sueeeus

Heavens, it’s been a long time since I’ve made a post. There is much to say. Much. But for now, I speak of SuDoku. Yes, it’s been a craze that’s taken the world by storm, but I am usually quite out of touch, so I’ve only recently been introduced.

Whilst visiting relatives of late, my dear young niece, a bright lass of ten, had in her possession two puzzlebooks. Sudoku for children. Emphasis on for children. Would you like to try it, she asks, in her sweet little voice. It’s fun! You’ll like it!

I’m always good for a puzzle. She concisely explained the game, and I ventured forth.

SuDoku kicked me in the rear, so to speak, and I found myself quite humbled by the fact that this was a children’s level game. In my defense, I hadn’t thought much about the logic of it during the first puzzle attempt. For children! I kept exclaiming. (Balking, rather). It’s hard, isn’t it My niece was so encouraging, in her sing-song voice. She has such infectious enthusiasm. Still. For children. Aback. I was simply quite taken aback. I am, after all, a university trained professional in a highly mathematical field. Hrumph!

I caught on, though, and came up with a method. Oooh. Ahhhh. I boldly and brazenly moved to the next level, and was quickly triumphant. Basking in my newfound success at breaking the daVinci code (hey, it’s how I felt –such a Eureka! moment), I chose the last level four puzzle in the book. Assuming, prematurely, and far too smugly, that I would whiz right through it.

Not so! That puzzle bested me for three days! My newly acquired system of logic and elimination failed. Failed! I was finally forced to make a choice between two numbers. A guess. With one guess, there are multiple possible outcomes. So frustrating, to track and backtrack. Such a tangled web. Oh yes. And during this struggle I learned that my mother does SuDoku. Of course. She’s always been a puzzler. The puzzle she’s working Not a measly children’s nine by nine. No. She’s working a sixteen by sixteen. Sixteen by sixteen! For heaven’s sake! I am in awe.

I finally solved the puzzle. I had to. Otherwise it was going to gnaw at me and slowly drive me mad. So now I decided to try a twelve by twelve (from dailysudoku.com). I’ve only identified six numbers so far. Only 80 more to go (they gave me 58).

Mercy me. What have I gotten myself into

A spontaneous family gathering occurred over Father’s Day weekend this year.  It was a rare event, even more so because of the upheaval in my family of late.  There were nine of us in all.  It was a happy time.  The weather was nice and we had promised the children that when they came to visit, we would hike to a special place where they used to go with their dad, and they could spread his ashes there.

It’s been a very long time since I’ve hiked that trail.  It’s a very nice hike, but I am not the sprite of my youth.  Umm.  Right.  I never was a sprite, to be completely honest.   I am a trooper, though.  I carried my 33 lb beloved a good part of the way.  Others tried to help, but he would have none of it.  I must be with my mama, he wailed, holding his arms out as though he couldn’t survive another moment in someone else’s arms.

We hiked.  It seemed as though we wouldn’t make it.  The trail was much longer than I remembered.  How much longer   We’re almost there, I kept assuring my nieces.  They stopped believing me after about the fifteenth time.  We did make it, and it was beautiful.  Of course we ran out of water, and of course I didn’t bring my camera, and of course I left the spare diapers in the car.  After all, we were only going to be out for an hour or two, at most.  Ha!  We were gone over four hours.  My munchkin was very good, considering what his mother put him through. 

The view at the top was glorious. We could see for miles and miles.  Paragliders were launching themselves skyward, and it was thrilling to watch them become one with the sky.  We found a grassy and private place, and my sweet nephew and niece knelt on the ground and said a prayer for their daddy as they let the wind carry his ashes away. 

The hike down proved more painful than the hike up, as my toes banged into the tip of my shoes with each and every step.  They were sore for days, and I suspected there was some bruising beneath my berry polish.  Being one for fastidious grooming, and all, I removed the polish the other day.  Sure enough.  Bruised.

I wish I could find words to express the feelings and thoughts that this day fostered.  There is a deep wistfulness for the children and for what could have been, but will never be.  There is a yearning for them to grow up without for a moment wondering if they were in any way responsible, or to blame.  There is a sorrow that is shared with all my siblings.  An indescribable sense of loss.  I know that I ought not romanticize death by imagining the ‘could have beens’ rather than acknowledging the way things were, but I tend to be the kind of person who hopes and believes that the best can happen, that it is possible.  Hoping against hope for things to turn around.  To get better. 

