Attila and I took our son Declan out to dinner on Thursday night. Okay, he ended up commandeering the check, so I guess that technically means he took us to dinner, but it was our idea! We had specifically made the date with him because we realized that it has been way too long since we have been alone with him for a focused two-on-one conversation.

I guess it is different with daughters. Our four daughters talk to us all the time (sometimes against our will). But sons? Not so much. You sort of have to hunt them down and corner them.

Wednesday night Family Dinner is great, awesome and fabulous, but it is not the most conducive environment for intimate conversations. Picture the Walton family on LSD. Our family is loud and full of cross-talkers with Attention Deficit Disorder. We have had a few visitors join us for one Wednesday night, never to be seen from again.  

Declan is an amazing young man. One evening when he was only nine-years-old, he appeared at the side of my recliner, tears streaming down his face. He had been trying to sleep and couldn’t stop thinking about Attila or me dying. He proceeded to inform me that he “used to” wish away his life so that he could get past the boring parts. He suddenly realized that he didn’t want his life to rush by like that. He wanted to experience all of it! Our little philosopher was just beginning to come into his own.

In the middle of 11^th grade Declan decided that he was finished with high school. He wanted to go to college and not “waste” another year. All he needed to graduate were six English credits, but Coatesville was unable to accommodate that.

So we took my sister Kathi’s suggestion, and I home-schooled him for his second semester of 11^th grade. Declan graduated with his high school diploma that July, and entered Eastern University in the fall of what would have been his senior year. Declan ultimately made a switch to the Art Institute of York and graduated with an Associate’s degree in Digital Arts.

When Declan was 19 he proposed to Katie, the love of his life. They had been dating (and best friends) since he was 15. They were married on August 4, 2007 when he was just twenty-years-old. A year later they moved into a brand new home and added a puppy to their family. 

Now, at the ripe old age of 22, this fast-tracked kid of ours (who frequently reminds me of myself) is the manager of the Embroidery Department at the Firestore and supervises a group of adults who are many years his senior.

Declan continues to adore his wife Katie, and she him. Katie teaches art at the Octorara Elementary School and is working on her Master’s Degree. They joyfully await the birth of their first child in May.

Since further education is not currently financially feasible for Declan, he purchases massive tomes on web application design, and painstakingly pores over them until he learns each concept. Some day he will be designing custom web applications for his own roster of clients.

This hard-working man is the same little boy who once called me on our home phone with his cell phone (from his bedroom) because he was too lazy to walk the thirty feet to get to me in my home office. This young man, who once was too lazy to take out the trash and would procrastinate for h o u r s, works ten-hour days without complaint or flagging spirit. This wonderful son, who as a child was afraid that life would pass him by if he wished away the boring parts, has created a life where there are no boring parts.

Declan, our beautiful son, we are very, very proud of you, and love you more than you know.

Have I mentioned lately that I love my job? This week I had the opportunity to fly to Boston on business. The last time that I was in this amazing city I was a slender, blond (a real one), fresh-faced teenage college senior. I was visiting friends I met the previous semester while studying abroad in Vienna, Austria.

This time I am a much- thicker, rapidly graying, worn-faced (think wrinkles and bags), occasionally world-weary “life” senior. But the spirit of adventure? It is exactly the same thirty-two years later, despite half-hearted attempts to convince myself that I have somehow outgrown that part of my personality. Not!

This past Tuesday morning I went to work in the Paoli office, lugging a purple suitcase I had borrowed from Lyryn so that I could  transport all the PE Americas files that I was relocating to their rightful place in  Boston. When I opened the suitcase I discovered a tiny lace-covered bra-shaped sachet from Victoria Secret. It reminded me of a miniature sleeping mask for a pet (that just happened to be the image that popped into my warped mind). Needless to say, I found it quite amusing and HAD to share it with my work colleagues so that they had the opportunity to be amused along with me.

Later on Tuesday afternoon I headed out of Philadelphia on a 6:15 p.m. flight to Boston. Okay, I didn’t actually leave Philly until 7:30 p.m. but I was on the plane. Obama was in town (although I never laid eyes on Airforce One) and there were nineteen planes ahead of us on the tarmac waiting to take off.

Bored? Of course I wasn’t bored. One of my pet peeves is people who write ”bored” as their Facebook status. People! Please, please, please get a life! Make a life! I am pretty sure that it is the only one you get (on earth, I mean). Discover the things that truly make your heart sing and make an effort to do them. Learn to read books even if you think you hate to read. Talk to people. Find out how much God loves you (there is a book that will tell you all about it). Explore your own neighborhood. Help someone who needs a hand. Exercise. Get a hobby. Invent something. Volunteer. Think outside the box. Get creative people! Boredom is a completely unnecessary emotion. Boredom is bogus!

Whooooops! Crash! Ouch! I just fell off my soap-box. I will now return the audience to my travelogue.

