomful of Type A's, for certain.


The most fun was the roast/toast that Judy arranged. Dave's 4- and 7-year-old daughters had fashioned a nice crown that he wore for the entire ordeal. My favorite part was when Dave's friend Jeff (wearing a black Geek t-shirt), read off his two Top-Ten lists.

One thing you need to know about Dave is that he's a total computer geek. I remember him having this IBM 8088 (or similar) computer in our house in Virginia Beach in the late 70's. He used to play this game called Zork in DOS and instructed me to "never buy a computer made by Apple."

Dave went on to become a coder and now has over 30 years' experience in software development. Along with his wife, he runs his own company now. In fact, he's the reason I have some work here in Atlanta—he introduced me to one of his clients, who hired me a couple days later.

Another thing you need to know about Dave and Judy is their penchant for garage-saling. They have perfected the art of bargain hunting to the point that they have developed their own private language that they use at garage sales. Knowing Dave, it's all acronyms—like "OP" for over-priced.

I'd even venture to guess that the majority of their kids' toys and clothes came from garage sales. Every time I'm over at their house, they're parading this new item and that. "We got this at a garage sale for [insert low, low price here]" is probably the most heard phrase in their house.

Hence, Jeff's Top Ten lists were related to those two most endearing qualities and habits of Dave. For your reading pleasure, I've added them to the end of this posting. Dave had a blast during the roast, as did the rest of us.

Wow - what a fun weekend! I had so much fun that I was completely exhausted all day Monday. From my Uncle Mike's tale about shielding his dog Griffin's eyes as the extremely obese Wal-Mart shopper fell out of her bra while pushing her cart with her full upper body laid across it... to the follow-up description by my sister-in-law Jacqui (the radiologist) of the ardurous process of conducting a mammogram on such women... to my cousin Ronnie telling Cajun jokes in the perfect Boudreaux accent, I laughed so hard that weekend that I was bent over in stomach pain on a couple of occasions.


Besides my cousin Ariane, the only person missing from this memorable event was my nephew Jason, who is serving in Afghanistan. Jason, we miss you!


Happy Birthday, Dave!

Top Ten nerd things overheard by Dave:
10 - I haven’t had this much fun since the Northpoint High School Rubik’s Cube festival
9 - Judy, how did you ever let my Unix/DOS/Linux/Windows Today subscription expire?
8 - I can’t believe that www.cheapoldgaragesalegeek.com is already taken
7 - How could anyone yawn during my Bulgarian travel stories?
6 - Who changed my Al Gore screen saver?
5 - When are they going to start a “Lord of the Rings” 24-hour cable channel?
4 - I am so crazy on my 50th birthday right now I think I am actually going to take my Star Trek: Next Generation action figures out of the box!
3 - Hey, anyone up for a round-table discussion on the Iran-Contra affair?
2 – Finally - Newt Gingrich Chia Pets!
1 - Anyone? I’ve got extra tickets to Nerdapalooza…

Top Ten things recently overheard by Dave at a garage sale:
10 - Hey, how much for the used Dr. Scholl’s foot inserts?
9 - That is not official Chewbacca Stars Wars merchandise
8 - I’ll give you 13 cents for that toaster and not one penny more!
7 - Lady, I had that National Geographic photosynthesis biosphere issue before you!
6 - Lady, touch it again, and I’m going “Mel Gibson” on you!
5 - I’m calling the National Garage Sale Council. These directional road signs stink.
4 - No color-coded pricing labels? So amateur….
3 - ???
2 - Judy, you got the counterfeit $20s ready?
1 - Wow, Viagra is so cheap at garage sales….

Hotlanta!

Today will mark the 17th consecutive day of temperatures in the 90's in Atlanta. We are having July weather in June. Before moving further south, I dreaded that the heat would be unbearable for me. So far so good.

