How Was Your Week?

Greetings to all my friends at Readers Studio 2014 and all my friends who aren’t there, too! It turns out that it’s probably a good thing I didn’t come this year because I would have spent a great deal of what should be an utter blast (and from the pictures posted on Facebook so far, it is a blast) working for my Day Job.

I haven’t pulled an all-nighter in some time now but I did Thursday night. It was the usual world-will-come-to-an-end-if-this-stuff-isn’t-done-at-exactly-the-right-time sort of thing. Perhaps you have that kind of thing somewhere in your lives? Even a wedding or a birth can be a little flexible in its schedule, but not computer stuff that has regulations and oversight and other Important Factors.

I thought I would describe my week in terms of my Art Postcard Tarot.

Art Postcard Tarot
(c) Copyright 2010 Marcia McCord

One thing that’s really accurate in this reading is the addition of a new floppy-eared fellow named Louie to my household. He arrived “after hours” one night in February and after trying to find his owner for a month, the Animal Control folks declared him officially mine. There’s some hunting dog gene in this pooch, a natural pointer, particularly in the assignment of blame phase of household disaster discovery. Louie points to the cats. The cats point back.

Louie’s best friend is Lizard, a soft squeaky green fellow who hasn’t got a lot to say unless he’s being chewed on by a little brown dog. Lizard has been part of the household since before Louie’s arrival, but only Binket paid attention to him and that only when she was working out her Puff Baby drama, a play of meller-drammer not yet available on Broadway.

Besides the accidental acquisition of an enthusiastic puppy, I have also purposefully acquired a new camera lens and have been going hog-wild with close-up photos of the flowers in my yard. It’s a “macro” lens that will just about let me count the hairs on an aphid’s nose. For those of you who are really photographers, I apologize but goodness this is fun!

I've been such a poor correspondent lately that my friend Sally, bless her heart, had to track me down and call to see if I were still alive. Oops. I've been busy. I had this birthday thing and, well, it's a long story. All of my stories are long stories.

I’m still planning on reprinting my decks later this year but currently have a few copies of the Dust Bunny Lenormand still available. To those who have asked, my Off-Center Lenormand will not be reprinted until my partner in that venture, Dan Pelletier of Tarot Garden, gives the signal. Dan tends to like collectable decks to be collectable and likes the idea of that deck being limited to its original 100 copies. Sorry to disappoint, but unless you see Off-Center up for resale on an auction, you are likely not to find a copy.

On the list are the Picture Postcard Tarot, the Art Postcard Tarot, the Victorian Trade Card Tarot and the Tea Tarot, again in limited quantities, later in the year. I’m gathering contact information from those interested in these decks, so stay tuned.

I will attend BATS again this year in San Jose and have a few other events in the works in the San Francisco area, and perhaps a new deck or two! Stay tuned for more fun!

Best wishes!

Heroes Rest

It's September 11, a day of reflection and solemnity, a day to honor those who died at their workplace or in a field for reasons "nothing personal" and everything personal.

Where were you? People ask that about a shared tragic event, like tracing a scar from an old wound and feeling the freshness of the pain again.

I remember the disbelief, the vulnerability, the fear, the fierce protectiveness I felt suddenly for the people on my team at work. I remember the cries of the commuters on the ferryboat taking me home when we realized we had left passengers on the dock while there were still seats on the boat and the cheers as the captain turned the vessel around to go back, a risk we all wanted, needed to take, to pick them up, not knowing if we were in danger or in safety. I remember curling up on my couch once safely home only to watch the Towers fall, see buildings burn and planes crash.

In honor of those who rest, fallen while trying to help others, please take a moment today to be grateful for life and love and friendship and kindness. Take a moment to thank those who help others, even in the smallest of ways. We will all rest soon enough.

Best wishes.

The Sign of Four

No, this isn’t Sherlock Holmes speaking. It’s just me again. Four has been on my mind today. The Emperor is IV and often is said to represent Aries. We just had that Super Moon, meaning a super-close full moon. My thanks to all those people who posted their photos on Facebook.  Here we had rain and clouds, so I had to use my imagination. But along with that Super Moon we had the vernal equinox, that day when night and day are even heralding the first day of spring and the first degree of Aries. I’m an Aries fan. It’s my sun sign. I like beginnings of things, along with the middles and ends.


Victorian Trade Card Tarot
(c) Copyright 2010 Marcia McCord


As one of my fours, The Emperor is the guy who makes decisions for the overall good of the empire. Not all of those decisions are popular but the Emperor is the one who makes them. Very recently I made a couple of decisions of my own. Two were to end a couple of affiliations that no longer worked for me. They were very personal decisions. They weren’t entirely popular with the people affected by them. But looking at my own long term stability, growth and happiness, they were right for me.

