They say that everyone is fighting some battle. I know. Life is so unpredictable and it can be awful. My battles, fortunately, don't include any kind of life-threatening illness...or at least none that I know of. I am so blessed for this and I am thankful. I thank God every night for all the great things he puts in my path; for keeping my family safe and for giving me nice people; good people to work with, be friends with.
My battles are fairly benign. I struggle with a career that I don't feel I own. I feel it's not mine; I just rent it. I try to call my own shots and I guess mostly I do but there is so much I can't do without approval. I struggle with being articulate to convey my ideas and I find my inabilty to do so hinders me. Like so many people, I have lost loved ones and the weight of that loss is heavy on me but as time goes on, fortunately, it is getting lighter.
I find that most of my struggles come from other people, from their disposition towards me. Yes, I know...I allow this to be an issue. I just can't understand why everyone is NOT happy and willing to show it. I know everyone handles stress differently; I get that but to be short, moody and withdrawn just because you're busy..that just doesn't jive with me. At work we are all busy. You can only get so much done in a day and being short with people, frowning, waving them away like a gnat...isn't going to make your load any less. So where's the logic?
Life is just too short to be short. There is nothing good to come out of being grumpy or negative. Nothing! So why? I just don't get it. Now if you are always moody, which I guess wouldn't make you moody because moody would illustrate a high and a low; if you are always in a funk...okay, I'll cut you some slack. If this is how you want to spend your life, whatever. But if you dabble in good uplifting moods from time to time and find some kind of kick out of lulling your co-workers into a false sense of commorodity...well, knock it off. Eventually they are going to catch on; throw their hands in the air and be done with you.
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
Monday, January 04, 2010
Lunch hour Rambling
It's a new year. Wow. On New Year's Eve, it dawned me that the new century is starting too. For some reason I kept thinking it starts next year. Of course it starts on the zero; what was I thinking?
Truth of the matter is, I have nothing to blog about. Not really. It's back to reality and quite frankly, reality sucks. Oh...I know! It can get so much worse...I have absolutely no right to complain. It just feels so lackluster. But I don't know what I was expecting.
I am giving up phospheric Acid. No more diet Dr Pepper (my favorite is with cherry); n
o more Coke, Pepsi and a number of other softdrinks. This acid is not what an osteopenia woman should be consuming on a regular bases. So, I'm going cold turkey. For lent I'm going to give up all sodas and eventually I will kick the caffeine. But one thing at a time.
o more Coke, Pepsi and a number of other softdrinks. This acid is not what an osteopenia woman should be consuming on a regular bases. So, I'm going cold turkey. For lent I'm going to give up all sodas and eventually I will kick the caffeine. But one thing at a time.I found a can in the frig here at work and my heart raced a little and I actually yelled out, "Oh no!" My friends sitting in the lunch room asked me what was wrong. I showed them the can and didn't hide my disappointment that I had to NOT drink it. It so much had my name on it! But I was good.
Well, that's all for this lunch hour.
Friday, December 25, 2009
Christmas Remembered
Christmas on the Wooden Hill
By Eva Mahoney
The wooden hill started in the front hall, just under the window that faced the driveway. The first five steps had the window on the right and the banister on the left. The next five had wall and railing on either side. Then came the landing with another window on the right. The stairs continued to the left.
The stairs were strong, wooden and, if memory serves me well, cherry, or at the very least, stained red. Most of the steps had a black vinyl mat attached to them with a tack in each corner of the mat. Those steps that did not, still had the four tacks and black specks of vinyl trapped under them. Those tacks were prone to snag a sock or cloth slipper.
This was long before deep pile shag carpet covered the whole downstairs and the stairs. Long before my dad covered the walls with paneling. My dad did all the work himself, he boosts then and now. Oblivious to him, was the fact he finished two years after shag and paneling went out of style. Before the remodel, when the stairs were just wood and the walls that surrounded them covered in bird printed wallpaper, in the late sixties, it was on these steps, the lower three, where my brothers and I waited patiently for the return of our parents each Christmas morning.
