Luke Patrick McQuady
December 16, 1995 to November 23, 2009
RIP, my baby Luke.
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
Monday, August 31, 2009
A weekend day for every week day
Today I'm wondering, what if we had a weekend day for every week day? I always come in on Mondays hyped up, ready to go. Then by Friday I'm exhausted and ready to just go away. I'd take a three-day weekend to a four-day (32-hour) week even. It wouldn't be equal, but it would be great.
I'm just off a fabulous weekend, as you probably guessed, and I'm trying to hold onto the good vibes.
I had the thrill of accomplishment when working on two essays that I need to finish and submit for possible publication. That filled a need as deep as the need for rest, which I also did.
On Saturday, I cried a lot. This was a good and cleansing cry. And a grieving cry. The Kennedy family has been instrumental in my development as the person I am today. I know about their shadow side, and I suppose with great achievements and talents comes great flaws. But it's those achievements and talents I admire, especially in their public service to the poor and underprivileged and those without voices. They could empathize and sympathize and have compassion for the people on the fringe of society. And their faith, especially that of Rose, helped me to find a faith of my own, one that deepened during the hard times, one that was grounded in something real. I watched the funeral mass for Senator Kennedy and later in the day the services in front of the Capitol and at the grave site, and I cried and sometimes sobbed. Not only has the last of Joe and Rose's four sons been laid to rest and the next to last of all their children, but something else died with Ted, something I can't quite put my finger on yet. I cried for that something as much as the loss of the man. Thank you, Teddy, for your
On Sunday, I listened to an audio book titled, A WEEKEND TO CHANGE YOUR LIFE. I'd listened to Joan Anderson's other book last week, A YEAR BY THE SEA, and was left with questions and a gnawing disappointment more than anything. That's why I didn't expect much from the Weekend book. At first, it did seem pretty basic. But something caught and now I need to listen to it again--or maybe I need to read it. The book gave me a theme for my day.
COURAGE.
In order to live the life I want to live, I may need to summon the courage to do some things that society frowns upon (nothing illegal or immoral, of course). I may need to do that which practical people, those who live comfortably in the way the world says things should be and who never question that way, won't understand. But what if that's the only way to the path I'm supposed to be on?
And this isn't easy for me. I spent years being the person who comformed to society's norms. Being radical, making choices outside the rules, that wasn't me. But America's founding father's broke the rules and stepped outside the norm of society and their government; to those in charge of the norm, they were traitors, their every act illegal. Hitler's actions, though obviously horrendous, were mostly legal, at least at first and then later when he created the laws. They were sanctioned by the people in his country, sometimes by their silence. It's hard to tell which direction to go sometimes, except freedom and love and kindness seem to be good guides.
In many things, rules are meant to be broken, but only, after you first understand them. And society's norms change with the times. Skirts used to be long and covered the woman's form; now women wear pants. Slavery was legal here, now it's unfathomable that it existed. No one thinks much now about mixing peanut butter and chocolate, but at one time a commercial about that enthralled us. Nothing is written in stone. Things change and then a new normal begins. And when it comes to writing history, it's the ones who live outside the norms who are remembered. Does that tell us anything? Oh, man, I need another weekend to think about this.
I'm just off a fabulous weekend, as you probably guessed, and I'm trying to hold onto the good vibes.
I had the thrill of accomplishment when working on two essays that I need to finish and submit for possible publication. That filled a need as deep as the need for rest, which I also did.
On Saturday, I cried a lot. This was a good and cleansing cry. And a grieving cry. The Kennedy family has been instrumental in my development as the person I am today. I know about their shadow side, and I suppose with great achievements and talents comes great flaws. But it's those achievements and talents I admire, especially in their public service to the poor and underprivileged and those without voices. They could empathize and sympathize and have compassion for the people on the fringe of society. And their faith, especially that of Rose, helped me to find a faith of my own, one that deepened during the hard times, one that was grounded in something real. I watched the funeral mass for Senator Kennedy and later in the day the services in front of the Capitol and at the grave site, and I cried and sometimes sobbed. Not only has the last of Joe and Rose's four sons been laid to rest and the next to last of all their children, but something else died with Ted, something I can't quite put my finger on yet. I cried for that something as much as the loss of the man. Thank you, Teddy, for your
On Sunday, I listened to an audio book titled, A WEEKEND TO CHANGE YOUR LIFE. I'd listened to Joan Anderson's other book last week, A YEAR BY THE SEA, and was left with questions and a gnawing disappointment more than anything. That's why I didn't expect much from the Weekend book. At first, it did seem pretty basic. But something caught and now I need to listen to it again--or maybe I need to read it. The book gave me a theme for my day.
