Things some people do at 2:00 a.m.

This morning, I woke up and groaned, loudly, when it hit me that:
1. I was going to be an hour late for work.
2. I neglected to eat anything last night.
3. I made a date with a random guy I met out at a bar to go see The Passion of Christ (so wrong on too many levels to count).


For 30 seconds of blissful ignorance I was too disoriented to remember that I'd even gone out the previous night.

I tried hard to figure out how I overslept. Did the three alarms not go off? Nope, that's not it - I vaguely recalled slamming my cellphone against the night stand to stop the beeping. Did my subconscious think it was Saturday? No, that's not right either. Was I too tired to care? Yep, I think that's the culprit.

I plodded to the bathroom, and slowly, painfully, accepted the flashbacks of conversations I'd had, and people I'd met, and drinks I'd drunk. Fifteen minutes later, standing in the shower, I felt an urge to pound my head against the yellow tiles lining the walls.

I really am getting too old to get away with rip roaring drunk behavior.

(winces as another snippet pops to mind)

How can something that causes so much fun and joy in the moment, bring on so much regret the next day? And how do I get out of this date without coming across as a total bitch?

Location vs. size

Congratulations - you're getting a new office!

You have a choice between two lovely spaces at the end of the hall. Do you move into:

* the smaller corner office with windows along 2 walls.
OR
* the supersized office with fluorescent bulbs to provide most of the light.

Does bigger or better situated equate more power? Why?

Sometimes it's easier to beg forgiveness than it is to ask permission

My grandfather taught me that.

From one week to the next... he was hospitalized, stabilized, and, early on a Tuesday morning, at the age of 85, he died.

I flew cross-country to be with my family for the services. It was astonishing to see so many people, from so many walks of life, come to pay their respect.

I spoke with a frail, elderly man who met my grandfather way back when at the lycee in Portugal; second and third cousins flew to the States from Canada; a group of neighborhood teens sat in a corner, sharing their condolences with my grandmother; the Mayor dropped by for a few minutes and said some words; Catholic priests milled about the funeral home, murmuring prayers in English and Portuguese. At the cemetery, a hundred people stood graveside... I'd only seen so many people at one other funeral - that of a sweet, 23-year-old friend who succumbed to Hodgkin's.

For the first time, I got it - I finally understood the point of a wake. I'd always found the practice disturbing - dressing the dead body in finery, announcing the time and place of the services for anyone to read, and then putting the person on display. It was comforting. And oddly enough, the only time I cried was when my friends appeared, showing their support for my family. I never expected that to happen.

In three weeks I flew to Seattle, flew to Providence, back to Seattle, then returned to DC, only to pack up for Massachusetts to spend time with my grandmother. They were married for 58 years. It's amazing.