50 years later

Betty Friedan's book, "The Feminine Mystique" is 50 years old this week. It changed the course of American womanhood.  Most importantly, that book and others like it made my life possible. I knew what it was to be trapped in the home with few skills and the expectation of life long dependence.  My mother's life frightened me to the core.  She never really understood even though she tried. In 1971, when I showed her the name on my checkbook was, "Mrs. Robert Waskis".  She said, "Yes, so?"  With tears running down my cheeks, I screamed,  "I have lost my identity! I am Dorine Andrews, not his shadow!"  She sighed, returned to reading her paper in her recliner, and said, "I don't see the point. It's how things work."  

I saw what being Mrs. Colin Andrews did to my mother.  She ate her way through depression until he died in 1979 and she weighed near 250 pounds and would remain so for the rest of her life.  I promised myself never, never to let that happen.    I was scared.  I was insecure.  I scratched my way into a career zigging and zagging my way to financial security.  I made many, many mistakes; had three failed marriages; but I also raised a daughter, built many long lasting friendships with women over the years, married a guy who liked my independence, and have gained the recognition and contentment I always yearned for.

My daughter took her husband's name without a thought of loosing her identity.  She expects equal footing and she gets it.  I am proud.  Thanks, Betty!

New toys to help the winter pass

Forte Vento floats in her slip nicely.  Lines sag appropriately and tighten just enough against the breeze, protecting her from rubbing up against the dock.  Our babbler keeps the water moving around her so ice won't form.  But, it's not a happy place in the winter.  Even with the sun popping out from behind the heavy, fast moving winter clouds, the marina has an empty feeling.  It's almost makes me sad.  So many boats have been pulled and now sit on "sticks" looking like ducks out of water--elegant but not graceful.  We checked her out last Sunday.  Oh, how we miss sailing season.

To pass the time, besides organizing our tax papers, I'm testing a new toy -- Microsoft's new Surface tablet (It's on loan  from my work).  In fact, I'm creating this post using it now.  The good news it that it has Word, Excel and PowerPoint.  The basic keyboard doesn't work so well on a hard surface, but on my lap it delivers.  It's something between a normal key board and a sleep number bed in terms of design.  The pressure to touch the keys has some flexibility.  It is also like riding a bicycle. The more you use it, the better it gets.  It is amazingly better than the touch screen for someone like myself who is touch typist. 

It's just not the right thing

I got it in my head last fall that "wouldn't it be nice to sit on a board of directors or two" after I retired. Many small and mid-cap for profits boards pay anywhere from $60 to $200,000/year to its members. Always enjoying a conversion with myself (and not those strange voices that can whisper in your ear in the middle of the night), I said, "I've got lots of experience, and I certainly know a lot about a lot of industries after 30 years in the systems consulting business."

"Well," I responded, "how do I go about getting on a board?  My network is good, but not that good."  I pondered, but not for long.  My young neighbor, Liz, learned about a board member training program just for women.  It was  put together in 2011 by Women in Technology and they named it the Leadership Foundry.  "Ah, just the thing for me," I exclaimed.  And yes, I qualified for the program and paid my $3,000 for a year's training and networking opportunities with local companies.

This week I attended the formal two-day training program on board membership led by the National Association of Corporate Directors or NACD.  The course was actually riveting -- full of facts and stories about boards and situations where our instructors had served.  It was also a great opportunity to meet fifteen other successful women.  We spent the first evening at dinner together in constant conversation.  It is amazing what women are doing today and the fields they work in.  I was humbled by their experience and their presence.  And, as many friends know, I don't humble easily.

Today,as our training wrapped up, I came to a decision that surprised me.  I spoke to myself quite clearly and resolutely.  "Dorine,"  I said,  "You are not a good fit to be a board member."  The financial and governance responsibilities, if you take them seriously, are substantial, but that didn't scare me.  Even I can refresh my knowledge of the complexities of financial statements and learn the role of strategic oversight.  And, I can create a snappy elevator speech about what I bring to a board and chat up any number of corporate leaders with it.  What cinched my decision is the amount of patience and positioning it will take on my part to make an impact.  Moving swiftly is moving in three years!  It's not about "getting on with it" as one does in grilling a steak.  It's all about "letting things simmer and stirring occasionally"  as one does with making a pot roast to ensure all the flavors come together.  A new board member is someone who has served two years.