Mom and dad had decided to supplement their incomes with money earned from a morning paper route. They did not have to deliver to the doorstep; they just had to shoot a paper into their respective customer’s paper tube on the side of the road.
Their motor route started at 4:30 each morning, giving them the opportunity to get back in time to get my brothers and me off to school.
I remember so clearly those pre-teen Christmas mornings, when we awoke, Mom and Dad would have been long gone. Flannel clad and sleepy eyed, my brothers and I would come down the stairs to see what Santa had brought us. I believe, now, we were exceptional children because we never peeked. We may have picked up a box, wrapped in Christmas paper, or if Santa had run out, and he often did, the Sunday comics. We may have shaken it but we never tore the paper. We just knew we had to wait.
From the vantage point of the front hall window, Jim, Ed and I could see the snow covered driveway as we waited on the stairs for the “paper car” to return. We would play a game to see who could guess correctly whether or not the next car was dad’s ’63 Plymouth Valiant. We couldn’t see it, but dad’s habit of grinding the gearshift often gave it away.
“I hear it,” one of us would say with a look of anticipated glee, as we knew it meant the disclosure of our bounty under the tree. It would quickly fade when it turned out to be someone else instead. Winters in Western New York were long, cold and snowy and Christmas Day was always hit the hardest.
The paper route on a Sunday would take our folks over three hours to complete, but on Christmas it was exceptionally longer. Perhaps it just seemed like it was took longer. The paper car had more three foot drifts to plow through as the Village crews wouldn’t do it that early on a holiday. And plow it did. We could always depend on “the paper car.”
Finally the time would come. The paper car, covered in snow except for the windows, made its last right turn into our driveway. Black ice chucks, called Clinkers, had frozen around the wheels. Mom and Dad emerged, dressed in union suits with hoods, scarves around their necks and thick leather gloves, the kind cowboys use to fix barb wire fences. Jim, Ed and I would cheer and race to the back door to greet them.
“Merry Christmas,” exclaimed my mom as she walked in the door. Her glasses would steam up when they hit the warm house air.
“Merry Christmas,” we’d say in unison.
Dad would walk in behind her and impatiently try to get around her to get into the kitchen.
“Karl, you can’t go in there with all that snow on your boots,” mom would warn.
“I just want to get the coffee pot going,” he’d say, as he would go in to do just that. Mom would, with glasses in hand roll her eyes but knew there was no stopping him. She’d go downstairs to the basement to remove her wet clothes. Dad would then follow.
One of the greatest things about the paper route was the gifts mom and dad would find in the paper tubes of their satisfied customers. Sometimes it was a bottle of wine or whiskey, but mostly it was some kind of baked good: cookies, kugen, stolen or some other amazing confection. All of these had notes attached announcing their appreciation for such fine service.
Christmas Day offered our family the best breakfast, albeit not overly nutritious, but sweet and satisfying. Mom would put some of them in the oven to warm. The smell of cinnamon and nutmeg coupled with fresh coffee filled the house. So wonderful it was that my brothers and I didn’t mind waiting to open gifts. Well, at least until we had eaten our fair share. Then we’d beg mom and dad to move their coffee drinking to the living room and under the tree.
We had a ritual. Dad would hand out the gifts and when they were distributed we would open them. Mom and Dad would watch us, looking on from one kid to the next; getting a charge out of our reactions. Mom and dad didn’t have a lot of money to spend on expensive Christmas gifts but the gifts they had for us exceeded the underwear or toys they gave us. I think the paper route helped us all with a tradition none of us will ever forget and it all started on the wooden hill.
By Eva Mahoney
The wooden hill started in the front hall, just under the window that faced the driveway. The first five steps had the window on the right and the banister on the left. The next five had wall and railing on either side. Then came the landing with another window on the right. The stairs continued to the left.
The stairs were strong, wooden and, if memory serves me well, cherry, or at the very least, stained red. Most of the steps had a black vinyl mat attached to them with a tack in each corner of the mat. Those steps that did not, still had the four tacks and black specks of vinyl trapped under them. Those tacks were prone to snag a sock or cloth slipper.