I spent the three hour plane “ride” learning fascinating things about my seat-mate. I admit that we never actually exchanged names, but we did share our lives. I learned that he is 53 and his German accent is the direct result of being born and raised in Germany. I learned that he left West Germany on November 2, 1989, only seven days before the fall of the Berlin wall. He expressed his disappointment that he had just missed this historical event.

I learned that he is a pathologist who heads a research lab at Cooper Hospital. He was traveling to Boston to take part in a peer inspection of another research lab located in Worcester.

I learned that his beloved wife died when his two sons were just seven and ten. He was amazed when love found him once again in his late forties. He and his second wife (also a doctor) were married by an architect friend who “bought” his online ordination for the express purpose of legally marrying his two friends.

I learned that his third child (another son) is only three-years-old. He marvels at how different and incredible parenting is the second time around. He is amused that his young son got “annoyed” when daddy informed him that he is an uncle now (to his seven-week-old granddaughter). Apparently, young Christopher does not wish to be an uncle.

My new friend is filled with so much love and passion for his family that he nearly glows. And he shows no sign of taking any of  it for granted.

I was not bored. No siree! I was inspired. I learned some really neat things about a perfect stranger who, in the end, wasn’t a stranger at all.

I took a taxi from Logan Airport to my downtown hotel. The cabbie chattered away on his Blue Tooth in a language I didn’t recognize. I didn’t mind. I let the wind from the open window revive me while it blew my hair into more of a mess than it already was. I felt totally independent and free. I remember that feeling too. Six children ago…

Boston is more beautiful than I remembered. I stayed at the Radisson Hotel on the 24th (top) floor. I even had a balcony offering a perfect panoramic view of the coolest part of the city. I had a Sleep Number bed but never found my number. I prefer the bed I have on the third floor of an ancient twin in Parkesburg that boasts a non-panoramic view of tree branches. It is my ultimate womb-room sanctuary, and I wouldn’t trade it for anything!

Wednesday morning I went to the hotel restaurant for a buffet-style breakfast and my very own pot of coffee. Pure heaven, I say. Pure heaven! I inhaled my caffeine fix while reading a back issue of      Guideposts magazine – the one that I carry in my purse for whenever I have to wait in line at Wal-Mart (which is every time I go).

The walk to the office on Boylston Street was about four blocks. I felt like Mary Tyler Moore in Minneapolis and would have tossed my hat in the air if I happened to own one (which I don’t).

I loved the idea of actually being on Boylston Street. I am a fan of  the author Robert B. Parker, and often listen to his audio books on my commute. I just recently finished a book from the Spenser series.

Does anyone remember the TV show in the late eighties starring Robert Urich: Spenser: For Hire? It was based on these novels. Spenser’s office is located on Boylston Street. In real life the street is slightly smaller, much prettier, and has way more character than I had imagined.

The PE Americas office is located on the third floor of a building that  just barely missed being condemned. The elevator is no longer in use, and trust me, I was glad about that. It is the open wire kind that can often be found in scary movies. No thank you.

I dragged my 50 pound? suitcase full of company files up about a thousand creaky stairs and finally reached my destination, sweating like the fifty-something menopausal woman that I am.

I was there to train the Office Administrator/Bookkeeper on the accounting software and tasks that he will be taking over for me. Phil is the spitting image of Ryan Seacrest’s slightly younger brother (if Ryan had one, which he doesn’t). Phil is a very quick study, extremely organized and systematic, resourceful, proactive, dedicated and a “git-er-done” kind of guy. I am thrilled to have such a capable person in place so that I can confidently hand things off to him, knowing that issues will be competently addressed and resolved.

We worked until 10 p.m. that first night. We accomplished a great deal. Phil accompanied me halfway to my hotel, turning off after two blocks to catch his train. I walked the last two blocks alone and felt perfectly confident that I would not be mugged. I hate to say it, but I don’t think I would feel as comfortable in Philly at that time of night.

I stole something for the first time in my life. Yes, I admit it. And I don’t even feel bad about it! I arrived at my hotel around 10:15 p.m.  The restaurant had just closed at 10. I had eaten nothing since lunch at 1:00 p.m. I was pothead-with-the-munchies hungry. I was night-before-a-colonoscopy hungry.

On the way to my room I passed a used room-service tray in the hallway that was awaiting removal. A crisp deli-style dill pickle (the kind I love) had been left untouched on the plate and it whispered to me. Okay, it screamed. Hello saliva! I was seriously hungry folks.

I got the ice bucket from my room and passed the pickle once again on my way to the ice/vending machine room. I just knew that pickle would be the perfect compliment to my bag of chips and Butterfinger candy bar dinner.