COURAGE.
In order to live the life I want to live, I may need to summon the courage to do some things that society frowns upon (nothing illegal or immoral, of course). I may need to do that which practical people, those who live comfortably in the way the world says things should be and who never question that way, won't understand. But what if that's the only way to the path I'm supposed to be on?
And this isn't easy for me. I spent years being the person who comformed to society's norms. Being radical, making choices outside the rules, that wasn't me. But America's founding father's broke the rules and stepped outside the norm of society and their government; to those in charge of the norm, they were traitors, their every act illegal. Hitler's actions, though obviously horrendous, were mostly legal, at least at first and then later when he created the laws. They were sanctioned by the people in his country, sometimes by their silence. It's hard to tell which direction to go sometimes, except freedom and love and kindness seem to be good guides.
In many things, rules are meant to be broken, but only, after you first understand them. And society's norms change with the times. Skirts used to be long and covered the woman's form; now women wear pants. Slavery was legal here, now it's unfathomable that it existed. No one thinks much now about mixing peanut butter and chocolate, but at one time a commercial about that enthralled us. Nothing is written in stone. Things change and then a new normal begins. And when it comes to writing history, it's the ones who live outside the norms who are remembered. Does that tell us anything? Oh, man, I need another weekend to think about this.
Thursday, August 27, 2009
Where's the fun?
This isn't working for me right now. And I can't help but wondering, where did the fun go?
Over the past couple of weeks, I've had projects to do at work that took quite a bit of time. No problem, I'm a person who likes to dig in and do something that has a reward at the end, even the process can be reward enough. One of these projects in particular was kind of a puzzle, taking a bunch of numbers from various reports--reports I'd helped create back in February--and then massaging those numbers and putting them into one upload file. I know only a geek can get this, but it should have been fun.
Instead it was hell.
Not the report itself. That wasn't so bad. But interruptions and other obligations kept popping up, and a report I should have been able to work on for a few hours, became the bane of my existence for days, hovering over my shoulder, tapping it, whispering my name. Instead of a glorious birth, it had a slow death.
And that's what I mean by this not being fun.
Lately, I'm trying to remember the reasons I work. To pay a few bills like utilities, to buy groceries, and for health insurance, basic needs. To buy some additional stuff that's fun or keeps things running and to travel a little throughout the year are two more reasons. I could get by on a lot less, and would be glad to work part time, if I could get enough hours and hourly pay to do so, and if I could have health insurance. I know of several people who work full time for health insurance. I'm kind of one of those people. And I find that sad. For the people having to work full time who would like to work part time and for the people who would love to have the full time jobs filled by someone working mostly for insurance.
But another reason to work, and this is crucial for me, I need to feel what I'm doing is contributing in some way to a greater good, a greater good that has meaning. Right now, I'm too bogged down in the muck to see that. Maybe it does. But maybe there's something else I should be doing. Part of the problem is that the things important to me are being shafted during this crazy time, and when something important to me isn't being given the attention I feel it deserves, watch out!
And while all of this is coming to mind, I can't help but wonder if we've got things all screwed up. So many people are working in jobs that aren't a good fit, stuck there while the economy improves, maybe stuck by their past financial decisions. I try to imagine a world where people are doing what they love to do, something that fits well with the talents they were born with. The world might have a lot less miserable people, projecting their misery on the unsuspecting bystander. I'd like a glimpse of that world. It sounds a lot more fun.
I had one of those jobs for a few years, when I had some money saved and could buy COBRA insurance and even some catastrophic-only insurance for a few months. I worked part-time doing something I loved--and spending the rest of the time on what mattered to me. I got enough rest and enough time to reflect and be me, plus the me I was becoming. And I had time for family and friends. Life was grand.
This post doesn't have a lightbulb moment, just a lot of questions coming from the confusion. And if no one raises the questions, if we continue along on the same path day after day without even asking if this is the way things have to be, then the confusion continues. When nothing changes, nothing changes. And like Ghandi said, "Be the change you wish to see in the world." Let's start. Today is the right time.
Over the past couple of weeks, I've had projects to do at work that took quite a bit of time. No problem, I'm a person who likes to dig in and do something that has a reward at the end, even the process can be reward enough. One of these projects in particular was kind of a puzzle, taking a bunch of numbers from various reports--reports I'd helped create back in February--and then massaging those numbers and putting them into one upload file. I know only a geek can get this, but it should have been fun.
