Good juju day
Tuesday was a day.
One of those days.
But not those days.
Not a glass-is-half full day.
It was a day where the cup runneth over (OK, I didn’t get laid or win the lottery, which really would have made things runneth – but you celebrate the victories, both large and small).
I have to handle this chronologically.
Had a coffee interview with an oncology nurse who hopes to raise $10,000 by climbing Mt. Shasta for the Breast Cancer Fund.
(Giving would be a nice thing to do).
I got back to the office, plugged into the iPod and wrote her story (and when I say plugged in and wrote, I mean I go about banging away at the keys, large Sony MDR-V300 headphones on my ears and spasm out like Ray Charles; people know not to bother me when I’m swingin’ and a swayin’).
Of course, the boss – being the boss – doesn’t know this. She came up between the hedges (I remain strategically hidden by greenery while at work, it seems to cut down on much distraction; the receptionist actually has come up with a novel way to tell if I’m actually here – if my cowboy hat’s hanging on the wall, the ThomG is in) and says, “ThomG.”
OK, she had to say it – loudly – a couple of times. I was completely into my words – and into a loud, rousing live rendition of Social Distortion’s "The Creeps (I Just Wanna Give You )” and managed to ignore her for a bit.
The headphones slid to my neck.
“Have we told you lately how much we appreciate you?”
“Nooooooo.”
“Well, we do. We do appreciate you very much. And we needed to tell you that.”
It was particularly random, like a drive-by compliment.
(And I’m suspiciously paranoid.)
But I smile anyway. Getting singled out is good.
It was one of several compliments I received all day; the other best being, “You do so much for this community. That must feel really good.”
It does.
And while doing a final edit on my Sunday column, I got all teary and emotional (figuring, hey, it’s pretty powerful if it made me all weepy). Yeah, it’s about cancer, it’s personal, and it poured out. I was happy; confident that I’d (finally) put a ThomG effort into work prose.
In my mailbox was a CD of music and note from a friend. Haven't yet listened to it, but I look forward to it (thank you, Mr. Singletrack Guinness swiller).
On the iBook was something special. Something I have been waiting for. Hoping for.
An email.
Backpacker magazine is in the process to choose 200 volunteers to help create the first-ever map of the Continental Divide Trail. More than 3,000 applied.
Team leader Tarpman asked if I wouldn’t mind too terribly to join his team – and hike 80 or so miles in July or August in either Idaho, Colorado or Montana. Taking pictures and being team executive chef.
I am so fucking in; a journey of epic proportions that will help define how my life evolves.
A friend came over and we distracted ourselves with an amusing organic Sangiovese – and my deck of tarot cards.
(I don’t want to spoil the suspense – this is something to blog independently – but let’s just say that during my reading, she kept saying, “This is spooky ThomG, very spooky.” In a really cool and good way.)
The evening ended with a call from a friend just back from vacation. It was good way to end my day (seriously, this girl stays up late; we hung up eight minutes past midnight and just before my chariot turned into a gourd) and re-connect with her. Because we listen to one-another. I like that.
Tuesday was a day.
A good day.
That has spilled on today (and, hopefully, tomorrow and the next day).
One of those days.
But not those days.
Not a glass-is-half full day.
It was a day where the cup runneth over (OK, I didn’t get laid or win the lottery, which really would have made things runneth – but you celebrate the victories, both large and small).
I have to handle this chronologically.
Had a coffee interview with an oncology nurse who hopes to raise $10,000 by climbing Mt. Shasta for the Breast Cancer Fund.
(Giving would be a nice thing to do).
I got back to the office, plugged into the iPod and wrote her story (and when I say plugged in and wrote, I mean I go about banging away at the keys, large Sony MDR-V300 headphones on my ears and spasm out like Ray Charles; people know not to bother me when I’m swingin’ and a swayin’).
Of course, the boss – being the boss – doesn’t know this. She came up between the hedges (I remain strategically hidden by greenery while at work, it seems to cut down on much distraction; the receptionist actually has come up with a novel way to tell if I’m actually here – if my cowboy hat’s hanging on the wall, the ThomG is in) and says, “ThomG.”
OK, she had to say it – loudly – a couple of times. I was completely into my words – and into a loud, rousing live rendition of Social Distortion’s "The Creeps (I Just Wanna Give You )” and managed to ignore her for a bit.
The headphones slid to my neck.
“Have we told you lately how much we appreciate you?”
“Nooooooo.”
“Well, we do. We do appreciate you very much. And we needed to tell you that.”
It was particularly random, like a drive-by compliment.
(And I’m suspiciously paranoid.)
But I smile anyway. Getting singled out is good.
It was one of several compliments I received all day; the other best being, “You do so much for this community. That must feel really good.”
It does.
And while doing a final edit on my Sunday column, I got all teary and emotional (figuring, hey, it’s pretty powerful if it made me all weepy). Yeah, it’s about cancer, it’s personal, and it poured out. I was happy; confident that I’d (finally) put a ThomG effort into work prose.
In my mailbox was a CD of music and note from a friend. Haven't yet listened to it, but I look forward to it (thank you, Mr. Singletrack Guinness swiller).
On the iBook was something special. Something I have been waiting for. Hoping for.
An email.
Backpacker magazine is in the process to choose 200 volunteers to help create the first-ever map of the Continental Divide Trail. More than 3,000 applied.
Team leader Tarpman asked if I wouldn’t mind too terribly to join his team – and hike 80 or so miles in July or August in either Idaho, Colorado or Montana. Taking pictures and being team executive chef.
I am so fucking in; a journey of epic proportions that will help define how my life evolves.
A friend came over and we distracted ourselves with an amusing organic Sangiovese – and my deck of tarot cards.
(I don’t want to spoil the suspense – this is something to blog independently – but let’s just say that during my reading, she kept saying, “This is spooky ThomG, very spooky.” In a really cool and good way.)
The evening ended with a call from a friend just back from vacation. It was good way to end my day (seriously, this girl stays up late; we hung up eight minutes past midnight and just before my chariot turned into a gourd) and re-connect with her. Because we listen to one-another. I like that.
Tuesday was a day.
A good day.
That has spilled on today (and, hopefully, tomorrow and the next day).
Comments
Glad I tuned in, by the way, because I missed the part about executive chef and photographer in our discussion about the trail team yesterday. It's perfect for you (I say, having never partaken of your highly touted culinary talents). (That's a hint, in case you missed it.)
P.P.S. - I forgot to say that I love the term "amusing organic Sangiovese."