Be still my heart!  That is not who I am or ever will be.  But, I walk away with a great deal of knowledge and new insights.  Perhaps, some day, it will all be valuable and put to use.

Enveloped in fog

Dense, soupy gray warm air blankets my world this morning. I can't see the tree tops just outside our balcony.  We went to bed with it and woke up with  it.  They promise sunshine by noon.  Until then, I'm cozy, sitting on the couch watching Sunday Morning and typing away on my Ipad.

The Oscar nomination announcements this week sent hordes of people to the movies--kind of.  Our Saturday noon excursion to see "Silver Linings Playbook" turned into a group adventure.  Not a seat in the house was empty.  After we broke for a late lunch, then went to a second movie, "Hyde Park on the Hudson" where only one quarter of the seats were filled.  Good figure!  I thought both were good movies, but not exceptional.

My daughter made me proud recently.  She's accepted a new and challenging position that moves her into a new industry (from insurance to cable television).  It's also moved the family into a new tax bracket so theor concerns about money for the boys' college fees and repairs their shore cottage after Hurricane Sandy flooded the place with three feet of water have evaporated with the water.

I've made a decision that makes me proud.  On August 16, 2015, I will have five years in my job and it will be time to hang up my keyboard.  The CIO  job has turned out to be more rewarding than I expected, but it has  also helped me calm my career spanning itchy feet and helped me accept that there will soon be time for the next generation to take over the leadership.  It's even fun now.    My team and I have a bit more than 2.5 years to put in place technology that will alter our organization's operations culture.  We've just started and they'll keep it evolving after I leave. It's surprisingly exciting.  For the first time in my career, I'm not anxious to move on.  I'm staying put.  Hurray!

The New Year is upon us

The  fiscal cliff crumbled at the last minute -- no falling, just stumbling through the rubble.  We should feel good about this, but from what I understand, not much has been resolved.  Shall we carry on living the life that is thrown at us?  I suggest we do so with gusto! 

We greeted the new year as we have since 2000 by joining childhood friends and family in Severna Park.  Eating started at 7:30, after we gussied-up (That used to mean fancy clothes.  Now it means lipstick and a clean sweater).  There were sushi, grilled oysters, lobsters, truffle potatoes, salad, and dessert topped off with a champagne toast at midnight amid sparklers, flying confetti and much kissing and hugging amongst the nine of us.  There was a time we continued to party almost to dawn, but those days are long gone.  Proudly, however, we did rumpus about until 2AM. Not bad for a bunch of dudes their 60's and 70's.  It is a warm and comforting time.  Happy New Year!

My Daughter is Awesome!

How we look is exactly how we feel.  I need to say no more.

Merry Christimas in New York

With my arm sans sling and swinging at my side, we are are visiting family and friends in New York City this week.  Christmas Eve found us walking down 5th avenue amid twinkling lights, last minute shoppers and the bright lights of the empire state building.   Such a joy!  No pain in the hip for John and no blisters on the feet for me .

The day before, to celebrate 20 years together, we hopped the F train to Red Hook Brooklyn and walked against 30 knot winds to visit Steve Riley, an artist John discovered from searching the Internet before we left.  We picked out a square ring for me and three wood pieces for John.


Grandchildren are well. Kids are well. Friends are well.  A holiday with no drama, just chilly breezy weather!  Our plan to address the Christmas cards from the comfort of our hotel was shoved aside for walks up and down Manhattan.  We visited department stores to see the decorated windows (Lord & Taylor's is the best). 

Now, the day after Christmas, the weather threatens -- do we leave today or cross our fingers, hope the weather threats are exaggerated, and leave tomorrow as planned? 

On the mend!

I finally got a good night's sleep on Tuesday night and again last night.  I have even ventured to not wearing the sling for an hour in the morning and evening just to release the tension for the strap around my shoulders.

Recovery Blues

Ten days since the arm surgery -- I'm resigned to float above the reality of life -- an out of body experience.  Emails continue to trickle in from work, but my team seems to be handling it all quite well.  Am I irrelevant?  Does atree falling in the woods make a sound if no one is around to hear it?  I'm feeling like that damn tree. 