On the way back to my room I hesitated only for a moment and then snatched that sucker up. I was swallowing the last piece of that pickle even as I slid my keycard into the door of my room. Bliss, I say. Pure bliss! And I saved a perfectly excellent pickle from the utter waste of being thrown uneaten into the garbage.

On Thursday Phil and I only worked until 8:00 p.m. I felt like a slacker! Back at my hotel, in a spurt of decadent self-indulgence, I ordered room service for dinner. I got a Caeser salad with steak tips. They even provided water and ice in a wine glass. I felt unworthy of such royal treatment. I also did not leave a single thing on the tray to be stolen by other wayward hotel guests.

Today is Friday. Phil and I worked hard and fast. We exceeded the expectations I had for this Boston trip. We worked until 4:30. When I walked out the door, happily towing lighter luggage, a cab pulled right up to take me to the airport. Perfect timing.

As I write this I am sitting on the plane (in the air) and will arrive in Philly shortly. I will drive home to my wonderful family and my wonderful bed. I will enjoy my weekend even though it will be packed with must-dos rather than leisure activities.

And I will return to the Paoli office on Monday feeling so much lighter than when I left – in more ways than you know. And on Thursday I travel again to Lake Placid! I am blessed.

Jesse and Lyryn

I am very proud of all six of my children. But let’s face it, they have issues. Everyone (including me!) has issues. Lyryn, my oldest daughter (who turns 27 on August 15^th) was not an especially easy child to raise. She was not a cuddly kid. She was independent and sensitive to the point of fragility. She was an emotional roller-coaster, just as I was myself during my own teen years. She battled feelings of low self-esteem, despite the fact that she was beautiful, funny, talented, smart and loved. 

Lyryn may not have completed a college degree, but she paid for her own wedding when she was only twenty-one. She has been working since she was sixteen, and she was the first immediate family member to buy her own home, pre-dating her parents’ first house purchase by a year.

Lyryn married her childhood sweetheart Jesse. After the birth of Jayden (10/16/07) she suffered deeply from post-partum depression. She no longer recognized the body that had gained sixty pounds during pregnancy, she felt conflicted with her role as a working mother, and she and Jesse had inadvertently become emotionally distanced from one another in a fairly short period of time. That distance ultimately led to a crushing betrayal. Lyryn chose to confront it and acknowledge her role in it. With conviction, she and Jesse chose to recommit to their marriage covenant.

While I am an open book, I never discuss things about other people on my blog without their permission. Lyryn has given me permission to share her story; however her words say it so much better than I ever could. They come from the depths of personal experience and are spoken in her own true voice. I encourage you to read about Lyryn’s journey through her blog. The title of the post is “One Year of Healing” and I am praying that it will encourage you.

I am proud to say that the teenager I once begged God to let me “like,” has become one of my very best friends. I not only love her, but I also like her very, very much. I am so very proud of the woman she is becoming. With each year her wisdom, beauty, humor, compassion and talent (for writing and photography, among other things) seem to grow exponentially.

At her side is the young man I suggested (at the age of twelve) would one day be her husband. I knew he would never bore her. He has earned my deep love and respect for his re-commitment to my daughter, his family, and his God. He remains my beloved son-in-love.

God has used an unbearable situation for good. Lyryn and Jesse have sought Him in crisis, and have been rewarded with mercy and grace. May we all have willing hearts and open minds to whatever it is that God has in store for each one of us. I pray that we will cling to Him as to a bungee cord when leaping off a bridge. We can only enjoy the view if we trust the cord that holds us.

I am officially stupid. I just posted a long, detailed account of finding a cat in my office early one morning this past week. I actually “bought” the concept that it had snuck in when the back door was left open from bringing in the materials for our current renovation project.

But I just heard that tell-tale mewing sound again. Leigha told me it was Brittany’s cell phone and quickly closed Johnna’s bedroom door. I knew better. I opened the door and screeched when I saw that THE CAT CAME BACK!

Does anyone else out there know that old song? Way back in the previous millennium we learned it in Girl Scouts. Recently I have been singing it over and over in my head, thinking the song reminded me a little of Attila, because apparently you couldn’t kill him if you tried. (Not that anyone wants to!)

For the uninitiated, here is an excerpt: 

Okay, so the song is a little dark. And at least one of those countries no longer exists. But I am feeling a little dark now that I have discovered that Leigha has been hiding that cat in my house for a week! 

I feel betrayed. She knows how allergic I am. I assumed that the itchy-horrible-allergy-feeling was due to the spackle dust and open insulation on the second floor. But noooooooo. I was apparently in possession of a cat the whole time and didn’t know it.

I feel fairly certain that the previous squirrel visitation was not “Leigha inspired.” But apparently that kid will do nearly anything to have a pet. Perhaps I should re-visit the whole turtle concept? As far as I know I am not allergic to animals who live in aquariums.

I am going to call Freedom Village RIGHT NOW!