When I know a decision is not going to be easy, I really like the “Dear Abby” method of arriving at an answer. Dear Abby’s advice usually applies to people stuck in between the decision to leave or stay with a commitment, usually in discussing an abusive, once-romantic relationship. The question is, Are you better off with them or without them?

In both cases, I considered that question carefully. I wanted to make sure I was comfortable with the decision, like the Emperor taking care of the good of his empire first. But I also wanted to treat the topic with dignity as much as possible, including making sure in the process of the discussion that along with being clear and careful of others’ dignity I also preserved my own. I tend to sacrifice that. Maybe that’s part of The Hanged Man being part of my birth cards.

Since part of the lesson of the Emperor is that, when you implement something, like making a decision, you can’t always control everything about it, the “four” part of the Emperor talks about stability and that while a temporary ruckus might ensue from your decision, eventually stability and order and safety and balance are the goals. Sometimes the most important thing to remember is that your own personal empire has boundaries.

Boundaries are a funny thing. Some people view the stretch of territory beyond that boundary to be wilderness ready for annexation. They risk or ignore or perhaps just don’t care that on the other side of their empire is likely someone else’s empire or at least their patch of grass. Boundary issues, we call it.


Victorian Trade Card Tarot
(c) Copyright 2010 Marcia McCord


Sticking to your own boundaries can be seen in another four in the tarot, the 4 of Pentacles. Sometimes this is called the “miser” card but a little more broadly this can be thought of as the prudent use of resources. Not only does it talk about curbing that wild spending streak (Inner Child: Well, THAT’S no fun. Outer Me: We haven’t heard from YOU in a while), but it also talks about maintaining stability with what you truly control and not trying to go beyond those boundaries. So, while I might wish to assuage any hurt feelings caused by misunderstanding my decisions, ultimately the only person’s feelings I really control are my own.

I can still wish no one had been upset by my decisions or hurt by misunderstandings. But like the 4 of Pentacles, there’s a point where going beyond my own scope is not productive to me or to others. Sometimes you just have to sit tight and wait for people to adjust to the change. I owe them that, at least. It’s a sign of respect.



Victorian Trade Card Tarot
(c) Copyright 2010 Marcia McCord



I could actually make things worse if I spoke out further than my original statement. There’s a certain wisdom to the advice, “Don’t apologize. Don’t explain” especially if you have the urge to do it “pro-actively” when someone didn’t actually come to you for the apology or explanation. Sometimes, well meant good will can serve to make the conflict worse. So, another four pops up, the 4 of Swords. Give it a rest. That’s advice to yourself, of course. Saying that to someone else is likely to get neither of you any rest!

One of the two decisions was first very clear. The other party wanted to end the association and left a voicemail with clear instructions. I happened to save it just in case I was listening with too much emotion at the time. But in contemplating the decision and listening again, I had to agree. I was truly better without the association. And then it got confusing. They wanted a face-to-face discussion. I wasn’t sure what that would accomplish other than to make me feel worse than I already did. I agreed with them. We’re done.  But I don't need a meeting.  We're just done and I wish them well.


Victorian Trade Card Tarot
(c) Copyright 2010 Marcia McCord



And surprise, that made things worse instead of better. Since I’m so much more comfortable with new beginnings than endings, drawing out the conflict can even desensitize you to others’ feelings and it certainly does little to help them understand your own. So yet another four, the 4 of Cups, says, I’ll pass on the drama too. No, I didn’t need to meet. ‘Nuff said.

Strangely, with the parting of the ways in both situations, I felt oddly liberated. Sometimes it’s hard to know when you have a burden until you set it down for a while. Gee, that’s better! Breathe in the good air! The conflict that had been there a while was resolved for me by just letting go. No more trying to figure out a way to make it better without any real hope of it getting better. I love that Russian proverb: When the horse is dead, get off. Simple.



Victorian Trade Card Tarot
(c) Copyright 2010 Marcia McCord



Nope, I’m not going to go into the details of either situation. They were professional associations and not dear personal ones. They weren’t my main source of income, just connections that I had hoped would be mutually beneficial. That little bit of distance helps to make the change easier for me and I hope for them too. Instead, I’d rather turn my energy to something more productive, something worth my time, something with a future, something like the 4 of Wands.