After watching every minute of the Macy's Thanksgiving Day parade, I had to get off the couch or go bonkers. Despite John's commands to stay where I was and mend, I opted for getting off the couch to help with dinner preparations.  Result -- shoulder pain exploded on me last night despite having taken Advil and carefully wearing my sling all day and night.  This morning I popped a Percoset.  I was desperate.  It's time for another one!

I haven't been running around by any means.  I've tried to be a good patient.  In the past two days, I've read a mountain of magazines and newspapers.  I've blogged, sorted my four inch high in box, paid bills, talked with relatives and eaten my way through an abundance of tasty nibbles. I want to "getting moving" but I tire easily.  What happened to my Energizer Bunny?  I even napped after exhausting myself setting theThanksgiving Dinner table. 

What's the use in getting dressed when you can't go out, but that brings me to the simple tasks that bring me to tears. Ever tried to wash your right armpit with your right arm or hook your bra with one hand? The hair dryer is a banned appliance as it requires my left arm to rise up above my head.  My hair is early "mess". I can't lift my left arm to pull on a sweater or shirt.  I can only zip up a sweat shirt.  I can't wear my normal slacks or jeans- it takes two good arms to pull and zip them up. I've succumbed to sweat and yoga pants pull ups with elastic waists.  At least they are black and not the horrid pastel colors with matching sequend tops of those blue haired ladies standing in line at the 5:00 2 for 1 seating at restaurants.  Just thinking about them depresses me because I turned 66 on Monday.  I'm now beyond all the age categories - you know, the ones you have to check off on marketing surveys. I've become irrelevant to marketeers -- except, of course, to those hawking hearing aids, laxatives, adult diapers, scooters and denture gel.

Monday I go back to work, for which, I will be eternally grateful.  I'm ready to be back in the muck of the "reality of life".  I'll be easy to recognize.  I'll be the one with sling and sweats in heels.  Wish me luck. 

Surgery Plus 7 Days

Light typing is now allowed; however, I'm still sling bound and feeling like an elephant with a broken snout.  Our attempt to escape to the ocean for a week of R&R was a bust -- the weather was cold, gray and windy.  We couldn't get warm. On top of it all, John's cough is turning into a three week affair and I caught it.  What a way to spend a birthday!   After one night, we bagged it and drove home to blue skies and a cozy fireplace. 

I've got six little stitches scattered about the shoulder.  Swelling is minimal but the shoulder reminds me of a lamb roast after John's plugged it with garlic cloves and spinkled it with rosemary.  Am trying to stay off the "dizzy" drugs, but had to return to them last night.  My expectations about "getting back to normal" have been somewhat unrealistic. John just rolls his eyes when I complain that the sling is getting in my way.

48 hours later

Typing with one hand is required. That is a slow and error prone process. The good news is that both my rotator cuff and bicep in my left arm are repaired and in time, with rehab, should be better than new. The bad news is that my stomach doen't like percoset, so much of what I have eaten in the past 48 hours erupted from me.  Maybe I will lose a few inches around my ever expanding waist.

No reaching, stretching or lifting is allowed.  I am condemmed to pull-up pants and front zippered sweats. Nurse John is attentive and helpful. (He thinks my breasts are swingingly handsome.)

 I hate being or feeling helpless!  I don't think he is having a fun time with his patient.  :-)

Fixing the left shoulder

We survived hurricane Sandy quite well -- Forte Vento was unharmed as well was our condo.  Can't say the same for my daughter's family home (they were out of power for a week) or their sweet little summer place in Seaside Height Park across from Tom's River (they lost all the interior, but the place remained on its cinder blocks foundation).

My energy now turns to my left shoulder.  Tomorrow my rotator cuff will be repaired  After 10 days without a couple of Ibuprofen every night, pain rips across the my back and shoulders every time I move.  It's amazing what the drug was able to mask.  As all the birthday cards remind us -- getting old is not for sissies.  I have high hopes that repairs are possible and that I'll be able to pull lines without pain.  There's physical therapy after the surgery, but, as always, I'm determined.  If I can't have strength at least I want the lack of pain.  I'm keeping my fingers crossed.

I arrive at 5:30AM at the hospital, John at my side.  Surgery is scheduled for 7:30AM and I'll be home in bed sometime in the afternoon.  Hope I get good drugs!