This was long before deep pile shag carpet covered the whole downstairs and the stairs. Long before my dad covered the walls with paneling. My dad did all the work himself, he boosts then and now. Oblivious to him, was the fact he finished two years after shag and paneling went out of style. Before the remodel, when the stairs were just wood and the walls that surrounded them covered in bird printed wallpaper, in the late sixties, it was on these steps, the lower three, where my brothers and I waited patiently for the return of our parents each Christmas morning.
Mom and dad had decided to supplement their incomes with money earned from a morning paper route. They did not have to deliver to the doorstep; they just had to shoot a paper into their respective customer’s paper tube on the side of the road.
Their motor route started at 4:30 each morning, giving them the opportunity to get back in time to get my brothers and me off to school.
I remember so clearly those pre-teen Christmas mornings, when we awoke, Mom and Dad would have been long gone. Flannel clad and sleepy eyed, my brothers and I would come down the stairs to see what Santa had brought us. I believe, now, we were exceptional children because we never peeked. We may have picked up a box, wrapped in Christmas paper, or if Santa had run out, and he often did, the Sunday comics. We may have shaken it but we never tore the paper. We just knew we had to wait.
From the vantage point of the front hall window, Jim, Ed and I could see the snow covered driveway as we waited on the stairs for the “paper car” to return. We would play a game to see who could guess correctly whether or not the next car was dad’s ’63 Plymouth Valiant. We couldn’t see it, but dad’s habit of grinding the gearshift often gave it away.
“I hear it,” one of us would say with a look of anticipated glee, as we knew it meant the disclosure of our bounty under the tree. It would quickly fade when it turned out to be someone else instead. Winters in Western New York were long, cold and snowy and Christmas Day was always hit the hardest.
The paper route on a Sunday would take our folks over three hours to complete, but on Christmas it was exceptionally longer. Perhaps it just seemed like it was took longer. The paper car had more three foot drifts to plow through as the Village crews wouldn’t do it that early on a holiday. And plow it did. We could always depend on “the paper car.”
Finally the time would come. The paper car, covered in snow except for the windows, made its last right turn into our driveway. Black ice chucks, called Clinkers, had frozen around the wheels. Mom and Dad emerged, dressed in union suits with hoods, scarves around their necks and thick leather gloves, the kind cowboys use to fix barb wire fences. Jim, Ed and I would cheer and race to the back door to greet them.
“Merry Christmas,” exclaimed my mom as she walked in the door. Her glasses would steam up when they hit the warm house air.
“Merry Christmas,” we’d say in unison.
Dad would walk in behind her and impatiently try to get around her to get into the kitchen.
“Karl, you can’t go in there with all that snow on your boots,” mom would warn.
“I just want to get the coffee pot going,” he’d say, as he would go in to do just that. Mom would, with glasses in hand roll her eyes but knew there was no stopping him. She’d go downstairs to the basement to remove her wet clothes. Dad would then follow.
One of the greatest things about the paper route was the gifts mom and dad would find in the paper tubes of their satisfied customers. Sometimes it was a bottle of wine or whiskey, but mostly it was some kind of baked good: cookies, kugen, stolen or some other amazing confection. All of these had notes attached announcing their appreciation for such fine service.
Christmas Day offered our family the best breakfast, albeit not overly nutritious, but sweet and satisfying. Mom would put some of them in the oven to warm. The smell of cinnamon and nutmeg coupled with fresh coffee filled the house. So wonderful it was that my brothers and I didn’t mind waiting to open gifts. Well, at least until we had eaten our fair share. Then we’d beg mom and dad to move their coffee drinking to the living room and under the tree.
We had a ritual. Dad would hand out the gifts and when they were distributed we would open them. Mom and Dad would watch us, looking on from one kid to the next; getting a charge out of our reactions. Mom and dad didn’t have a lot of money to spend on expensive Christmas gifts but the gifts they had for us exceeded the underwear or toys they gave us. I think the paper route helped us all with a tradition none of us will ever forget and it all started on the wooden hill.
