Photo of the Day: Waiting

Visiting some old haunts, visiting old friends, visiting the same spot

At The Juilliard School, February 20, 2017

~ photo by iPhone, no filter

Photo of the Week: Sno Much Snow

Scenic view of Bronx River from train station window earlier this week.

Someone was half joking, after the snow on Monday, icy snow mix Wednesday, and freeze today and tomorrow, that this winter was a marketing ploy from Disney for the movie, Frozen.

We are not amused, but I am grateful to be easing into the new job at the old/new place. Monday I left at 3/snow. Tuesday I left at 4/ ride and train meeting. Wednesday/ work at home due to snow. Today was first 8:30 to 5 day and I was in meetings most of it.

I still am surprised how welcoming and happy everyone seems to be that I am back. Such a 180 from where I was. I keep looking around for the cameras and someone from PUNK'D.

It's a lot to dive into.

Maybe there will be more snow/work at home days?

/iTouch

Photo of the Day: A Long and Winding Road

c.Caramoor.org, Probably Gabe Palacio, c. 12/2013

And a new chapter begins ...

Time for Transitions: Open Letters for my former colleagues

Breaking Important Big Darn News.

Tomorrow is my last day at the Big J aka The Juilliard School.

My.

Last.

Day.

This is long in the offing. Again, I'm not done processing it yet, and as I've been saying all week, this is NOT goodbye--because I will see many of these colleagues and friends later. Also, the many, many reasons that have brought to me to this point have to be processed and may be shared, sometime, long after there's a nice separation built up.

It wasn't an easy decision, and then it was--and then it wasn't--and then it was. As most life-changing things often are.

The following is a slightly edited version of a letter I sent to my colleagues last week.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dear All:

You may have seen the e-mail sent out last week by my VP, announcing some staff changes in Development, including my departure as of Friday, January 31st. I wanted to follow-up with my own personal note.

February 2014 would mark the end of my seventh year at Juilliard. While seven has always been my lucky number, I decided to try my luck at another venture this coming year.

I have been so fortunate to have been at the School through some  interesting transitions. From rocking through the renovation and expansion (sometimes literally, while sitting at my desk), or wearing hard hats while in heels, to digging in and doubling up on duties through the economic downturn, it has been my honor to serve in three positions and work with three VPs, as well as a host of hardworking colleagues, eager interns, and talented work-studies. It has also been thrilling to attend a host of spectacular performances across all the boards of dance, drama, vocal arts, and classical music. It has truly been a remarkably rich and rewarding experience. I will treasure the collegiality and friendships that I've found at the "Big J."

I continue to wish all of my colleagues in Development & Public Affairs the very best as they endeavor to raise funds to continue the important mission of the School. I also wish them and I.T. a continued successful roll-out of the new ticketing system and ongoing efforts to integrate the various database systems.

There is no place like New York, New York, (it's a helluva town), but boy... will I be glad not to be commuting in here every day – especially after being stuck at Grand Central Terminal for three long, crowded hours last night. (That was NOT FUN!)*

I'll be traveling for a bit in February, but also starting a renewed reverse commute to some familiar gardens and grounds -- at Caramoor,** "upstate," in Westchester County, where I will be rejoining their development team in a director capacity.

I hope to see many of you in the "country" this summer for some wonderfully diverse musical and artistic offerings. Please feel free stay in touch via my personal email.

Thank you all, for everything. I cannot say THANK YOU enough.

Sincerely,

P.S. I know it is the tradition to have a farewell party when someone departs, but I have expressed my personal preference not to have one. I will make my rounds for more personal good-byes all of next week.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

There were a variety of reactions to this announcement and email (which saw many drafts and much thought). I wish I had compiled them. (I may yet, as they are somewhere in the work email archive.)

I almost got out the door this week without a hoo-rah, as I call them. But no. Even with a cancelled train this morning, and then a late train on top of it, there was a lovely little departmental (plus guests) cupcakes/bagels gathering. Thank goodness I realized I would have to give a speech. I got up around up at 2 a.m. to write down some thoughts. (Introverts need time to prepare and rehearse and "gird their loins.") In true introvert fashion, I also had to be dragged back to my own party. (But I was really dealing with email archiving with I.T., and it gave me an excuse to step out and regroup. I AM NOT CRYING ABOUT THIS. THIS IS A GOOD THING!)

As rocky as the last bit has been, and as varied as some of the interpersonal relationships have been, I do think this seven year period was mostly beneficial for me, just from the exposure, experiences, and connections forged.

THANK YOU, even in emails and blog posts, can't really say it enough.

Even though, as you'll see, I tried

Dear ALL:

Thanks again, everyone, for the lovely send-off carbily-fantastic breakfast gathering. The Baked by Melissa cupcakes are a nice homage to the many Melissas formerly on staff, as well as the many delectable treats that were made, shared, and ingested in my time here. The bagels were a perfect NYC treat that I will miss in the “country.” (There are nothing quite like the bagels in the City!) On Monday, my stomach will start growling at the appointed hour for Tori’s Treats. Who’s going to send me a care package?

I can’t wait to read all your messages of support and set up my Juilliard swag at my new rustic desk. Every day it will remind me of the best of the Big J moments. I can’t wait to have time on the train to crochet up the yarn that I will get at Knitty City. I just have to remember to put my Big J lunch bag in my Big J yarn bag and not leave it on the train.