Preparing for Sandy

I thought we'd get through the season without a hurricane.  Our last sail of the season was planned for Saturday and then on Sunday, we were going to prepare her for winterization and a Wednesday haul out.   Friday morning was a rude awakening as Sandy's track to announced to sweep up the Chesapeake and the Delmarva Peninsula.  The message was simple -- no sailing, just prepare for bad weather.  We hustled ourselves to the marina early Saturday morning to prepare Forte Vento.  We were too late to get on the haul out list, but the marina found us a more protected slip.  Six hours later we had completed our work  -- removed the jib and packed it away, removed the Bimini and dodger and packed it away, packed away the electrical, water hose and turned off the refrigeration and cleaned out the frig and freezer.  Only one small error -- a piece of the metal frame for the Bimini fell unexpectedly and slammed against the compass that is stationed about in the center of the cockpit.  It was completely smashed.  We'll replace it later.  No time to spare.

Our last task before moving the boat was to remove the lines in our slip.  John hung off the boat's  aft starboard corner  to untangle our lines from our neighbor's.  I maneuvered the other lines so he could reach the massive piling.  What a struggle!  Finally free, we motored to the pump out dock, an interim stop on the way to the new slip.  We double washed rinsed the waste tank, another winterization prep chore done. 

The wind was picking up so I over steered and missed the new slip first time around.  Determined, I took Forte Vento out into the main channel, turned her around, came back and tried again.  This time we made it.  John grabbed a line and leveraged her in and I kept her in a slow reverse to keep the wind from pushing us into the dock.  After another hour of adjusting lines we were settled.  I took a picture, crossed my fingers and hoped she'll pull through.

Luckily for us, it's going more northward through New Jersey. That's unlucky for the kids.  Their summer house is snuggled three blocks from the ocean and two blocks from the bay just over the bridge from Tom's River. It's taking a direct hit.

I hate Disney World!

This morning began smoothly.  The JetBlue flight was uneventful as all flights should be.  Even the perky guy sitting next to was quiet after he very enthusiastically introduced himself.  Hertz delivered my car promptly even though I'm not a Gold Member.  The drive over to the hotel was simple.

Then it all began -- I couldn't find the hotel.  I called Disney central booking and the directions were clear.  However, my reservation had been changed unbeknownst to me.  I got back in the car and drove to the new hotel, only to find out I was in the wrong section of the hotel -- I was not in Port Orleans French Quarter, but in Port Orleans Riverside.  Okay, I can deal with going up the street a bit.  As I was checking into the hotel, I noticed that I'd only booked three nights and not four, but Disney lived up to its reputation for service by calling central booking again after I asked.  One half hour later, I've got a second reservation for an extra day.  Somehow extending the first reservation another day was not possible.   The young lady handed me my check in package saying, "You're in 8547 Sweetie."  She gave me directions for driving around to section 85.  I unloaded my bags from the car and walked around the building to finally find the the door.  The key card didn't work.  I tried again. The red light glowed.  I tried again.  The key card didn't work.  I walked my bags back to car, then walked back to the lobby -- over the river, around the bridge and across the river entrance.  The young lady checked the card.  "It works. You should be fine, sweetie," she said.  I said "Ok. What will you do if it doesn't work."  She smiled, "Don't worry it will work."  I turned, then, to confirm, "It is 8547, right?"  "Yes," she confirmed then turned to another customer.

To understand how I was feeling now, it helps to tell you that it's 3:30PM and I've had half  a muffin and a bag of chips since the sun had risen.  I walked back to the door.  The card key did not work.  I tried again.  The light once again was red.  The card key did not work.  I took a deep breath.  I walked back to the car and drove to the lobby and asked for manager.  Within minutes and many apologies I was told my room was 8567, not 47 as was written on the map.

Once I deposited my bags in the room, I drove over to the Dolphin Hotel to check in for the conference.  I wasn't allowed to park and was briskly directed to a "over flow" parking lot three miles away.  There I took a bus back tot he Dolphin hotel.

It was a good afternoon and evening.  Met some nice guys.  Good discussions.  So, relaxed I headed back to catch the bus.  I caught the last bus back to the parking lot.  I was following the map, but somehow I found myself on a road named route 192.  I pulled over wishing I'd brought my Garmin and was almost in tears.  But I remembered that I'm a big girl, a grown up, so after turning the map around in circles a couple of times, I figured out where I was.  My 5 minute trip back to the hotel took 30.