Saturday, December 19, 2009
I may lose my "woman" card....
The TV is flooded with ads for jewelry...diamond earrings are only $799. I told Phil that if he bought me those I'd divorce him. I think it's absolutely insane to spend that kind of money on something you wear that you can't even see unless you look in a mirror. Even if you could see it, on your finger or your wrist, it's still insane. The ads say the guy should spend three month's of salary on the engagement ring! Aw...forgot that. If you have three month's of salary laying around, buy me a car.
I remember when we got engaged, I picked out my ring and it didn't cost even a week's salary. Another girl in my office got engaged around the same time, her rock was so big she had to turn the diamond around into her hand if she wanted to get her hands in her pocket. I know...most woman don't even put their hands in their pockets but I'm just saying, if she wanted to she couldn't. Of course, she was an attorney and so was her new finance'. But even still, I just can't see it.
Spending a lot of money on jewelry, and what I mean by a lot would be more than $15 is so unnecessary. Today we saw an ad for a Craftsman tool that does a bunch of things. This I want! I'm serious. I'd rather sand something while wearing my tiny diamond.
Also I'm not that interested in shoes. Yeah...take my "woman card"...I get it.
I remember when we got engaged, I picked out my ring and it didn't cost even a week's salary. Another girl in my office got engaged around the same time, her rock was so big she had to turn the diamond around into her hand if she wanted to get her hands in her pocket. I know...most woman don't even put their hands in their pockets but I'm just saying, if she wanted to she couldn't. Of course, she was an attorney and so was her new finance'. But even still, I just can't see it.
Spending a lot of money on jewelry, and what I mean by a lot would be more than $15 is so unnecessary. Today we saw an ad for a Craftsman tool that does a bunch of things. This I want! I'm serious. I'd rather sand something while wearing my tiny diamond.
Also I'm not that interested in shoes. Yeah...take my "woman card"...I get it.
Monday, December 14, 2009
The things you learn along the way
The title of this post would make a great title for a blog. For sure.
I found out from TPTB (The Powers that Be) that...and I didn't know this or even think it possible...if you give a gift to a co-worker at work, the company is liable for whatever damages that may be incurred by that gift. I interpret this to mean that if I give my friend a paperweight and she takes the gift home and throws it at her cheating husband, the SOB can sue my company! Isn't that fantastic! Who knew? I bet none of those other companies who encourage gift giving by playing Dirty Santa or Secret Santa or any kind of Santa don't know what potential trouble they are putting themselves in. All that gift exchanging is a lawsuit in the making.
I found out from TPTB (The Powers that Be) that...and I didn't know this or even think it possible...if you give a gift to a co-worker at work, the company is liable for whatever damages that may be incurred by that gift. I interpret this to mean that if I give my friend a paperweight and she takes the gift home and throws it at her cheating husband, the SOB can sue my company! Isn't that fantastic! Who knew? I bet none of those other companies who encourage gift giving by playing Dirty Santa or Secret Santa or any kind of Santa don't know what potential trouble they are putting themselves in. All that gift exchanging is a lawsuit in the making.
Sunday, December 06, 2009
Dwelling on the Obvious
Hi. I posted about this briefly on Facebook but I'm going to elaborate a bit.
I'm amazed at how much it bothers me when people say things just for the sake of having something to say. When your friend's brother dies, people say, "It's just so sad." I'm like thinking to myself, "you think?"
My 15 year old niece said, "I think cruelty to animals is wrong." I chalk that up to youth.
The other day, Howie Mandel said on Deal or No Deal, "the difference between $5000 and 1/2 a million is huge." And he was so emphatic about it, like he was saying something we just couldn't possibly know until he shared this insightful pearl of knowledge.
My husband does it every day....says something that really doesn't need to be said. Today he got the Christmas tree out of the closet and told me, not only that he did this, but that he also put the tree on the table in the livingroom. The table where it belongs. The same table where we are putting it up on. Like, if he hadn't told me this, I'd be looking all over for that darn tree. I chalk this up to just being a guy thing.