At the ripe age of fifty-one, I find that I am no longer a person who scares easily. Once-upon-a-time I did react to certain events with a significant display of drama. Just ask my siblings about my periodic episodes of childhood histrionics. But over the years, as my life has unfolded, I have become 1) numb, or 2) strengthened by my belief that God is in control.

I have survived a terrifying ten minutes when we ”lost” our beloved three-year-old son Brent on a crowded Atlantic City beach in the height of the summer season. Some kind soul found him wandering through the masses of bodies lying on beach towels, and delivered him to the lifeguard stand. When we joyously discovered him there, he petulantly exclaimed, “You losted me!” Yes, we did - but never again.

I have survived the police at our door, informing us that my beloved father had taken his own life on the steps of the Emergency Room entrance of a local hospital. Compassionate to the end, Daddy did not want a family member to forever hold the gruesome memory of finding his body. After a life-long battle with bi-polar disorder, my father was at peace in heaven with Father God. I knew this because my father knew Him and believed in His gift of eternal life.

I have survived my beloved husband Attila waking me up at 1:00 a.m. (on his own birthday!) with the news that he just might be having a heart attack. Of course he was having a heart attack. Once the projectile vomiting started I was on the phone with 911. I woke Brent up and charged him with the responsibility for the household while we were gone. 

I have survived watching my beloved foster daughter (of two years) return to an environment where we knew she would not be happy and we knew she would not be safe. This same daughter has been returned to us and we anxiously await termination of parental rights, and her legal adoption some time in the next year.

I have survived seeing my beloved grandson (up close and personal) burst through the birth canal, and watching my beloved daughter Johnna literally leap for him with a face full of wonder and joy. Two days later she kept her promise to another couple - a promise that they would be his “forever” parents.

Through all of my life experiences I have been changed. I do not look for trouble as I once did so long ago. Back then, my biggest fear was that the cute boy who sat next to me in my 5th grade math class would not acknowledge my existence by saying “Hi!” to me.

My favorite t-shirt in my closet is the one that states: “You Can’t Scare Me: I Have Children.”  This is especially true of my children. But on Thursday morning, I found myself momentarily TERRIFIED. Hair-standing-on-the-back-of-my-neck terrified (okay, so I am being a little dramatic here).  

From the opposite side of my office came a rustling noise and a creepy   ”meewwwing” sound.  Since we have already had a squirrel in our house (a previous post describes that event in painful detail) I was open to the fact that any creature at all could be in the room with me at that very moment – any creature at all!

The creature had many wonderful places to hide, since the current renovation project has forced all the objects out of the hall closet and into my office. The room has become a veritable hide-and-seek heaven.

I gingerly tiptoed over to the piles of closet-contents and scanned the area as far as my fear would allow. That was not very far - not very far at all.  A second “meewwwing” sound startled me into the hallway, where I called down the steps for Johnna’s sometimes-sleeps-in-my-living-room boyfriend to come rescue me from the unknown. Attila usually handles this stuff for me, but he is currently incarcerated at Freedom Village with a bum leg.

Henry came rushing upstairs as Johnna, Leigha and Brittany poured out of the second floor bedrooms, simultaneously converging on the mystery room. Teens voluntarily becoming vertical at 7:40 a.m. is a miracle by itself. Leigha (who sleeps like the dead) was the first to find the four-legged creature and foist him ceilingward in a gesture of triumph.

“Can we keep him?” she asked. What?!? Had the stork delivered a kitten during the night? Leigha stood there holding an adorable gray and white kitten/cat. He was sort of a teen cat, I guess – not quite an adult and not really a baby anymore.  Apparently we have a neon sign over our door (invisible to adults) that states “All teens welcome here!”

My nose was already beginning to tickle from my allergies. The fur ball was wearing a collar, so I informed Leigha that he obviously has a home where he is loved, and he probably had been extremely missed overnight.

How did said cat get into our house? Leigha admitted that she had left the back door open during the day. To be completely fair, in the midst of bringing in drywall, etc. for the renovation job, it would have been easy for a cat to enter our abode undetected.

What is so darn inviting about our house that makes the creatures of the night want to enter and explore? We have now had one squirrel and one cat check in for an overnight stay at the Balla Hotel. Not to mention all those teenagers who return again and again!

I am just wondering if Freedom Village might let me stay with Attila in his room for a few days. The very name implies freedom from teenagers Am I right? Of course I am.

(Note to Attila: Don’t come home until the toilet works)

Last Sunday was a lovely and peaceful day, or at least it intended to be. It started out spirit-filled, worship and fellowship-full, pain-free, work-free and peace-full. That was, until Attila decided to leap off a five-foot ladder while trimming our nearly eight-foot tall front hedge. 