Like I said, it was the connections forged here that really made hard for me to decide to take this step --  connections that I know won’t be broken even if I am up in the "country" and you're all down here. I’m not kidding about those Summer  Fridays off. I do I expect to see at least some of you opera music lovers at Caramoor's summer festival and I WILL be sending you brochures.

This isn’t goodbye, but THANK YOU. I will see, talk, text, and email you all soon.

Thanks gang....

And that means you too, readers and family. You've been part of this long long long processing process.

* That's a whole other blog post. 
** Yup. Does all the foreshadowing make sense now?

Kitchen catastrophes

You never know when the lessons from your youth are going to come in handy. Take this weekend for example …

I have never been known for my gracefulness. It can be said (and there are police reports and facial scars to back me up) that I’m more than just a little accident prone. There was no point sneaking into my house as a teenager because I would inevitably stumble over, or drop something, to give it way. To this day, my parents SWEAR they’ve never heard so much noise as when I visit, because I’m always knocking something over in the kitchen or bathroom. (I say the latter is because I’m used to my own stuff in my own tiny space. There’s more walls and stuff at their house that gets in my way!)

In an earlier stage of my life I worked for a major fast food chain, where I got a thorough education in many, many things (some not suitable for innocent nieces and nephews to ever learn about.) In addition to learning that “If you have time to lean, you have time to clean,” I got the first of my marriage proposals (more on that MUCH LATER). One of the oddest things I remembered from my time in the grease pit came back to me in a big ol’splash one day this past weekend.

It was one of the first autumnal days we’ve had this season, with tropical rains and winds making it seem like it was late November instead of mid-September. I got in the mood to cook, so I was spending time in my teeny tiny kitchenette. On the stove top I had a large cauldron of black bean soup bubbling away, and the oven was full of scarily spicy peanut butter cookies. Since my minuscule sink was full of dirty dishes, I was bustling around to put things away to make room. As I blindly reached down to put pots and pans away on my rolling shelves/counter top, I wasn’t really paying close attention. Suddenly I heard a large splat and saw that somehow I’d managed to knock over the gallon jug of olive oil … and it was glooping and glopping its contents across my kitchen floor and onto the walls … and the puddle was getting bigger and bigger! Hysterical panic set in, as my paper towels ran out and no newspapers were to be found. I just wanted to scream “CLEAN UP IN AISLE 1!” and let someone else deal with the mess. Alas, no one rode their mop to my rescue.

It was in that instance when the lessons learned at the fry vat suddenly came to mind. In case of major grease spillage, look for the salt box! Not the salt shaker, but the large container of salt that hides in the recesses of every pantry or kitchen shelf somewhere in most of the world. Grab it, open it, and spread the content around on the spill, very very liberally. Not only does the salt seem to absorb the oily mess, it adds some traction to your shoes while you run around and try and contain the rest of the disaster. (This is akin to using sand and/or kitty litter to get traction in the snow in the winter.) It also buys you a moment or two to take stock of the situation.

As I was contemplating the cleanup of my kitchen catastrophe, the perfect storm of conditions continued to hit critical mass. With one hand dripping in oil, the other caked with salt, and me trying to figure out how to get the almost burning cookies out of the oven or how to get the pot to stop from boiling over, wouldn't you know it? The cell phone rang. Rather than let it go to voice mail, I just had to answer it. (You know, ‘cause I’m conditioned that way. D**n it PAVLOV!) I believe that’s when the hysterical laughter--AT MYSELF--began to emerge. [Sorry about that, Jenn. Thanks for understanding and for calling me back.]

Once calmed, I managed to find a way to gloss over the situation. I rescued the cookies, turned down the soup, and then turned to tackling the huge salt and oil slick on the floor. I also very carefully put the gallon of olive oil BACK in the pantry … on the floor … away from the ministrations of my bumbling self …. .

Plus I took pictures to remind me of the mess, though they don’t quite capture the Technicolor wonder of the olive oil contrasting with my nasty linoleum.

After many minutes making salt "castles" on the floor, followed by the services of my Dust Buster sucking gross stuff out of crevasses and grooves, and lots of scrubbing with Lysol wipes, the floor has a nice sheen to it. Is it me though, or does everything taste oh so slighty ... salty?



Nah. You’re imaging that Auntie “Grace,” along with the phantom grit that you’re feeling when you walk across the floor …

I WANNA QUIT THE GYM!

Does anyone remember the Friends* episode where Chandler wants to quit the gym but can’t?

Well, substitute “gym” for one of Auntie Nettie’s jobs. There’s nothing particularly wrong with the “gym.” If Auntie Nettie wasn’t in hawk to the “bank,” she probably would have quit the “gym” a while ago.

Going to the “gym” is like going to the dentist sometimes. Not particularly enjoyable, but necessary. At the end of a session (whether long or short), she sometimes has a pounding headache along with a scolding from the trainer.

Then there’s “Maria.” If she wasn’t loyal to “Maria,” she probably would have quit already.

Plus there’s the financial toll. Unlike Chandler, who was supposed to get money back from his gym fees, how will Auntie Nettie replace the steady loss of income from the “gym?” Rent is going up, as is everything else, plus there are these pesky other outstanding debts.

Darn it.

“I want to quit the gym. I WANNA QUIT THE GYM!”

Does anyone know the going rate for a pristine kidney these days?

Could I BE anymore whiney?

UPDATE: Stay tuned ... Announcements to follow

*Season Four, Episode 77, “The One with the Ballroom Dancing.”