I could say that this is not the end of the world. That there are more important things to worry about than this but then, I'm be guilty of the exact behavior that makes me nuts. So I'm just going to bed. :)
I'm amazed at how much it bothers me when people say things just for the sake of having something to say. When your friend's brother dies, people say, "It's just so sad." I'm like thinking to myself, "you think?"
My 15 year old niece said, "I think cruelty to animals is wrong." I chalk that up to youth.
The other day, Howie Mandel said on Deal or No Deal, "the difference between $5000 and 1/2 a million is huge." And he was so emphatic about it, like he was saying something we just couldn't possibly know until he shared this insightful pearl of knowledge.
My husband does it every day....says something that really doesn't need to be said. Today he got the Christmas tree out of the closet and told me, not only that he did this, but that he also put the tree on the table in the livingroom. The table where it belongs. The same table where we are putting it up on. Like, if he hadn't told me this, I'd be looking all over for that darn tree. I chalk this up to just being a guy thing.
I could say that this is not the end of the world. That there are more important things to worry about than this but then, I'm be guilty of the exact behavior that makes me nuts. So I'm just going to bed. :)
Friday, November 27, 2009
This is the best picture
I came across this picture today. Actually I have seen it several times but it wasn't until today that I realized how symbolic it is. Yeah, my folks are waving good bye here...off to a new chapter in their being...more like a new book. I think it will be the best book ever!
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Monday, November 23, 2009
Where is your Nirvana?
Just curious where would you like to be if there were no restrains. If you could have any life; what would it be like. My brother, Jim told me once he'd live miles away from everyone...just have land all around him, no neighbors and no visitors. He insists that would be his heaven while alive. I think I'm a little more social. I'd want people around me..good friends, family and no lawn to mow. I'd love to live in a big apartment building with a doorman, of course...like Samantha Who? Or like the apartment Frazier Crane had...with a view of something spectacular. And there would be no unwanted critters...bugs, and rodents. I'd need some work...not the work I do now...something fun, like web mastering or laying out newsletters. I'd love that. There would also be times for naps...lots of naps. That's all for now.
Sunday, November 22, 2009
Home Alone
I'm home alone again for a week. It's Thanksgiving week and I know it sounds sad to be alone during this "family" time but I am, right now anyway, okay with it. I don't mind it a bit.
I dropped Phil off at the airport yesterday afternoon. It was sad to see him go but I'm happy for his mom who is so happy to have him home with her. I know she misses him and I want him to see her as much as he can while he can. I am not as sad to see him off as I am worried about him. I fear for his safety. I know he's a big boy and can take care of himself, I just know that his niceness could be used against him by some conniver just looking money.
So now I'm alone. Well, just me and Becca. I love this independence. I have no idea why this is, but I have been much more productive with Phil not here. Okay, I did sleep in until after 11am but once I was up I pretty much hit the ground running. I puttered around the house while the Bills played. I sat down several times to watch them but then I was up again...just doing stuff. After the game I was out to Walmart. Came back, put the groceries away and took advantage of the nice weather and cleaned my car out. I took care of some other things, made dinner, cleaned out the pantry, cleaned the kitchen floor, cleaned the toilet, put stuff away. It was productive.
I have a lot more planned; most cleaning up, sorting, organizing. I don't know why, when Phil is here I hate doing these things. It's hard to explain.
I dropped Phil off at the airport yesterday afternoon. It was sad to see him go but I'm happy for his mom who is so happy to have him home with her. I know she misses him and I want him to see her as much as he can while he can. I am not as sad to see him off as I am worried about him. I fear for his safety. I know he's a big boy and can take care of himself, I just know that his niceness could be used against him by some conniver just looking money.
So now I'm alone. Well, just me and Becca. I love this independence. I have no idea why this is, but I have been much more productive with Phil not here. Okay, I did sleep in until after 11am but once I was up I pretty much hit the ground running. I puttered around the house while the Bills played. I sat down several times to watch them but then I was up again...just doing stuff. After the game I was out to Walmart. Came back, put the groceries away and took advantage of the nice weather and cleaned my car out. I took care of some other things, made dinner, cleaned out the pantry, cleaned the kitchen floor, cleaned the toilet, put stuff away. It was productive.
