I have no memories of my Granddad. This isn’t really surprising since he passed away when I was only six months old. Both of my Dad’s parents had gone by the time I was born. My Grammie lived until 1992 but she lived in Utah and, unfortunately, I didn’t see her much before her death.

Growing up, I’d always ask my Mom for stories about my Granddad and what he was like. I know he loved Spam (something his granddaughter did not inherit). I know my he and my Grammie got married on Easter Day. When I was a little baby down in Utah visiting my grandparents, I cut my fingers on a razor blade. The nurse was helping my Granddad shave and, in a moment of baby brilliance, I swatted at the blade when she was switching it out for a new sharp one. Mom told me Granddad cried for me and the gut-wrenching guilt he felt that is had happened.

In elementary when we started to learn about World War II I went home to my Mom and told her all I had learned that day. I was surprised to discover when we started to learn about Pearl Harbor that my Granddad had been there. Not only had he been there but he was on the USS Dobbin— the ship next to the Arizona.

This weekend my Mom was visiting after some training here on the east coast and I asked her for more details about what happened to Granddad during Pearl Harbor. Where was Grammie and my uncles? What was his rank? What exactly did he do during the war? As we munched on pizza the night before my Mom’s departure she told the small details that she had been told growing up and a small part of my Granddad’s life.

My Granddad was the officer of the day on the USS Dobbin the day Pearl Harbor was attacked. My Grammie was living on Hawaii at the time with my uncles Craig (six and a half) and Howard (six months old). Craig could remember until his death in 1994 hearing and seeing the kamikaze pilots headed toward the harbor and sounds of the attack. Worried, he ran to find Grammie to tell her of what he saw and heard on the pineapple farm where they were residing. Undaunted and displaying the no non-sense characteristics my Mom inherited, Grammie told Craig to go the market and get a loaf of bread and milk for later. Grammie called the base saying her husband was suppose to be off at 11a.m. that morning and could she possibly speak to him? Whoever answered the phone informed her he wouldn’t be home and hung up.

I can only imagine a fraction of the horrors that my Granddad probably witnessed at Pearl Harbor. Mom told me the only detail he ever revealed was that body parts rained down from the sky as the world around him blew up. Grammie finally got word Monday night that Granddad had survived where so many others had perished.

Granddad went on from Hawaii to Aleutians and then into the South Pacific. He went in with the pre-landing forces at Bougainville and some other battle sites to set up communications to direct landing forces. His speciality was radio communications. At the end of the war he was a part of Admiral Halsey’s staff and one of the higher ranking Admirals in the Pacific.

One story he liked to tell his children (something my Mom related with a big smile on her face) was the time he literally got ants in his pants. Not a smoker, Granddad would trade his cigarette rations for candy and store them in his pants… until red ants decided to crawl inside his pants to get the candy. Never again did he store candy in his pants.

I wish I could have known my Granddad and what a dynamic person he was. The historian within me wishes his memories and stories could have been recorded before his passing. I know he saw the horrors that man-kind did to each other during the war and he carried a heavy burden for all that he saw. When I was sixteen I was still living as an exchange student in Japan and went to Hiroshima on Christmas day. The devastation of war and how all sides ralliy themselves and pull together after such devastation boggles my mind and fills me with awe at the wonders of what we can do together.

Yesterday, I watched the movie Pearl Harbor and got choked up knowing my Granddad was there, lived through it, and went on to live a full life who could cry for his granddaughters cut fingers when he had witnessed so much.

To the veterans out there: thank you, and you’re sacrifices and honor are very much appreciated.

Technorati Tags: memorial tag, veterans, war stories, world war II, WWII, grandparents, grandfather

Brutus got declawed over two weeks ago. The vet (not knowing our cat was evil incarnate) shaved a square patch of fur near his shoulders to put a pain patch on him to help Brutus cope. Two weeks later he’s feeling better but his vanity is getting the better of him in regards to his buzzed patch.

Jon: (as he pets Brutus) Poor guy, he’s seems to be pretty sensitive about his buzzed patch.

Me: Probably doesn’t help that I keep touching it and laughing.

Technorati Tags: cats, conversations, vanity, diva, lol, humbling experiences

People with egos drive me crazy. It has always been something that has bothered me to the core of my being and makes me grind my teeth in frustration. I don’t get why people feel the need to make others feel like shit while they rule over you with their supreme powers of awesome. Sure, I get that some people know their stuff and are really good at what they do and thus the ego is justifiable. However, do you really need to choke me with it?

By nature I’m a fairly modest person. I have a moderate self-esteem and, most of the time, don’t think very highly of my work. I’m my own worse critic. Constantly I push myself further, harder, knowing that while that certain something I did was good, it could have been better. If only I had read so-and-so’s article it would have given be better insight into this project! If only I hadn’t taken time to read that article I could have instead been practicing this skill set. Why are there never enough hours in the day for me to improve on all the things that interest me?