All of this would never have happened in NYC. I would have grabbed a taxi with a driver who knew where I needed to go.  I really hate this manufactured Eden.

Trapped!

I've  watched the NCIS episode where Tony and Ziva can't get out and start sweating as Ziva climbs on Tony's shoulders and tries with all her might to push out the ceiling because the doors won't open, but I never imagined it would happen to me -- that I personally would get stuck in an elevator.

My colleague and I were just coming back from lunch this past Thursday.  We were both going to be late for meetings so we scurried through the building doors, flashed our badges at the guard, quickly swept through the badge gate and congratulated ourselves as we caught the closest elevator in the nick of time as it binged the "I'm closing now" alert.   I pushed three and she pushed seven.  The doors silently closed. We both whipped out our phones to check our email -- neither of us wanting to waste a minute of time.

We reached the third floor.  The elevator stopped, waited and then started up to seven.  The doors never opened.  I thought, perhaps, I hadn't actually pushed the button sufficiently, but when the doors didn't open on seven, we looked at each other, stunned.  It was an OMG moment.  I pushed "one".  Surely, that would work.  It didn't. And, then the damn thing took over our lives -- it started going to random floors stopping, but not opening its doors.  I reassured my colleage, "At least we are not in free fall" and she replied, "or in a 100 floor building."  We looked at each other wide-eyed.  Suddenly, we felt like kids. What to do?  We sprang into action -- I pushed the "talk" button - repeatedly until a distant voice said, "How can I help you?"  My friend yelled  "We're stuck.  The elevator doors - elevator #1 -- won't open."  The garbled reply, as best we could decipher, was that the elevator company would come soon.  We were two very impatient women wanting action.  We couldn't just stand by and wait.  My friend whipped out  her Blackberry and called  the front desk.  No reception.  I whipped out my iPhone -- same result.

We started punching the alarm bell.  It rang out.  We giggled.  Now we were kids again.  With a bell on each side of the elevator, we started a punching  in rhythm.   The alarm bell sang a staccato song.  We laughed again -- what a silly thing for two grown women to do, but we kept on doing it.  Then,  I started pounding on the doors and yelling through this steel box called an elevator. Pounding made no echo.  We looking at each other in disbelief again.  We lost all our dignity as we traveled up and down, and up and down, and up and down. We yelled and punched the alarm more -- action, always action.

It seemed like forever, but was actually less than ten  minutes, when we could hear people yelling on the other side of the doors as we passed from floor to floor.  We yelled our names.  We yelled "Help!"  The elevator kept traveling. "Hold on! We'll get you out1" yelled a familiar voice, "We've called the fire department.  They are on the way."  We looked at each other in amazement and busted out laughing again.

Then,  as if nothing was wrong, the doors parted on the 7th floor.  We jumped out and they snapped close behind us.  We stepped across the hall to another one going down.  We walked out on the 1st floor and surprised everyone -- especially the familiar voice who was talking into his walky-talky.  It was over.  All we could say was, "Lock that #1 up.  It's lost its mind!"

Listening to the debate

Obama and Romney are arguing.  I'm trying to pay attention, but am getting distracted by the retoric.  Right at this moment it's all about health care.  Both are attacking each other.  They are  like two bulls snorting and heaving and stomping the ground.  Luckily there's no steam erupting from their noses.  Bill Lerher can't get a question in sideways.  The crowd is civil.  The debaters not nearly so, particularly Romney.  I think I'll have another scotch.  I'm looking foward to the post debate analysis.  It will be much more logical.

They're off to banking regulation now.  Romney is trying to tell Bill what to do about the questions.  He wants to carry on.  He's looking like a bully.  Obama is not over talking Bill.  The difference is starting to show.  Time -- 60 minutes into the debate.  Romney is interrupting.  Can't tell whether that is good or bad.  Be still my heart -- what is a qualified mortgage?  Romeny says that because there is no clear definition, its hurting our marketplace.