I have a lot more planned; most cleaning up, sorting, organizing. I don't know why, when Phil is here I hate doing these things. It's hard to explain.
Friday, November 13, 2009
It's all in my head?
My back has been bothering me quite a bit. An Wednesday, I was in tears. This was a new pain for me. It was in my tailbone area. If I pushed on my tailbone, it didn't hurt. The only time it hurt was sitting and then rising from sitting. I had never felt this before. I emailed one of the ladies at work who is the office manager for an ortho doc near my office. She set me up for a visit with this doc for Thursday morning.
Thursday morning came and as I drove to the office of this clinic, I realized there wasn't much pain anymore. I can't explain it. How can I be in tears one day and then less than 24 hours later, not be in pain. This tailbone pain had been bothering me for days. And then it was gone.
I wonder if some of my pain issues are just in my head. Could it be? Or maybe it was divine intervention. I thing I'll go with that.
Thursday morning came and as I drove to the office of this clinic, I realized there wasn't much pain anymore. I can't explain it. How can I be in tears one day and then less than 24 hours later, not be in pain. This tailbone pain had been bothering me for days. And then it was gone.
I wonder if some of my pain issues are just in my head. Could it be? Or maybe it was divine intervention. I thing I'll go with that.
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
You know those emails...
..that say "if you believe in God, you will forward this on." I believe in God but I find these emails insulting. Does God's opinion of me really hinge on whether or not I forward these emails?
Or what about the 'I love you' emails. Okay, I have friends that I can say I really care about, and maybe I love them to some degree but would I help them move? Maybe one or two of them but not half my office. I care about them but I'm not so sure on the love part. I think there are other people in my office who are getting weary of these emails too. I'm getting them from people I don't know because the sender is just hitting "reply to all" in an effort to save time.
With these emails you want to forward them because you don't want people to think you don't love them. And it's not so much that you really love them but if one of them says she loves another then by golly I love them too. It's a almost political. I'd like to send out a disclaimer.
"If i don't forward an email but you get it from another, just know I love you and I believe in God, okay?"
Or what about the 'I love you' emails. Okay, I have friends that I can say I really care about, and maybe I love them to some degree but would I help them move? Maybe one or two of them but not half my office. I care about them but I'm not so sure on the love part. I think there are other people in my office who are getting weary of these emails too. I'm getting them from people I don't know because the sender is just hitting "reply to all" in an effort to save time.
With these emails you want to forward them because you don't want people to think you don't love them. And it's not so much that you really love them but if one of them says she loves another then by golly I love them too. It's a almost political. I'd like to send out a disclaimer.
"If i don't forward an email but you get it from another, just know I love you and I believe in God, okay?"
Saturday, September 26, 2009
I'm done belly aching
Crap happens. Let's move on. I'm tired of injustice, feeling cheated and sad. I don't want anymore discouraging anything...no discouraging talk. Don't tell me the walls are falling apart around you, embrace the breeze.
Don't go on and on about how the Bills suck and are a waste of time...they are who they are and they're not going away. Celebrate the victories and ignore the defeats.
I happen to think Obama rocks! Don't be a part of the problem; be a part of the celebration. He's not going away. Embrace his ideas, his ideals. Show a little respect. I believe in my heart, he's not here to ruin America. He's out to try his best to solve our problems...adversity isn't going to help! Let's get on the bandwagon.
Sometimes people will disappoint you. Yep..it's going to happen but believe they are in your life for a reason...so you can distinguish the winners from the losers. Ignore the losers, you have only so much time...use it on the winners; not the winers.
This is my own pep talk. I thought I'd just share it. ;)
Go Bills!
Don't go on and on about how the Bills suck and are a waste of time...they are who they are and they're not going away. Celebrate the victories and ignore the defeats.