I'm pretty sure the difference lies in having an (air-conditioned) car. In NY and D.C., I didn't have a car, so I got everywhere on foot or by train (subway). By the time I reached my destination, I was soaked with sweat. Not so here. So far, it hasn't been as sticky humid here as it is in D.C. But, then again, it may be too early to tell. Summer just started.

In fact, I'm still riding around with the top down on the convertible. When the temperature on my dash shows 85, I know that it won't be long before I have to put the top down and crank up the A/C. Generally, when it hits 90, I have no choice. But yesterday I was out all day with the top down, despite the reading going as high as 95 in my car. That's what Saturdays are for!

This is my first weekend in many that I was free to do whatever I want. So I began my exploration of my new home city. I was actually hunting for a good shoe store to take my sister Lisa to when she visits next month, so I had a map of the four retail stores in Atlanta that sell NAOT brand shoes. I was also looking for a vintage clothing store that my cousin Jenny and I discovered in January while I was down here apartment-hunting.

I drove down to historic downtown Decatur—a neat little town full of eclectic shops and restaurants. I ended up spending all my time in one place called Blue Moon Designs. I could've spent all day there! I definitely want to spend more time in Decatur. I wouldn't mind owning a house there.




















I headed to N. Peachtree Street in midtown after having lunch at Rainbow Natural Foods in North Decatur. I located the vintage clothing store that I'd been looking for. It's called My! My! My! and is located near the gorgeous Spire building. I can't wait to take my sister to that place, too.

After that, I headed back toward North Atlanta where I live I was driving up Piedmont Road through the artsy area of midtown when I came across some guys holding up hand-made car wash signs on either side of the road. They were doing a good business in a side parking lot, and as I drove past them I realized why: they were wearing nothing but their underwear.

Yup, that'll bring in the customers! Too bad my camera was locked up in my trunk at the time.

I'm definitely enjoying Altanta. I think I'll stay a while. It's funny—this is the first place I've lived in five years that didn't make me miss New York so badly that I cried every time I watched an episode of CSI: NY.

Stress-free Living in the South

Man, I haven't had a stress level this low since I can remember. I think that this is at least partially due to the relaxed Southern mentality that permeates my new world. (Plus being on a break from school.)

Life here is similar to being in laid-back Seattle, only without any pretentiousness. People here seem to treat each other with an equal level of respect and friendliness, no matter your social status. And this is coming from a near-Buckhead resident, where Bentleys and Ferraris are not a rare sight on the road.

So it's nice to have an easy-going life for a change. My job (albeit low-paying) is not demanding or full of the usual political B.S. that I'm so accustomed to in Corporate America. That's the advantage of working for a small start-up company. The risk for failure may be high, but the work has a certain sense of intrigue. And motivation is a natural component when you are an integral part of the start-up equation—your individual performance is critical, and your contributions can directly impact the company's success or failure.

The kitties are happy here, and so am I.

Jelly is the biggest whiner I know (besides myself)! Of course, that adorable face is hard to resist. Today is Sunday, and Jelly would not let me sleep past 7:30. She kept getting up in the bed to awaken me. I'd roll over to turn away from her and feign sleep. She would then proceed to stand up on me and push on my back with both her front paws. Repeatedly. And while squeaking loudly and with an increasingly whiney tone—like a kid on the candy aisle in the grocery store. She wanted a belly rub and wasn't going to stop pushing on me until I complied.

I finally gave in and rolled over. Jelly is so funny. She's the first cat I've met who likes to "spoon" in bed. She has recently developed this new routine, which plays itself out before I fall asleep, while I'm asleep, and again early in the morning when I'm trying to stay asleep. She jumps up on the nightstand, then over to the bed. If I'm on my right side, facing the nightstand, she plops down up against my front, stretches out, exposes her belly, and rubs the back of her head on my chin.

I'll start rubbing her belly. She'll start purring. But the problem is that the next automatic reaction on her part is to start licking. Jelly is a big licker. Whenever you rub her belly, she has to lick whatever object is closest to her, whether it be the hand of her masseuse, or Baby, or a pillow, or her own furry self.