Summer's gone

The air is chilly now and the sky fills with sweeping clouds with gray bottoms that regularly hide the sun.  The wind is unpredictable -- one day fierce and the next day cotton candy light.  So we motor when we must.  Each weekend becomes more precious as the autumn over takes us.  Today, we anchored at 3PM after motoring against a very light wind in the Rhode River.  John just finished the crossword puzzle my brain could not get its arms around.  I sit with my iPad writing a long due entry here in the blog.  To our starboard, three smaller sail boats are rafted together. Men's loud voices break the air. They sound more like power boaters than sailors.  Perhaps they'll get drunk early and fall asleep.  Otherwise, we may be in for a noisy evening.   No matter.  We enjoy what we can.  Come the end of October, we put Forte Vento up for the winter and return to spending our weekends among the city folk in Washington, DC.

Sun's gone now behind some thickening clouds.  We'll bury ourselves under the comforter tonight and rock gently as the water washes under the boat.  Good night!

Flies in the cockpit!

There are good sailing days and then there are the days that make you question your sanity.  Today was one of the those days.  We sit below decks on the hood in Plaindealing Creek across the Tred Avon river and the town of Oxford waiting for the sun to go down and cool the cockpit.

We left the dock this morning with gray clouds overhead and little wind in the air.  We motored Forte Vento across the Bay instead of attempting to sail in the very light wind. Bored and tired,  John retired to the V-berth for a nap while I listened to the humming engine and watched for crab pots.  Rained sprinkled and what little wind there was came across the back of the boat.  I was joined by a host of flies -- plain ol' flies you normally get at a picnic or hovering around a freshly baked pie set to cool in the window (does anyone do that anymore?)  With the wind pushing on your back instead of slapping you on the face as you cross the water, the cockpit becomes a free ride for these buggers.  Along with the ride, they decided to have lunch -- my legs and feet.  In self defense,  I armed myself with our purple fly swatter and went to war.  I killed 12 before John came back up on deck to take over the battle.

We did get to sail.  As we rounded the Green #7 bell upon to enter the Choptank River, the wind picked up to almost 10 knots and our heading allowed us a pleasant reach (wind across the beam). But, to our surprise, the flies liked the idea and stayed instead of taking off for clamer cockpits.  After sailing all the way  (3 hours of success!) into our anchorage, we discovered some of the buggers had inflitrated our living quarters below decks.  Up went our screens and out came the swatter again.  There were no pleasant deaths, just dead flies.  Let's hope tomorrow brings more wind, less flies and sunshine.

See Dick. See Jane. See Bridget!

This sweet young princess makes Grandpa proud.  Everyone got together at her Aunt Patricia's last Wednesday to spend some time with Bridget, now 13 months old.  She had Grandpa wrapped around her finger so tightly that they collapsed together for a nap after a busy day of playing at the park, swimming in the baby pool and eating pizza.  It reminded us all of how simply beautiful family can be and how hugs and kisses make you feel like a million dollars.

Bridget is a seasoned walker now; however, walking on grass makes her worry.  It's just not like wood floors or cement sidewalks of Queens.  But she pushed through to get onto the horsey-on-a-spring ride at the park.  Gnats swarmed in the afternoon sun in the Harper's Ferry park, so after a big swing and the horsey ride, we headed back to the house for a swim.



Celebrating 40!

You know you are getting old when your daughter turns 40. For our family it was a time of much celebration, of life achievement and of a job "well done".  She's a Jersey Girl through and through -- lay back but ready with a sharp retort if needed.  A lover of the ocean and boardwalk who can sit on the beach under the umbrella posting on face book, twittering away all the while watching her youngest play with his friend at the ocean's edge.    He's a tall skinny 13, aspires to be a rapper complete with with almost shaved head, over sized baseball cap and pants that hang off his hips revealing six inches of plaid boxer shorts.  I shake my head, but my daughter and her husband keep quiet, knowing he'll eventually grow out of it.  As long as he stays off drugs, all is okay.  At the other extreme is their oldest is a thoughtful baseball player who is morphing into a nicely handsome young man.  He's a studious high school senior with serious intentions for college, focused on business school.  Go figure. 

We surprised her at 11:30 Friday night at their beach house just blocks from the ocean. Despite the off and on again rain and humid air, we enjoyed the ocean, at boardwalk pizza and watched the sophomoric movie "Watch".  Happy Birthday to my daughter!