When complimented on something I’ve done, I turn shy and either self depreciate the piece of work or else be a smart ass and say something like “Of course, because I am amazing and a goddess divine.” Despite what people assume— that it is a false sense of modesty while I fish for compliments— that is not the case. While I do love getting compliments (since, come on, who doesn’t?) I wonder what they would think if they could see something amazing I have done, instead of the mediocre piece they see before them. I guess I am admitting I’m a perfectionist. Whatever my finished product is, as soon as I have completed it with my blood, guts, and soul intertwined into it I always think: I could have done better.

A weird personality quirk is that I can take critique in the professional environment and work with it. I go into work with the attitude of it being a learning experience where I can absorb the knowledge of those around me and get ideas I wouldn’t otherwise have thought of. When it comes to my personal, off-the-clock, and purely for me type projects critique can be often soul-crushing. I’ve been upset when people remark on typos and a few grammar errors here since I have poured my heart and soul into here and honestly have tried. Instead of shutting down, however, I work through it and work harder to make myself better. I read through it ten times, double checking, and have my amazing boyfriends read through it before it gets posted.

What gets my goat (baa) is people who have the sense of huge accomplishment and worth when, frankly, they kind of suck at what they think they are amazing at. Sure, their creations could be amazing in their eyes but when the majority can’t see why this person thinks they are “da shit”, it says something. In the art field, especially while going through the ropes of the educational system, I met MANY an individual who thought they were Gods Gifts to All Things Artistic. The expression “they think their shit does not stink” fit these individuals to a T. They’d boost up their work to such heights and expectations when you finally saw their projects and skill set you were like “well, isn’t that a crushing disappointment.”

I’ve seen people strangled by their own ego. The people who think they are the best of the best often are very closed minded to critique and outside influences. Some students I took classes with at the beginning of my art school education would later disappear, failing their classes for their refusal to learn something other than their own ideas. The students would feel that the school was trying to “break their artistic spirit” and make them “conform.” I ask them why they bothered spending money for an education they were unwilling to partake in?

I wish people wouldn’t let their egos get the best of them. Many an individual who is “open-minded” are often closed-minded and will talk down to me if my views are different from their own, especially in regards to their work or ideas. We can all learn from each other. There is always room for improvement, always room to grow. If you open your mind you can learn so much. Why stunt yourself by letting your own ego get in the way of forward progression?

Technorati Tags: egos, artistic differences, close-minded individuals, creative expression, critique, education, team work, modesty

I cannot forget my mother,
She is my bridge.
- Renita Weems

I am, in many ways, a carbon copy of my Mother. We look alike (minus the coloring which I inherited from my Dad), talk alike (except my voice is more monotone), write alike, and have very similar personalities. My Mom can be very no non-sense but has an amazing sense of humor. When the occasion calls for it she can be a sarcastic smartass which, of course, she blames on and says she learned from her five children.

My Mom is my role model in life. Before I do something I wonder what my Mom would think, how she would act, and use her to judge the merits of a situation. She is the first person I call when I’m overjoyed, when I’m sad, and anything major happens in my life. She knows the words to say when I call in tears over something. She offers sound advice, opinions, but never tells me what I have to do. She is my teacher and wants me to live my life for myself. She is my best friend and my best Mother. I couldn’t have scored a better Mom since in my opinion there is none better.

With an amazing tolerance, she has put up with a lot of crap my brothers and I have done through the years (finger pointed mostly at the brothers, of course). She has let us spread our wings and fly at a young age. Mom let us fall and scrape our knees with the knowledge she would be there to kiss our injuries better and push us forward again. Mom makes us examine the situations not as failures but rather learning experiences. She backed me 100% when, at fifteen, I decided to move abroad for a year as an exchange student in Japan. Mom kept me informed of the happenings at home in the States and loved getting my letters back (teasing me as my English progressively got worse from lack of use). Walking up the escalators upon arriving back she had written “Welcome Home” in Japanese in a long banner my family had hung up. I felt more loved (and embarrassed) in my life seeing that sign before my Mom wrapped her arms around me to welcome me back. A mothers loving embrace.

Encouraging, she pushes me forward in my pursuits. When I decided to go to art school instead of a regular four-year, she encouraged that route and helped me pursue my dreams. After working the field for a year I decided to go back to school which required me to move out of state (seeing as my art school didn’t have the Bachelors). With a smile on her face she and Dad helped me pack the last items into the moving van at four in the morning the day of departure. Even now, at twenty-four, when I do something artistic or major in my life she is the first person I will show. I respect her opinion and she’ll give me an honest critique. She’s taught me to take the critique as not a personal attack but rather as something to expand upon, work on, and perfect in my road to learning all that interests me. This characteristic has helped me so much professionally (both creatively and in working with others).