Lick, lick, lick. I can't get her to stop! It's OK during the day, but at night it's kinda hard to fall back sleep with this spooning kitty licking my face or arm with that rough cat tongue. Last night (probably around midnight) I recall informing her, "I'm not in need of a microdermabrasion treatment at this time, Jelly," as she scratched my face with her motorized tongue.

She is a strange one, indeed. Sir Walter Scott was right: "Cats are mysterious kind of folk."

Busy, Busy, Busy!

Moving to Atlanta has vastly increased my social activities (my social life rating has gone from about a 5 to an 80, on a scale of 100). In D.C., my idea of a social event was having my friend Rebecca over to my apartment to study for our computer-related law final exam. Although I did make a couple museum trips with friends from school. But that was about it!

Here in Georgia, I live near my 75-year-old parents, who live in a beautiful "active adult" community north of Atlanta and are busy, busy, busy—all the time. They are always going to parties, or hosting parties, or planning community events. Yesterday I attended the "Armed Forces Day" event that my dad helped plan at their swanky clubhouse. My mom and I helped serve the attendees (something I haven't done in 22+ years). Later, she and I went lap-swimming. So by the time I got home last night, I was pooped! I don't know how they do it!

I had just missed a big downpour by mere minutes driving home on the interstate with the top down. Whew!

Also nearby is my brother Dave and his family. They've had me over for dinner parties, baby-sitting, and other stuff. His house is a good place to meet up with my parents for events, like the Mother's Day dinner that Dave's wife planned at the Melting Pot. My adorable 4- and 7-year old nieces have active lives, playing pee-wee soccer on the weekends, which is fun to watch. Next weekend, we're all attending a crawfish boil (something I haven't done since I lived in New Orleans in 1996). The humidity is just starting to rear its ugly head, so I'll bet it's going to be hot that day!

We've had a beautiful, colorful spring here. I've enjoyed the weather so much. Living here, I've been spending a lot of time outdoors. Part of that comes from driving around in a convertible with the top down—something else I've enjoyed tremendously.

Between family time and work and enjoying the weather, I haven't taken much time to blog.

So what's new? For one thing, as of this month, we've had Jelly the cat for a year. She still hisses at Baby when Baby play-attacks her. It's a hoot to watch. Baby will go at her, baring teeth, jumping on the bigger cat. Jelly is a big rolly-polly. She immediately rolls onto her back, sticking her claw-less feet up in the air to fend off Baby's advances. Baby eventually gives up and falls over onto her side, as if to say, "Ok, your turn! Now you jump on me!" That's when Jelly gets up and walks away, in search of catnip. To this day, she will have nothing to do with Baby's form of rough play.

Me, I managed to lose 35 pounds since last August—basically by changing my intimate relationship with food. I was happy with the first 20 pounds, and started buying a new wardrobe then. That was a mistake, because the pounds kept coming off, slowly but surely. So I've had to spend money on yet another wardrobe. I got rid of probably hundreds of pounds of old clothes and basically just started over.

I'm working again, although at an 80% pay cut from my salary of two years ago. It's stress-free computer consulting work, and I like the people I work with, so it's a good gig.

My only stress comes from my Maryland townhouse, which is now worth $140,000 less than I paid for it. I have a lousy tenant who still doesn't understand that rent is due on the first of the month, not whenever she feels like paying it. I still haven't gotten May rent out of her. But I've had worse tenants (like the one who never paid at all, still requiring court appearances), so I'm dealing with it.

My sister-in-law Jacqui is back from Afghanistan, and I get to see her in less than three weeks when my nephew Matt graduates from high school. He's headed to the Citadel on an ROTC scholarship, so of course we're all beaming with pride. Meanwhile, his brother Jason is still fighting the Taliban in Afghanistan and can't wait to come home in August. I pray for him every night.