Instead it was hell.
Not the report itself. That wasn't so bad. But interruptions and other obligations kept popping up, and a report I should have been able to work on for a few hours, became the bane of my existence for days, hovering over my shoulder, tapping it, whispering my name. Instead of a glorious birth, it had a slow death.
And that's what I mean by this not being fun.
Lately, I'm trying to remember the reasons I work. To pay a few bills like utilities, to buy groceries, and for health insurance, basic needs. To buy some additional stuff that's fun or keeps things running and to travel a little throughout the year are two more reasons. I could get by on a lot less, and would be glad to work part time, if I could get enough hours and hourly pay to do so, and if I could have health insurance. I know of several people who work full time for health insurance. I'm kind of one of those people. And I find that sad. For the people having to work full time who would like to work part time and for the people who would love to have the full time jobs filled by someone working mostly for insurance.
But another reason to work, and this is crucial for me, I need to feel what I'm doing is contributing in some way to a greater good, a greater good that has meaning. Right now, I'm too bogged down in the muck to see that. Maybe it does. But maybe there's something else I should be doing. Part of the problem is that the things important to me are being shafted during this crazy time, and when something important to me isn't being given the attention I feel it deserves, watch out!
And while all of this is coming to mind, I can't help but wonder if we've got things all screwed up. So many people are working in jobs that aren't a good fit, stuck there while the economy improves, maybe stuck by their past financial decisions. I try to imagine a world where people are doing what they love to do, something that fits well with the talents they were born with. The world might have a lot less miserable people, projecting their misery on the unsuspecting bystander. I'd like a glimpse of that world. It sounds a lot more fun.
I had one of those jobs for a few years, when I had some money saved and could buy COBRA insurance and even some catastrophic-only insurance for a few months. I worked part-time doing something I loved--and spending the rest of the time on what mattered to me. I got enough rest and enough time to reflect and be me, plus the me I was becoming. And I had time for family and friends. Life was grand.
This post doesn't have a lightbulb moment, just a lot of questions coming from the confusion. And if no one raises the questions, if we continue along on the same path day after day without even asking if this is the way things have to be, then the confusion continues. When nothing changes, nothing changes. And like Ghandi said, "Be the change you wish to see in the world." Let's start. Today is the right time.
Monday, August 24, 2009
What A Difference A Weekend Makes
Last week was, by far, the worst week I've experienced at my current job. I wrote that sentence and then thought that it sounded like someone saying something about her "current" marriage, implying it would someday end. The relationship of work has been, for me, like a marriage in many ways, except in 'til death do us part. This isn't one of those situations. Yet I'm committed, for the time being, to this experience. And last week tested that commitment. Without going into detail about the bad stuff and giving it too much power in my life, I'll just say that it was the first week without the person who was my friend at work and that many other things happened that made it even more difficult. Also, there were too many things out of my control. With the bad came the good, and I'll also speak of the shining moments. One was the temp who I liked and who did an excellent job--competence, fathom that! The other came at the end of the day on Friday: a very good interview with a candidate for the position vacated by my friend (who can now work at home--yeah for him!).
By Friday afternoon, I was frazzled. To top it off, I'd left my laptop at my sometimes home-away-from-home and had to retrieve it before I could get on the road. I'd left early, though, and seemed to be ahead of the curve, when I hit traffic and the street became a slow-moving parking lot. Most of my found "extra" time disappeared then. Once I was able to move, I rushed home, unloaded the car, and prepared for the weekend.
And what a weekend it was! I spent time on Saturday morning with my writing group, two lovely women who are friends as well as writing colleagues. We had one of our best meetings ever, with all of us bringing something we'd written and with plenty of time to socialize. After that, lunch with another dear friend, who I sensed needed to talk--as did I, though not about work. I don't like to do that, nor do I journal about it much, I've recently realized. On Sunday morning, my book group, known as the Merton Group, met...another two lovely women who are great friends and companions on this sometimes crazy road of life. We didn't discuss a book, though I believe we will again soon, but rather we chatted about the all-too-real drama that has been unfolding in one of the member's life and the insanity of our lives.