Sometimes I think Attila does these things just to provide me with stuff  to write about. He recently told me, “I don’t talk to you anymore - I talk to your blog.” I think I may have retorted with something like, ”I have a serious back-log of material so you can feel free to stop supplying me with blog-fodder any time now!” I could use a break. Especially now that Attila has three of them.  

Now back to Sunday - I was just about to begin writing my blog about Johnna, Henry and their baby, when Leigha catapulted into the house screaming “Daddy fell off the ladder!”  For most normal people, this proclamation would strike fear deep in their heart. I know it should probably do that to me, but I have lost count of  how many times Attila has fallen off ladders or down steps. I can’t get excited about stuff until I really HAVE to get excited about stuff, or I would be institutionalized from all the excitement! So I try to approach events with a “let’s just see what is going on first” attitude, before I decide what kind of reaction I am going to have. 

When I arrived at the front of our house I found Attila sitting on his derriere on the concrete sidewalk beside the malevolent ladder. A neighbor was leaning over him asking if he was alright, and Leigha was fluttering around him in a bit of a tizzy. She loves her Daddy so!

Another neighbor arrived on the scene. And I saw Jane Yacoe come walking up from Lyryn and Jesse’s house at the end of our block. Jesse showed up too. There was a lot of blood dripping from Attila’s head, but it was merely a flesh-wound. All drama – no real pain or contusion.

Jesse asked Leigha for some first aid supplies and suggested that I pull the car around for a trip to the ER. It wasn’t looking like Attila could put any weight on his right foot at all. So Jesse and two neighbors lifted him into the back seat of my private ambulance. Attila wore his band-aid bonnet and groaned every time there was the slightest movement of his right ankle.

Typical for us, we laughed a lot during the drive. We have made this drive soooo many times before. We agreed that we should at least consider moving to Paoli. We could live mere minutes away from my new job as well as our favorite hospital.

I reminded Attila that he has fallen off ladders and/or steps at least seven times in the past. He denied this vehemently, but had to concede once I began listing each occurrence. One of those times he broke a toe. He said, “That one was okay because we got a toe truck to come.” I know, funny is relative (especially my relatives). In crisis, we choose to laugh at everything. It helps to soothe the aching disorientation and feelings of helplessness.   

I told Attila that he is not permitted to climb ladders anymore. My heart can’t take it. He said, “We just have to get a bigger ladder.” (Okay, I seriously had no idea what he meant by that.) My immediate response was, “So you can fall from higher heights?” 

I asked Attila how this unfortunate accident occurred. He told me that he started losing his balance while trimming the hedge. He didn’t want to fall into the bush and impale his transplanted kidney on some freakishly large (and sharp) branch, so he decided to “leap” in the other direction and land on his feet on the concrete sidewalk instead. Say, WHAT? I don’t know how all of this could possibly go through his mind in a split second, but he tells me this is what he was thinking, and he hasn’t lied to me in thirty years (as far as I know).

So just like the “cat with nine lives” that Attila is, he landed on his feet, yet again. Or should I say foot, then keister, then head.

The new ER at Paoli Hospital just opened up. It is lovely and all the rooms are private. Attila had an x-ray taken and was given pain medication. The doctor came in to inform us that Attila broke his fibula and two tibiae in his right ankle. The bones were displaced and surgery was required to straighten them out.

Attila was given some dinner and admitted to the hospital. Surgery happened on Monday night around 6:00pm. He was the last patient to be operated on in the “old” OR, and the last person to sleep in Rm 413.

Tuesday morning was the big move out of the old wing of Paoli Hospital into the new orthopaedic wing. Attila was the first person to sleep in Room 4009. He asked the nurses if he got a prize for that! Sadly, the answer was no. We are totally bummed.

Tuesday Attila had to get his post-surgery ankle painfully manipulated into proper position and casted. He told me that he screamed. My heart aches for my man when he aches. And especially if screaming is involved!

I called Attila from my office that afternoon. I asked him if he still had my work number and he told me that he left the paper he wrote it on in his old room. I suggested that he ask the nurse for a pen. He continued to ask me for the number so I asked him why he needed it since he didn’t have anything to write with. He told me that he was going to write out the numbers with the onions from his sandwich. He wasn’t kidding. Really. He was totally serious. He is hiLARious!

When the nurse returned with the pen, I asked her if Attila had low blood sugar since he sounded a bit daffy to me. She said that he had received a rather high dose of pain medication and assured me that he was acting perfectly normal under the circumstances. I thought Attila was actually very creative because onions certainly can be pulled apart to form numbers. I just didn’t think he would have enough rings to form the entire phone number!

Attila was transferred to Freedom Village on Wednesday. It is a skilled nursing facility (aka Senior Living Center) where he is receiving rehab until he is able to get around on his own. I think he sort of enjoys being the youngest guy in the place (for a change!).