I miss him.  I miss the could have beens.  I wish things could have been better.  And all I can do is ramble on about bruised toes.

are moments like this

Twenty years ago today, I was a fresh young grad, barely 21, beginning her first professional job out in the wide wide world.  I had no intention of having a career.  I would have none of that, thank you very much.  I hadn’t known what I wanted to be, when I grew up.  I just knew that I would need to work, and I assumed that I would need to have an education in order to find good paying work.  I never questioned whether or not I would go to college.  It was a given.  I’m not sure why I was certain of that, but I was.  In retrospect, I should have considered other schools, besides the local university, but it didn’t occur to me.  My dad was a professor at another local university, across the state line, and it never occurred to me that I might go to that university.  I’ve never been one for much imagination.  But I do get things done. 

I was interested in architecture.  And education.  Those would have been my first choices.  I already knew teachers were paid a pittance for their life’s work, which was, and is, a travesty.  I hoped to put some distance between myself and poverty, so I decided against that path.

I was very daunted by the whole concept of university.  I had graduated from a very small, rural high school that boasted 42 students in its record high graduating class, four of which were exchange students from exotic places, far and anon.  I assumed I had received a laughable education, as I was able to finish all my ‘homework’ between classes, either racing through it as soon as it was assigned and before class was finished, or during the first part of the next class, when all is chaos, before the teacher has gained control.  I only remember doing one report at home, in the entire four years.  That, and assigned reading.  But nothing else.  I assumed that I didn’t know anything, and that university classes would be different.  They would be the real thing.  I psyched myself out, convincing myself it would be harder, and so much different.

I was 17 and laden with preconceived notions of inadequacy.  I met my RA, Resident Advisor, that first day in the dorm, and asked about her major.  She was older.  Mature.  She was the  RA, after all.  Architecture.  Oh, I said, quite interested.  How do you like it   It’s very hard, she said.  She didn’t recommend it.  How funny it is, how a fragment of conversation can change the course of one’s life.  It was that advice, from one who knows, that dissuaded me from that path.  I think back to that moment and wonder how I could have put so much faith in a struggling student, and so little faith in myself.  In retrospect, I know it wouldn’t have been that hard for me.  I think I would have done quite well, out there in the world of architects.

Instead, I went to the job placement center, and scanned the statistics for the best prospects of employment upon completion.  The engineering disciplines were at the top.  Chemical was first, followed by Electrical and Mechanical.  Having had no chemistry background whatsoever, I opted for electrical.  And there it was.  My decision.

Obviously, I didn’t know anything about anything.  Else how could I assume architecture would be too hard, because someone else said so, yet electrical engineering would be just fine.  I amaze myself, how much of an idiot I can be sometimes.

I did it.  I graduated.  I made it through.  I did well enough.  It was stressful, and I could have done much better, had I not psyched myself out.  It turns out that I did have the relative ability and intelligence needed to learn that field, after all.  Imagine that.  It also turned out that my small university actually had a very good engineering department.  Our graduates were placing in the top 10 percentile, nationally, I vaguely recall.  So.  I got a decent education after all.  For a bargain, at that.

Job placement was tough, that year.  Only half of my fellow classmates got jobs, upon graduation.  I had several offers.  I might boast, but I ought to consider that perhaps I was a good catch from the perspective of EEO quotas.  There weren’t many female engineers at the time.  I fit a double minority, being half Korean, and all.  Even so, I was relieved and proud to be joining the ranks of the professional employed.

I knew little of the company.  I chose it because it was the closest to home, even though it was hundreds of miles from home.  In a city.  A big city.  A big city full of traffic.  It was terrifying.

Twenty years ago today, I stepped through the gate, into a new life.  I was confident I would stay only a few years, get some experience under my belt, and move on to a place more vogue.  Groom myself for management.  Because that’s where it’s at, baby.  Management.  The measure of success.  A few years turned into two decades in the blink of an eye.  Management is the farthest thing from my mind.  Coworkers have become friends who are all part of my family now.  I love these people who I’ve shared the last twenty years of my life with.  This company has been good to me. 

I’m many many years from retirement, and wonder how long I will remain here.  I’d like to stay for some time, if I can work it all out.  I have hopes for my life, for my family, for my child(ren)’s upbringing.  I would like for it all to work out.  For now, it’s one day at a time, one week at a time, one month at a time, one year at a time, until I formulate a more definitive plan.