She is one of the most creative people I know. Two rooms in my parents house have been taken over by her quilting. A childhood memory of mine is having quilts all over the house, lovingly pieced together by Mom to give us warmth and love in times of need. They made excellent forts when I was little. She taught me how to quilt and knows I can do it but lack the patience. A fond memory in 1997 when we were visiting England was her teaching me how to do origami quilted flowers so I could help her with sewing them (and probably shut me up from complaining “are we there yet?”).

The older I get the more I realize I am turning into my Mother. If I even turn out to be half the woman my Mom is I’ll consider myself lucky.

To my Mother, best friend, and instructor on all the fine points in life: I love you and enjoy your day. You are loved and cherished by your baby girl.

I remember my mother’s prayers and they have always followed me. They have clung to me all my life.
- Abraham Lincoln

Technorati Tags: mothers day, mom, mother and daughter, relationships, family, mom, mother and daughter relationships, to my Mom, mother’s daughter

I can admit I am a crazy cat lady. Cats have always been a part of my life. From an early age, I was fascinated with the independent creatures. Their soft fur, charm, and ability to know just when you need a good cuddle enthralled me and made them my soul creature. I used to chase them around the house, trying to catch them, and learning to respect them when they scratched my face for being a little shit.

My first cat that was personally “Anne’s cat” was named Charlie. My family adopted him and his sister, Cleo, when I was around five years old. Charlie was not my number one fan for a few years. Yes, he was my cat, but remember what I said above how I liked to chase cats? This was a major turn off for many of them. As all kids learn to understand, pets are fragile and different from toys. You love, care, and treat pets like the family they are. You don’t get rid of the cat for scratching the kid; you teach the kid to not push the cat’s buttons and learn to read their moods. As I calmed down with age, Charlie bonded with me and followed me around, my practical shadow.

I’ve experienced the joy of being parts of these cats lives and felt the crushing soul-wretching agony and despair when one would pass away. I’d sink into a hole of agony with the passing of each cat knowing they were taking a part of me with them in death. They’d always be a part of my life, and helped shape me through their teachings and love. Even now, years after many have passed, I get tears in my eyes over the thought of the lost family members— but grateful for the time I was with them.

In this regard I dislike my fellow man for many of them disregarding and treating pets as lower creatures. Each time I hear or read stories of people who give up their pets since they can’t “handle it,” I want to punch them in the face and call them selfish bastards who didn’t deserve the creatures anyway. When I hear stories of people killing animals or harming them in any way, a white rage fills my body and I have to restrain myself from hunting these individuals down and doing eye for an eye. Those who harm creatures deserve the same, to be locked away and the key thrown out. Harsh you may say? Well, harsh is what I’d use to describe their treatment of a defenseless creature that trusted them.

Some people will say animals don’t have feelings and “aren’t human” but each animal in my opinion has a soul and depth of emotions that often surpass many individuals I have met. My cats are so full of personality and weird little quirks it’s hard to think of them as “cats” but rather as members of the family. We have the worrier (Blue), the diva (Brutus), and the talkative youngster (Bucky). Each of them share their lives with Mack and I and enrich them for letting us be their “owners” (or rather, their slaves).

As I write this, I’m filled with equal parts rage and deep sadness in regards to situations relating to cats today. I got an email this morning from someone looking to find a new home for a cat. This individual knows I’m crazy cat lady and take good care of my family so thought to ask me for a solution to the situation. The cat in question used to be her boyfriend’s cat, however she is very allergic to the cat so found it a new home with a friend. Well, the friend is pregnant and very selfish. The friend ends up pregnant and decides she doesn’t want to “deal” with the cat and baby and tells the original owner she is throwing the cat out on the street this weekend if she does not find a solution. There is, of course, differing stories depending on the party which you are talking to.

I get that you’re pregnant and can’t “deal” with it but seriously? I won’t even go into how livid I am about that situation. I am sure you have a fairly good idea.

My deep sadness comes from tonight. While Mack and I were heading to Blockbuster, we spotted a dead kitten in the road, apparently a hit and run. Left there with no dignity in death— my heart bled and we turned around to at least move it out of the road so it wouldn’t be continually hit and left with no respect. Using one of my sweatshirts in the back, Mack gingerly moved the kitten (who was probably a feral kitten) out of the road so it wouldn’t suffer any further disgrace. (And yes, I’m currently washing the sweatshirt that was used to move the body).

I guess what angers me is knowing that kitten was a product of neglect, of someone deciding they couldn’t “deal” with a cat and throwing it out into nature to breed and create more feral cats. Kittens and cats who don’t have a chance at love, a chance at a home, a chance at life since someone is too selfish to deal with other beings other than themselves.

I’m saddened by my fellow man tonight and wish people would get their heads out of their asses and realize that animals, like them, have feelings and deserve a chance at love and family, too.