My good friend Mrs. Alexander called me yesterday. I updated her on Attila’s latest shenanigans. She said that when Mr. Alexander turned 85 she sold his ladders. She suggested that I sell Attila’s ladders before he gets home.

Anyone in the market for a good five-foot ladder? It sounds like we might actually be getting a taller one.

I haven’t yet had the chance to put down in words all that has happened this week. It is a beautiful story that deserves to be shared. It is the story of four wonderful parents and one perfect baby boy. I will let Lyryn tell the story first:

The Story of a Girl (written by my beautiful daughter Lyryn Yacoe)

Let me tell you the story about a girl…

A girl who made one choice not to take a life, to cover up a mistake
A girl who spent 9 months not wanting to make the same mistakes as her (birth) mother
A girl who knew there was something better for that bundle of love growing inside her
A girl who chose to bless a family with a gift, they couldn’t have on their own
A girl who did one selfless act, to give this little person she loves so much everything
A girl who grew in love and compassion in just a matter of months
A girl who became a woman, when she laid herself down for another
A girl who gave birth to a beautiful baby boy named Dylan at 4:34am on July 8th 2009

  That girl… is my sister.

Johnna, I can’t put into words how amazing you are. You have blossomed into such a mature woman and I can’t wait to see what kind of plans God has for you. I am so proud of who you have become and who you will continue to be. Your strength is inspiring and I’m so blessed to call you sister! I love you!

I’ve just completed the best (and most fun) first-week-on-the-job in ‘Kristin History.’ I freely admit that my first day (June 15th) began with just a smidgen of anxiety. I was scheduled to meet with the Managing Director of a Five Winds joint venture company located in Boston. I am their new Controller too.

Upon my arrival at the Paoli office I met with my new boss Curt (Five Winds COO). I have a gut feeling that it will be effortless to form a good working relationship. Curt introduced me to the other consultants in the office. All welcomed me warmly and I felt at home right away.

When the Boston dude arrived for our meeting I was thrilled to find that I clearly understood his questions, as well as the issues and general discussion. From a financial management perspective, Five Winds is nearly identical to my former company (TSD). I feel as though I have something to contribute. What a blessing! God truly is in the details.

Five Winds is a management consulting firm specializing in environmental and social responsibility issues. Their web site states “We appreciate that sustainability – like competitiveness – isn’t a fixed goal; it’s an ongoing endeavor, a journey that can lead to a wealth of new opportunities. Our aim is to help organizations access those opportunities and strive for what we call ‘value without burden’.”

My dad owned a management consulting firm when I was growing up. That universe feels so familiar to me. I am experiencing a sweet sense of come-full-circle irony. I have landed in my father’s business, for what I hope will be the last (but longest!) job in my career.  

I went to lunch with Curt and the three other women in the office. What a sweet, down-to-earth group of people! (I know it is only my first impression, but historically they have been reasonably accurate.) I’m almost certain that there is not even one serial killer among these people. I am looking forward to building a positive working relationship with each person. 

Tuesday morning found me at the Philadelphia airport awaiting my  flight to Ottawa, Ontario. The plane had mechanical issues so we were delayed about an hour. I sat happily reading the book “God Allows U-Turns.”

It was raining when we left Philly, but Ottawa greeted me with cool sunshine – a perfect day! I involuntarily shivered with the old (nearly forgotten) thrill of setting foot on international soil. Okay. That does sound really dorky. But it’s true. And sometimes, TRUE is dorky.

I had such a case of wanderlust as a kid. That is why I traveled to 23 countries before the age of 22 (in my previous post I forgot to include my mission trip to Guatemala). I thought that thirty-one children, Fibromyalgia, medical crises, personal tragedy and twenty-nine years of life’s challenges, had all but erased that part of my personality. Not so! It had simply lain dormant for so long that I came to believe it had been extinguished. Apparently, the fire lives on.

Ottawa has a fairly small, easy-to-maneuver airport. I picked up my rental car (a cute three-door Hyundai) and drove to the Five Winds office on Wellington Street, with nary a false turn. Since everything is in kilometers I had to watch my speedometer to make sure I didn’t get a ticket. Attila would be amused by that, but our bank account would have been annoyed. 

I met Susanne (the current Controller) and felt instant connection and, dare I say it? - recognition. After our phone interview the previous week Susanne had told her colleagues, “Kristin is my clone!” Even though Susanne grew up in another country, English is not her first language, she is more than a decade younger than me, and she is strikingly beautiful, I feel like we are twins who were separated at birth! Weird, I know.

Susanne even prefers winter over summer (as I do), and I think she just might talk faster than me! We will test that one out when she attends our family dinner this coming Wednesday night. She will be flying down to PA to complete this work transition with me.  The files were Fed-exed on Friday.

