Some days, you just can't win.

"What's the schedule?" "Where's the process?" "Are you going to use the new Change Control?" "Do I have some of that budget?" "What pool is providing resources?" "Where is the testing lab? How long is the soak?" "Will this hit the account P&L?"

Being a project manager means putting up with a lot of people wanting to know, in essence, "Are we there yet?"

Ick. bah. stresscakes.

At times like this, I do what I must. To mangle James Taylor (more than he did to himself): For a few moments I take my mind on vacations and I go to Spetses in my mind.

Spetses, Greece (copyright: Member Maurizio42)

Spetses is a smallish island of Greece. After landing at Athens airport, take a cab to Piraeus Seaport and then catch a slow ferry. After about 4 hours of hitting all the islands in between, you'll be deposited at Spetses.

The water is warm there, and the year-rounder folks are friendly; well-seasoned in tourism, with the British being the main visiting population. There are shops, pubs, and disco's at night.

But for those seeking peace; Spetses is an idyllic goal. Outside the 20 square blocks of the main town, most of the island is hushed and quiet and covered in pine trees. Most of the ground - even down to the blue sea -is rocky, and the roads little more than paths. There are only 2 cars on the Island, but about 200 mopeds. A salad of tomato, feta, and onion will cost you about $1. A Diet Coke? $3.

I never got the "Toga" thing until Spetses. They left piles of soft, thin sheets in my room and I eventually realized that they were for wearing. The hottest part of the afternoon, dip in for a swim and then tie a sheet loosely around golden skin. My usual modesty left back somewhere cold; dozens of Spetsians have seen my breasts - back when they were something to see. Not that anyone cared.

Glorious hours lazing in the shade, the world on "pause". Maybe a stroll towards the old monastery. If you get lost and end up at a fisherman's house, the family will probably teach you some Greek and show you their nets and the new hull in process. Maybe invite you for lunch.

At least, they did for me.

Posted by: Elizabeth at 02:17 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
Post contains 416 words, total size 2 kb.

Something NEVER.SEEN.BEFORE: Elizabeth, attempting golf.

Everyone in my family has played and does play. I have managed to avoid this one sport all my life.

Until now.

Why did I pick up a golf club for the first time in my memory and standing at an angle guaranteed to do me no favors and whacking at a little white ball like a lunatic with my chest in the way?

Simple: my career.

Twice now, I have bowed out of golf outings that later I regretted.

So I'm sucking it up. Let's have a moment of silence while I write a check to the nice golf instructor...

**Extra credit if you noticed that despite my golf club high up in the air, the ball is still on the tee. That's right boys and girls. I missed. A lot. Therefore, no pictures of an empty tee - despite Bear's enthusiastic cheerleading of "good shot, Mommy!"

Posted by: Elizabeth at 08:59 AM | No Comments | Add Comment
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Does anybody else find their guilty pleasures as annoying as I find mine? Dawson's Creek, for Gawd's sake. Dawson's CREEK!!

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Joey: It's my mom's bracelet.
Pacey: I know.
Joey: (surprised) How do you know?
Pacey: Well, because you told me. Six months ago. You were wearing that, uh, blue sweater, with the snowflakes that you have. You were walking down the hallways at school, I was annoying you as per usual. You said, "Look, Pacey, I just found my mother's bracelet this morning, so why don't you cut me some slack?"
Joey: You remember that?
Pacey: (whispers in her ear) I remember everything.
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It's bad enough that I'm watching the reruns, but now (oh, help me) I've gotten to downloading (wait! I meant buy, buy.. BUYING) music from the episodes. The dealers, *ahem* producers, of the show make it easy by providing a website for all things Dawson's Creek: quotes, pictures and songlists. Oh, it's bad.. bad bad bad...

It's a silly show about a love triangle between 3 teenagers: the noble girl from the wrong side of the tracks (Joey); the virtuous, insanely big foreheaded, pompous, yuppie boy who has been her best mate since childhood (Dawson); and the boy's wisecracking, vulnerable, and sweet sidekick (Pacey, yes, PACEY).

The actor who plays Pacey, Joshua Jackson, does it beautifully. Even though my own adolescence sucked grapes and chewed the seeds, his acting makes me want to visit a time machine and see if I missed a Pacey of my own back then. Probably not - that's why it is a show, after all. Takes 100 people to make it look that natural.

I thought this would be a flash in my TV-watching pan, but it's been 3 months now. And I'm still merrily and glibly dropping into the fluffy pool of precocious teen-agers who talk at a doctorate-level vocabulary and wear the latest from Banana Republic.

I freely admit that my tastes are not always the intellectually stirring "West Wing" or "Poilically Incorrect". From Star Trek through Magnum P.I., 1900 House through Monarch of the Glen, my TV viewing has always been as varied as the other interests in my life. With no shame, I openly admit I've even known periodic sudsy dips into General Hospital - usually over the summer when everything else is in reruns and the men on GH are, for some strange reason, conducting their daily business topless.

And there was, last year, the months of "Felicity". Which I now consider to be my gateway show to Dawson's Creek. Oh, if only there had been an intervention back when it was just Ben and Noel bashing each other for Felicity's affections! What hours of forehead-boy I could have avoided!

But it is too late now. Oh, this thing with Dawson's Creek... it's just embarrassing. Man, I got to find a way to get this monkey off my back.

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"Let me get this straight.you tried to create some kind of snail menage a trois?"-Joey
"Well,it sounds stupid when you say it a loud".-Pacey
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Posted by: Elizabeth at 08:46 AM | No Comments | Add Comment
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Around the time I got pregnant, my blood pressure became a little unstable. Not violently high, but after I gave birth they put me on medication. The medication does two things - one, it acts like a water pill (keeping me from retaining water that would add to internal vascular pressure) and two, some other thing, which I'm not so clear on.

Problem is, these pills are not consistent on my system.

Maybe it's the other way around.

All I know is that every few days or weeks I turn into the blueberry girl from Willy Wonka. I swell up, my face becomes even more round (at which point, the Charlie Brown references become unavoidable) and let's be brutally honest here, my fingers turn into snausages.

Not that I have lovely, thin, elegant fingers to begin with. That honor remains with my childhood friend Susan - whose hands I can visualize and envy even at this moment.

No, mine start short and wide and then swell into those hot dogs that "plump when you cook 'em". This probably has something to do with salt or being perimenapausal (TMI?) or even the weather. For a day or so, they'll resemble portly chihauhaus - every one of them.

Twenty years ago, young and glowing and pink and completely thick as a plank about the ways of the world - I would look at my hands and somehow imagine that over time I would find a way to turn them into something prettier, more feminine-looking with the right polish or rings or excersize. Oh, who knew? It could of happened. That, and flying cars.

So this morning I have blueberry girl fingers and I was just being fed up with them. Then my sweet, sweet son comes and puts his little hands over mine; comparing, inspecting.

"Let's do a craft, Mommy. I want to trace your hand," he says.
"OH, let's trace your hand, instead, sweetie. Your hands are beautiful," I tell him.
"No, Mommy, let's do both. See? I hold your hand and then you trace them. And we can color them together."
"Both our hands together?" I ask.
"Yes," my amazing son says, "together. That's my favorite."

Tell me that we won't lose this. Tell me that my blueberry girl hands will always feel so good holding his perfect little hands. Tell me we'll always know we're beautiful.

Posted by: Elizabeth at 07:51 AM | No Comments | Add Comment
Post contains 411 words, total size 2 kb.