I happen to think Obama rocks! Don't be a part of the problem; be a part of the celebration. He's not going away. Embrace his ideas, his ideals. Show a little respect. I believe in my heart, he's not here to ruin America. He's out to try his best to solve our problems...adversity isn't going to help! Let's get on the bandwagon.
Sometimes people will disappoint you. Yep..it's going to happen but believe they are in your life for a reason...so you can distinguish the winners from the losers. Ignore the losers, you have only so much time...use it on the winners; not the winers.
This is my own pep talk. I thought I'd just share it. ;)
Go Bills!
Sunday, August 23, 2009
When will I "get over it?"
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I still cry a lot. I'm getting a little concerned about it because I can't keep crying over my dad's death. I have sort of gotten over my mom's death...to a greater degree but I just miss them both so much. The thing is with my dad that makes me so upset is that I just didn't know he'd stop communicating with us after they started giving him the heavy doses of morphine. I just had too much I needed to say, too many questions I wanted him to answer. And then he was so out of it. You could see he wanted to say something but he just couldn't get the words out. The people at hospice said he could hear us but he couldn't respond. And there's just too much I needed to know.Monday, August 17, 2009
What happened to those days...
when you gave a gift to a teenager (niece, grandkid, nephew, cousin...whatever) and she/he sat down and wrote a thank you note or at the very least, got on the phone to thank you for it? Or their parents got after them if they didn't do the thank you note/call?
Sunday, August 02, 2009
Privacy at Work
Do employees have privacy at work? Are they even allowed it? Personally I don't believe so. If you have something personal to discuss with another co-worker and another co-worker needs you for work...can you tell the working worker, "hang on, I'm having a private conversation of a personal matter with ___"? I would have to believe management would rather you get the work done. No?
If you have personal items in your office...whatever, typing up your divorce papers or something, and a co-worker sees them, can you complain that the co-worker is invading your privacy? I'm not so sure.
Information may be confidential ...like payroll records...but your desk is not an extension of your home. I don't think you can claim an invasion of privacy at work. And I think management would support that.
Wonder what the will tackle on next week's episode of The Office?
If you have personal items in your office...whatever, typing up your divorce papers or something, and a co-worker sees them, can you complain that the co-worker is invading your privacy? I'm not so sure.
Information may be confidential ...like payroll records...but your desk is not an extension of your home. I don't think you can claim an invasion of privacy at work. And I think management would support that.
Wonder what the will tackle on next week's episode of The Office?
Friday, July 31, 2009
Racial Profiling
Okay, I am not educated in the matter of racial profiling but I still have an opinion. Please feel free to correct me if I am wrong but what are the authorities to do? Wasn't it Muslins who are responsible for the first World Trade attack and then 911? No? So if a Muslin in full garb wants to fly in any airplane, is it wrong for security to be concerned? No? I don't get that. Yes, not ALL Muslins are bad, actually only a few are but if I get run over by a red car, doesn't it make sense to want to steer clear of red cars? That seens like a normal reaction.
Now if I, a white woman, is walking down the street with a black man and the black man gets singled out because a crime as occurred but I don't...okay..that's bad.
I just don't know what the authorities are to do as they try to protect our country. I know, I'm quite the naivette (is that a word?)
When I walk through the perfume section of a department store, the lady wants to spray me because I'm a female. Is that gender profiling? Maybe I don't like perfume. Just because I'm a woman, she shouldn't assume I like it.
Now if I, a white woman, is walking down the street with a black man and the black man gets singled out because a crime as occurred but I don't...okay..that's bad.
I just don't know what the authorities are to do as they try to protect our country. I know, I'm quite the naivette (is that a word?)
When I walk through the perfume section of a department store, the lady wants to spray me because I'm a female. Is that gender profiling? Maybe I don't like perfume. Just because I'm a woman, she shouldn't assume I like it.
Thursday, July 23, 2009
Saturday, July 11, 2009
Quotes to Help You Follow Your Dreams
Quotes to Help You Follow Your Dreams: "The future belongs to those who believe in the beauty of their dreams.
Eleanor Roosevelt"
Eleanor Roosevelt"
Tuesday, July 07, 2009
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