The next four days sped by. Susanne trained me on how Five Winds does things and I felt relaxed and in total sync the entire time. I marveled at how closely her spreadsheets resembled ones I had created for TSD. As I listened to her handle phone calls, I was amazed at how closely her words matched what might have come out of my own mouth. I became increasingly confident about my ability to hit the ground running when I totally assume the Controller role on July 1st.

Tuesday night Susanne took me home for dinner. Her brand new townhouse is gorgeous and I found myself guiltily lusting after the built-in espresso machine in her sparkling kitchen. We chattered effortlessly, endlessly. She asked me if she had peeled enough potatoes for five. I responded, “I wouldn’t know! My husband does all the cooking. I have a pre-nup.” She gets my odd sense of humor.

When Susanne’s husband of six-months arrived home from work, I instantly recognized a fellow Kristin/Attila coupling. Francis is quiet and reserved, in bold contrast to Susanne’s effervescence and rapid-fire speech. It’s a pretty good combination if I do say so myself!

Susanne’s twelve and thirteen-year-old sons joined us for dinner. I found them to be charming, intelligent and humorous. I saw the same qualities in Francis. I enjoyed my time with all of them tremendously and it was not simply due to the fact that I was served a delicious dinner combined with to-die-for brownie pie and decaf espresso for dessert. I’m not that easy. Okay, maybe I am, but I also really had fun! The sound of the huge pet rabbit scampering over the hardwood floors of the dining room only added to the charm of the evening.

Everything went remarkably smoothly the entire week. I did not get lost finding my hotel in downtown Ottawa. I got enough sleep each night, enough caffeine each morning, and navigated to and from the office each day without mishap.

I ate lunch with my new co-workers, discovering humor, intelligence, passion and more. I talked waaaayyy to much but no one seemed to take offense (thank you for your indulgence, my new Ottawa friends!). On Friday I departed, feeling like part of the team, and grateful. So grateful.

I returned my rental car and got through customs and to the gate with plenty of time to spare. I read completely through two Guideposts magazines. My flight was delayed due to mechanical issues with the plane a g a i n. I was stunned when my flight was ultimately cancelled. I had really wanted to be home by Friday night, but it is what it is.

I am not a fan of whining. I heard too much of it spitting into the air as we were all escorted back to check-in. The next flight to Philly was at 6:52 Saturday morning. I opted to take the 11:30 a.m. flight. If I am going to lose my Saturday, I may as well get to sleep in.

Our luggage was retrieved and we were taken by shuttle bus to a recently built Holiday Inn Express. My room was gorgeous. I called home to update the troops.

Saturday morning I took the shuttle back to the airport for a dejavu round of “take me home!” My flight was delayed about an hour due to fog conditions in Philadelphia. It was fine. I made it home in time to go on a date with my hubby (along with two of our kids and their spouses). Life is good.

Tomorrow I go back to the Paoli office. I am really hoping they have found a place to put me. And a desk would be really awesome!

My passport expired in 1987. That is the year our son Declan was born! My old passport contains tangible proof that I have personally set foot on the soil of Canada, Mexico, Panama, Ecuador, Columbia, Venezuela, Antigua, Bahamas, Puerto Rico, England, Wales, Spain, Austria, Germany, Hungary, Greece, Italy, Romania, Turkey, Yugoslavia, Bulgaria and Czechoslovakia. Some of these places are not even countries anymore! Most of them were visited BA (Before Attila) and BC (Before Children).

This past Friday I experienced a heavy dose of Philly Delight. I needed to get an expedited passport at the US Passport Office for my new job which starts on Monday, June 15th. On my way to 200 Chestnut Street, City of Brotherly Love and Terrible Drivers, I inadvertently drove over the Ben Franklin bridge into Camden, NJ. It was not exactly what I had in mind, but I am not religiously opposed to detours now and then.

I found my way back to the correct state (woo hoo!). I pulled into a spot in a large parking garage and immediately began conversing with a woman who was getting out of a car near me (in certain countries this could be considered assault with a deadly weapon).

She was heading to the Passport Office as well, and knew her way out of the garage. I hitched a ‘ride’ by her side. She and her husband are missionaries who are returning to Ecuador to plant a church. (I know. You aren’t supposed to talk to strangers. I can’t help myself.)

Chatting happily together, we entered the security line in the Federal building. I had to leave my new friend prematurely when my brutal honesty forced me to admit to the guard that I did indeed have a nail file in my purse. I actually had two of them in there. (Don’t ask why. Things just have a way of mysteriously multiplying in my presence. Remember the lamps in my old TSD office? And have you counted my children lately?)

I left the building and tossed the tiny weapons of mass destruction into the nearest trash can. Note to self: Buy new nail file for purse! I returned to the Federal building with a clean conscience and a safe purse.

My appointment was set for 12:30 p.m. I made it to the window at 3:00 p.m. Heavy sigh. They said it would take at least another hour until the passport was actually made. Where are all the passport-construction elves when you need them?

