Life in the Slow Lane

I think the term "gift exchange" has inherent problems. It makes me think of exchanging clothes: an attempt to gain something of equal value for something that is not quite right; and it makes me think of money exchange: handing over something of familiar value for a pile of monopoly money that may not even get you Free Parking. Is it any wonder I think "gift exchange" sounds mercenary? Of course there are the mercenary exchanges, the "everybody bring a wrapped picture frame and everyone will go home with a different frame" and the infamous white elephants. But when gift giving is done well, it is not merely an exchange. Gift giving done well is one of those magic things that brings greater satisfaction than any component by itself. By no means is it merely an "exchange". Maybe it is better called a gift boost?

Coming soon to national television... Yours Truly. When your work place becomes the key filming location for a national television program, you are bound to get the occasional "oops I just walked down the hallway where they are filming, I hope my shirt was tucked in okay". But this is even better. Two people walked into my cubicle, with a camera rolling behind them, and voila! I think I could have used some advance notice and a green room. So yes, at some point, you may see my lovely desk which looks remarkably like a bad day at the paper mill while I am working. And you may see me trying to type at a professional speed level while not typing anything of a sensitive nature... in Spanish. And you may see how it actually looks like I don't know how to type at all and you will see all of the red squiggles that Microsoft Word helpfully puts under words you misspell . And you will see me turn six shades of pink. But then maybe the editor will decide that I don't add a

I happened to walk by a magazine today and I read on the front cover "41 Great Gift Ideas". Seeing as this year my Great Gift Idea list is approximately two gifts long, I thought I would take a peak and see if I might get any brilliant ideas I could then claim were my own. But gentle readers, you will be happy to know that I have been saved from the temptation of plagiarism. If even 20 of their 41 gift ideas receive the ranking of great, then I guess I have a longer list than I thought I did. One of their gift suggestions was little colored bud vases "which will make even an ordinary flower a great centerpiece". AhHEM. Since when is a flower ordinary? In my opinion, if I had a bunch of little colored bud vases, I think I would have to go find a bunch of flowers so that I could turn the vases into great centerpieces.

Here at Slowlane Labs we continue with the high quality research you have come to expect and rely on. And we know you will benefit greatly from this new discovery: Making the front passenger seat of your car both home office and picnic basket may be hazardous to your picnic basket, home office, and passenger seat. With the rising costs of restaurant meals and the sometimes limited access to previously perceived-as-necessary pantry and fridge space, many of you have no doubt stumbled upon the perfect solution of winter picnics in your car. With a loaf of bread and a jar of PB and J, winter temperatures turn any unused car seat into prime picnic-basket space. Add a selection of snack items, and any day can be a day for the non-work-a-day world of a picnic. And no doubt if you have ever commuted to work or school, you have taken advantage of the extra minutes in the car when you have arrived a few minutes early or you are waiting for your next class or for the light to turn green, and

At my place of residence, I have a lot of time to think about molasses in January when I endeavor to get on the great world wide web. I was walking through the house the other day wearing three layers of clothing, a scarf, a knit cap, gloves, socks and slippers and my house mother asked, shocked "Are you going out?" "No, I'm going to go check my e-mail." The room really is that cold. I'm not sure whether the cold contributes to the speed of the connection, but I do suspect that it affects the speed of my blood flow. After waiting ten minutes to load half a page of any of my four personal email accounts, I feel very sleepy and I come close to looking for a snow bank I can curl up in to get warm. Fortunately, because the room has no comfortable place to curl up, I am saved from the danger of hypothermia. If only I could get some molasses out of it all.

I've been accepted to grad school!

I'm VIP at the place where I get the oil changed in my car. Every three months, on my lunch break or at 5 when I get off from work, I dart around the corner to Lube and Smog. I'm sure they are always very pleased to see me, as they cut short their lunch break or realize their day isn't quite done. And that is even before they open the hood. Every time I come in, they tell me how difficult it is to change the air filter and polite frustration turns to more colorful language as the entire crew remarks on how long this routine service is taking. Frankly, I was surprised when they handed me the VIP card after my first LOF . I thought for sure they would not go out of their way to encourage my return. And I secretly suspect that they regret that particular gift each time I flash the card. But then, maybe anyone who manages to find this place (just off of New "Unnamed" Road) is VIP.

Today I sat down at my desk, the most knowledgeable about things pertaining to my department. I'm surprised you weren't able to hear the scream evoked by that statement. But perhaps that scream would be overshadowed by the scream resulting from the statement "I am responsible to train three new hires starting this week." It really is too bad that people do not have USB ports. I could have collected all of the knowledge from my previous co-workers and just kept it on a thumb drive or (couple dozen), and then this week I could quickly plug them in and voila: a department up and running. Needless to say, my faith in my ability to train is not a strong faith. But perhaps I have unknowingly trained them in the most important things: all three brought me gifts this morning. I think I may work that into the training manual.

In my job it is often just as important to read what is not written as to read what is. This is why the letter which asked what action we would recommend in explaining suicide to a child weighed heavy on my heart. The details were heart-breakingly vivid, and the depth of emotion made me wonder whether the writer were parent, grandparent, or older sibling. I sat for a long time, carefully crafting a letter, trying to address the needs of any of the potential scenarios I imagined. Finally, I signed my name to the letter and sent it off. I was not expecting the reply that came quickly back. "Thank you for answering my question. I hopefully won't ever have to be in that situation, but I was just curious." "Just curious"? That answer works just as well here as it does to the question "Why did you stick thumb tacks into your sister's fingers?" or "Why did you pour bleach on the dog?" There is that old cliche "curiosity killed the cat&

I think my blog is on the verge of an identity crisis. The most consistent reason new readers visit here is for the song lyrics I posted to annoying children's songs more than two years ago. And how can I, in good consciousness, continue to post on a blog titled "Life in the Slow Lane" when I've said I would do what promotes the very antithesis? (work overtime) But if I stop posting about the things of the Slow Lane, who will carry on? Who will confess to a board member stopping to comment on how she owns nail color the exact shade as I am wearing on my toes, but she only bought it because she knew she would never wear it so it could be seen? Who will instruct on the proper way to wash a car (leave it in the rain) or what to say when an eleven year old calls you to share what he is eating for dinner? Indeed, I would be tempted to stop posting altogether if it weren't for the fact that this blog is contributing to the sanity of at least one person in this great