The afternoons and evenings last weekend were about my home and me. On Saturday, after lunch, I picked up a new merlot-color coverlet and pillow shams for my bedroom--and could barely stand the two-mile drive home before I could put them on the bed. I added a fluffy plum throw I'd bought the weekend before. Suddenly, my bedroom has a new look. It was time. And it reminded me of fresh starts. A new workweek, I'm hoping, provides that.
By Friday afternoon, I was frazzled. To top it off, I'd left my laptop at my sometimes home-away-from-home and had to retrieve it before I could get on the road. I'd left early, though, and seemed to be ahead of the curve, when I hit traffic and the street became a slow-moving parking lot. Most of my found "extra" time disappeared then. Once I was able to move, I rushed home, unloaded the car, and prepared for the weekend.
And what a weekend it was! I spent time on Saturday morning with my writing group, two lovely women who are friends as well as writing colleagues. We had one of our best meetings ever, with all of us bringing something we'd written and with plenty of time to socialize. After that, lunch with another dear friend, who I sensed needed to talk--as did I, though not about work. I don't like to do that, nor do I journal about it much, I've recently realized. On Sunday morning, my book group, known as the Merton Group, met...another two lovely women who are great friends and companions on this sometimes crazy road of life. We didn't discuss a book, though I believe we will again soon, but rather we chatted about the all-too-real drama that has been unfolding in one of the member's life and the insanity of our lives.
The afternoons and evenings last weekend were about my home and me. On Saturday, after lunch, I picked up a new merlot-color coverlet and pillow shams for my bedroom--and could barely stand the two-mile drive home before I could put them on the bed. I added a fluffy plum throw I'd bought the weekend before. Suddenly, my bedroom has a new look. It was time. And it reminded me of fresh starts. A new workweek, I'm hoping, provides that.
Friday, August 21, 2009
Forgetfulness, a wandering I don't want to have
It's been one of those weeks. I've left my cell phone home once (and anyone who knows me well knows what a lifeline that is for me right now). I've left my watch on my desk overnight twice and my umbrella once. And this morning, as I packed my car for work and to head home today (I stayed the night in a second home last night--long story!), I left my laptop. I can see it, sitting on the floor in its bag, left behind, wondering why. And the thing is, if I don't go get it today, it'll be next week. So, with a busy, busy day ahead, I have a dilemma.
I haven't needed these distractions this week, especially the laptop one. Someone in my office quit four weeks and three days ago. We've interviewed five people over the past two days and have two interviews today. Nice people, but no clear frontrunner yet, though there are two vying for last place. I'm so happy for my co-worker in his new venture (you go, Steve!), but this wasn't something I'd planned for this time of the year, when work is at a heightened state and when I was hoping to settle into a routine for a while. But like always, John Lennon was right when he said in his song, "Beautiful Boy," "Life is what happens to you while you're busy making other plans." I'm a firm believer, however, in obstacles not getting fully in the way. They may slow me down, they may put me on a detour, they may alter my direction, but they don't stop me from the goals I've set. And sometimes, darn it, they teach me something along the way.
I survived the day this week without my cell phone. I hate a watch and throw it into a bowl with my keys the second I walk in the door at home, so didn't mind not having it--plus, it's nothing expensive or important to me, so if it had been lost, I didn't care. I didn't get rained on, so the umbrella wasn't missed until this morning. But the laptop--that I'll miss. Not going back for it, leaving it over the weekend and perhaps longer, isn't an option. Maybe I needed a forgetfulness event that required that I take action and be inconvenienced by that action. Maybe this is what will make me be a little more mindful, the opposite of forgetfulness. My body longs to wander, to travel, to see new things, but that requires focus. And when I'm most busy, when things are going so fast I can barely see the scenery out the window, that's when I most need to be present, to be mindful.
That's real time. That's today.
I haven't needed these distractions this week, especially the laptop one. Someone in my office quit four weeks and three days ago. We've interviewed five people over the past two days and have two interviews today. Nice people, but no clear frontrunner yet, though there are two vying for last place. I'm so happy for my co-worker in his new venture (you go, Steve!), but this wasn't something I'd planned for this time of the year, when work is at a heightened state and when I was hoping to settle into a routine for a while. But like always, John Lennon was right when he said in his song, "Beautiful Boy," "Life is what happens to you while you're busy making other plans." I'm a firm believer, however, in obstacles not getting fully in the way. They may slow me down, they may put me on a detour, they may alter my direction, but they don't stop me from the goals I've set. And sometimes, darn it, they teach me something along the way.