I had not eaten all day, so I took my receipt and headed across the street to buy a real Philly cheese steak for brunchdin (breakfast, lunch and dinner). I found an open bench under a row of trees and planted myself there for a spell. Sunshine had replaced the early rain and there was a delightful breeze. I felt oddly content.

I tossed the empty bag and aluminum foil into the receptacle that also contained my nail files, and returned to the waiting area of the Passport Office. At 4:45 p.m. I finally left the building, passport in hand. I felt slightly jubilant, with a freaky sense of excitement tickling the back of my neck.

Finding my way into the parking garage was no easy task since I had not paid much attention on my way out of there (jabbering with my missionary friend).  I forgot to press ‘receipt’ at the payment machine and had to push the ‘help’ button. A disembodied voice assured me that they would have a receipt ready for me on my way out. I had fifteen minutes to find my car.

My ‘Find Your Car!’ adventure ate up nearly every one of those precious fifteen minutes. I had to check several levels of the garage, and use my remote trunk opener just to locate my beige beast of burden. What joy washed over me as I heard the familiar “eee eee” responding to my silent call.

I switched my cell phone back on and almost immediatly received a  call from a teenager (in tears) and then a second call from another teenager  wondering where I was, and when exactly would I be home? I hate cell phones.

I needed to call my new boss to let him know that my passport mission was successful. Of course the traffic lights on Walnut Street were timed in my favor and I cruised right through, leaving no time to dial my cell. By now it was closing in on 5:30 p.m.

When I finally reached Curt on my cell I missed my turn onto 676 N and drove in a huge circle to get back to where I needed to be. I am pretty good at multi-tasking, but city traffic and cell phones just don’t mix. Driving in Philadelphia in rush hour made me feel like an idiot and a grown-up all at the same time. I’m not sure I want to be either one!

So… on Monday I begin my new job as the Controller for Five Winds International, an environmental management consulting firm. While the corporate headquarters is located in Paoli, PA (where I will be working under the fairly new COO) the out-going Controller works out of the Ottawa, Ontario office. I am flying there on Tuesday to train with her for the rest of next week. She will fly to the US the following week so that we can complete the transition as efficiently as possible.

It will be awesome to actually be transitioned at all! My work experiences have typically consisted of ‘thrown into the fire and work your way out’ situations.

It is possible that my updated employment status is due in part to my brother Bryn’s advice to buy a “more professional-looking” interview outfit (and eldest daughter Lyryn taking me shopping to pick one out). Apparently my old outfit was outdated and inappropriate for today’s business environment. Decide for yourself. Feel free to comment – you know you want to!

Original Interview Outfit

Updated Interview Outfit

Okay people. You are lucky I leave the house wearing a bra!

So… I am happy to be gainfully employed once more. I am thrilled to adjust my morning routine so that it no longer includes the daily perusal of countless classified ads on a multitude of  job seeker web sites. After months of unemployment my ‘Job Search’ notebook is full and a new journey in my life is about to begin. I reluctantly say “goodbye” to sleeping in, but happily say “hello” to earning a real paycheck again.

During this unscheduled sabbatical I have had the glorious opportunity to put a real dent in my personal to-do list. I have spent quality time rekindling old friendships, strengthening critical family relationships, and making new connections. I have no regrets.

I am excited about meeting new people and acquiring knowledge in a field I know little about. I am hoping that the new information won’t shove the basics out of my brain (things like walking and chewing gum at the same time).

And I am NOT giving up on writing my book. Really. I’m serious. Stop laughing! Okay, now you are starting to annoy me. You know who you are! :-}

Latest Google Searches that pulled up my blog:

So why does this stuff amuse me? I don’t know exactly. It just does. I have said it before and I’ll say it again, my natural ability to be easily amused has got to be one of God’s most wonderful gifts to me. Thank you Lord!

Another thing that amuses me are some of the ads  people place on www.freecycle.org. Freecycle is an organization that has 4,753 groups with 6,767,000 members across the globe. I belong to the Chester County group and receive a fairly constant stream of emails alerting me to free objects that people have available for pick-up.

This is a group for people who firmly believe that we should attempt to limit what we put into our landfills (but secretly we just want free stuff). We acknowledge that “one man’s trash is another man’s treasure.” I personally have received some treasure, and discarded some trash! 

Anything and everything (except for forbidden items such as alcohol, porn, weapons, etc.) are up for grabs on Freecycle. Some samples:

Through Freecycle, I have acquired one computer (old, but usable), several audio books, a folding exercise machine that taunts me unrelentingly, and one guinea pig cage. I have unloaded  all my vinyl records from the 70’s, one hamster cage, and one guinea pig cage.

I can’t wait to see what I can keep out of a landfill today! I will keep you posted on my fabulous acquisitions. And check out www.freecycle.org yourself. Perhaps you are desperately short on hangers?