Technorati Tags: animals, pets, house pets, feral cats, crazy cat lady, animals as family, disregard for animals, empathy, sickened by humanity, selfish natures

Typically I don’t write about work. However, this past Thursday, once again the state of the economy and job market found its way into my life. It shook me to the core, left me in tears, and with a feeling of uncertainty and fear for the future. Everyone is suffering at this time with the state of things, from major to minor things, so I thought I’d share my story of the economy and how it is affecting my life.

At the beginning of December of last year, my company laid off a bunch of employees. It was a small taste of the times and what a shitty economic time we’re going through. It was hard seeing people I had grown to know in my time there depart and a very stressful week overall. I was new to the company. Wouldn’t that mean, by default, that I’d be one of the first to go? I made it through the first cut shaken, scared, but still there.

In the subsequent months, I lasted through two more rounds of layoffs. Each time more of my dear coworkers tasted the bitter disappointment of the times and many of them showed me the strength of those who face adversary with their chins up and an attitude of “Well, this sucks. Onto the next!” I admired them for standing tall and proud, though I knew inside they were overcome with the fear of the unknown.

As bad as this sounds, I knew I’d be one of the last ones to go. It’s not that I’m particularly amazing or anything, but I had worked myself into a position where I was design, coding, and maintenance of the back-end of the company’s website. The girls who worked close to me, who became my friends, would joke about this fact using humor to mask the fear of who is next.

I grew quite close to the girls who worked next to me. We became good friends, joking around, having an ear to listen to me as I adjust to the south and the dull ache of missing my family and the loneliness of having to find a new set of friends in a new area. We’d do lunch together, share books, and talk of our dreams for life and the future. Pulling together, we’d do our best work with humor, elbow grease, and hold together the glue of the company while we feared for our jobs.

This past Thursday it all came crashing down.

That day, I did a short lunch break at a coffee shop we’d frequent on our daily “sanity breaks” (our phrasing for the ten minute breaks away from the tension and mile-a-minute pace of having to get shit done) with one of my coworkers. We discussed the upcoming weekend, Mack and my transition to having a roommate, and other mundane topics we’d normally discuss. A week previous, I had given my two weeks notice with the company. I missed Seattle so I went back to my old company, who allowed me to telecommute making it easy for the time when Mack and I would move back. The girls and I talked about how we’d survive without each other and my “smart ass humor” no longer being there.

We arrived back at the office in time for the one o’clock meeting. In our office building, two companies reside in the same space. Both companies are owned by the same parent company and often help each other out. By “help each other out”, in regards to me, I worked mornings for one company and the afternoon for the other. It was highly stressful but life is life. Since it was one o’clock I had been told I was not needed in the first companies meeting. Shrugging after being rejected from the conference room, I went back to my desk where my bosses boss asked to talk to me privately. Intrigued, I followed.

Looking back on it I can’t say the usual phrases like “time seemed to stop” when he delivered the news that my coworkers were in the process of being laid off. He wanted to tell me straight since he knew how close I was to them and he knew I’d be shaken, as they would, so he wanted me to know I could take time this afternoon to be there for them. Shocked, I stepped out of there and ran into my coworker who had been late to the meeting who would be delivered the news next.

Fuck.

Seeing my spooked look, she questioned me and, not knowing what the fuck to do, I knocked over my chai tea all over the floor. As she helped me pick it up I wrestled with if I should tell her or not since she was about to find out anyway. My hand shaking I looked up at her and knew if she had been in my place she would have told me.

“You’re about to get laid off.”

I don’t remember much after that other than the other two girls coming out of the conference room, my other coworker being called in, and me having to go to the other companies meeting where the news would be delivered again. After the meeting, I had my shit together still, until I saw the retreating backs of my coworkers as they left the building and I burst into tears as I ran to them. Smiling, they started crying and called me an idiot since they hadn’t cried until they saw me cry.

Together (after I went upstairs and grabbed my purse and burst into tears again) we went to pub for a pint, united in grief but feeling as though a huge weight had been lifted. It’s a sign of the times. The economy sucks. Jobs are scarce. I’m lucky I was able to go back to my old company. I felt horrible as we downed our pints knowing I had given my two weeks and had another job to go back to while they would have to start sifting through this shitty market.

To my girls and those who have lost their jobs in this economy: I raise a pint for you and know better times and opportunities are yet to come.

Technorati Tags: economy, job market, bad economy, laid off, jobless, coworkers, coworkers laid off, this sucks, shitty situation

This is a chat that happened on messenger and made me die a little on the inside:

Me: My brother is an ER doctor and was convinced today was a good day due to only 1/3 of his patients being convinced they had the swine flu.

P: HAHAHHAA pp r do dumb

Technorati Tags: stupid, bad spelling, fear for humanity, lol, swine flu