I survived the day this week without my cell phone. I hate a watch and throw it into a bowl with my keys the second I walk in the door at home, so didn't mind not having it--plus, it's nothing expensive or important to me, so if it had been lost, I didn't care. I didn't get rained on, so the umbrella wasn't missed until this morning. But the laptop--that I'll miss. Not going back for it, leaving it over the weekend and perhaps longer, isn't an option. Maybe I needed a forgetfulness event that required that I take action and be inconvenienced by that action. Maybe this is what will make me be a little more mindful, the opposite of forgetfulness. My body longs to wander, to travel, to see new things, but that requires focus. And when I'm most busy, when things are going so fast I can barely see the scenery out the window, that's when I most need to be present, to be mindful.
That's real time. That's today.
Thursday, August 20, 2009
The first wondering
I've done it--finally. First, I went onto Facebook in May of this year--I love it. Then, I created a MySpace page, which is unused. And now, after a few years of thinking about starting a blog, I have. And this is my first post.
I wondered what to write about here. A few years ago, I cleared a lot of clutter from my house, and that might be a future topic, what I learned, how I keep the clutter down now, and how the experience changed me, because it did. Writing will be a topic, especially my new interest, screenplays, a natural progression given my love of fiction and of movies. My cats, Luke and Jordan, and my friends will surely find their ways here. And how can my parents not. Along the way there will be mention of movies I love and movies I don't, TV shows that make me laugh and cry, music that makes me sing (though hopefully not literally if you're around). I'll write about books that I am reading, have read, or want to read. There will be mention of basketball and the WKU Hilltoppers--especially from November to March--okay October to April.
But one thing that will make a rare appearance, if any, will be the work I do from 7:30 to 4:30 Monday through Friday. It's surprising to me that I'm even typing those words, that my job is even getting in now. But earlier I mentioned to my boss, in the kitchen in passing, that I had finally started a blog but didn't know what I'd write about. She said she was sure there was a lot of material from the office. And she's right (as usual), but work is seldom something I journal about, not the current job, not prior jobs. I wonder how something that fills a third of my life, or more, during the workweek can have so little priority when examining my life.
But my landscape is more about the things I love that are essentially me, and even when I had a job I adored (for three years, two jobs actually that were related), I didn't journal about them a lot. Habit? Or is it that I focus when away from the job on what is more important to me, though that may be something far less tangible? I think it's that I don't identify myself with something I do for money, but rather what is within and around me, chosen for love and other rewards. I've heard that in Europe, or maybe it was England, it's considered rude to ask another person what he/she does. Maybe we should start that here...or at least let's all start answering with something surprising, like something so basic we forget how important it is ("I breathe") or the art that makes us breathe easier ("I knit").
So, I'll give people my blog address and continue to write. Welcome!
I wondered what to write about here. A few years ago, I cleared a lot of clutter from my house, and that might be a future topic, what I learned, how I keep the clutter down now, and how the experience changed me, because it did. Writing will be a topic, especially my new interest, screenplays, a natural progression given my love of fiction and of movies. My cats, Luke and Jordan, and my friends will surely find their ways here. And how can my parents not. Along the way there will be mention of movies I love and movies I don't, TV shows that make me laugh and cry, music that makes me sing (though hopefully not literally if you're around). I'll write about books that I am reading, have read, or want to read. There will be mention of basketball and the WKU Hilltoppers--especially from November to March--okay October to April.
But one thing that will make a rare appearance, if any, will be the work I do from 7:30 to 4:30 Monday through Friday. It's surprising to me that I'm even typing those words, that my job is even getting in now. But earlier I mentioned to my boss, in the kitchen in passing, that I had finally started a blog but didn't know what I'd write about. She said she was sure there was a lot of material from the office. And she's right (as usual), but work is seldom something I journal about, not the current job, not prior jobs. I wonder how something that fills a third of my life, or more, during the workweek can have so little priority when examining my life.
But my landscape is more about the things I love that are essentially me, and even when I had a job I adored (for three years, two jobs actually that were related), I didn't journal about them a lot. Habit? Or is it that I focus when away from the job on what is more important to me, though that may be something far less tangible? I think it's that I don't identify myself with something I do for money, but rather what is within and around me, chosen for love and other rewards. I've heard that in Europe, or maybe it was England, it's considered rude to ask another person what he/she does. Maybe we should start that here...or at least let's all start answering with something surprising, like something so basic we forget how important it is ("I breathe") or the art that makes us breathe easier ("I knit").
So, I'll give people my blog address and continue to write. Welcome!
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