I love the 4 of Wands. It is stability without stagnation. It is energy expended without being dissipated and wasted. I’m Aries; I’m a fire sign. The 4 of Wands is the 4 of Fire and it can be seen as that cozy hearth-fire that serves, warms without burning and welcomes others to thaw beside it. My own hearthfire has taken the form of creating a new tarot deck, something cozy and warm, the Tea Tarot. It soothes. It refreshes. It takes the sting out of the day. It brightens the mind and warms inside and out. It can be the groundwork for a new beginning, a solid foundation and energetic.  And I hope you will enjoy it!

Best wishes and calm, warm thoughts to all!

***

Pre-orders for the Tea Tarot are available now. Want a sneak peek? Click on the link Tarot Decks in the upper right side in the information bar. Shall I pour?

Love in the Time of Influenza

I had the flu. Then the hubs had the flu. This wasn’t the “search the cabinets for anything to help you breathe again” flu. This was that other flu. The flu we don’t talk about. You know what I mean. I don’t mean to paint too graphic a picture here but there are some tarot cards that can tell the story.



It seems like it should have been a short story. Its suddenness was like a lightning strike, a Tower fallen, the rug ripped out from under me. Luckily, I was within range of familiar conveniences. In times of stress, they were never more convenient. Dark moments like these are times when we examine our souls. I really hadn’t wanted to examine my soul from the inside out, though.

But after the initial assault, the siege went on. And on. It was 8 of Wands, the rain of fire, the sudden swiftness of burning, even the up-in-the-air feeling of having been launched, wanting to land but afraid to do so from such a height. The fever raged. The battle continued. The topsy-turvy world of war was upon me. Even water would not put out this flame, would not seek its own level but beat its retreat.

I sought comfort in the dark and quiet, hoping the sweet little songbirds would cease their concerts, the dog would not snore, the cats would not breathe so loudly. Light and air and logic and imagination were enemies. I waved a sheet in surrender and prayed for an end, however it may come. As a soldier crawling from the blast, the 4 of Swords, I sought oblivion even if from cold stone or smooth tiles.

I fought despair of the 5 of Cups. This was still Day 1. And yet I continued to work, to answer emails and telephone calls, to offer guidance on complex computer projects. And sprint. And despair some more. No, I said. This was not flu. This was food poisoning, a poorly prepared potato past its prime in search of revenge for its neglect. It would not be flu.

After the long siege of day and night, I rallied at dawn, sure the worst was over. After all, my husband’s birthday weekend was almost upon us and I would not, would not give in and cancel it. I tenderly tried to regain the balance of my strength, to sip both eagerly and cautiously to win back some of what I had lost. Sweet Temperance led me to sip and sip and sip again.

Ah, but cruel warning came! Peace is not merely the lack of open warfare. Dissembling stillness led me astray and I called out for sustenance. My husband responded in his usual generosity and brought me what would ordinarily be healing itself, Sizzling Rice Soup, and perhaps, if I were daring, a little vegetable fried rice. What harm could a little soothing soup do? Yet, like a thief, like the 7 of Swords, in a flash from full bowl to empty was all the time it took for me to find that the battle was not yet won. Even the sight of the veggie rice was too much to be gazed upon. I lost ground and I retreated once more.

Flu, like Death, be not proud. It takes us all, the willing and the unwilling, from time to time. Flu rode in with my husband on a portion of spicy eggplant from that same nearby Chinese restaurant. He felt fine while I turned green over my bland soup. Yet scant hours later, he was struck, with all the force of all the same symptoms, all the same remorse. And we fought fire with water once again, rallied and sank, retreated and wandered restlessly. All the while our dog and cats watched over us in dismay, concern and perhaps portion calculation should the worst occur.

And in our lowest moment, we knew we were defeated. The birthday weekend was off. The trip to the redwoods was postponed. The prime rib and chocolate cake were not to be. We were betrayed by a microbe, stabbed in the back like the 10 of Swords for providing too friendly an environment for its welfare. We made phone calls. We choked out our apologies and gave our best intentions to our comrades to save themselves, to run.

I determined the only cure for the worst of it was never to eat again. Like the 2 of Swords, I drew a thin treaty with the beastly bug, denying defeat as well as victory. My resolve lasted only into the evening of Day 3 and I rummaged for something, anything like real food. I found a bagel and toasted it, throwing caution to the wind. I returned to fuss and coo over my ailing sweetie whose head was bursting in between other bursts. We slept again.

Day 4. The fire retreats and leaves the charred remains, soothed, finally, by the cooling waters. We rise, having let go of earthly cares and woes, mostly woes. My husband has ventured as far as the kitchen and made chicken noodle soup. While this balm may not last for long, it is a breakthrough. Even the thought of food was torture a couple of days ago. We’ve dared to watch a little television, its trumpet blare and fireworks now not too painful to take. There are so many food commercials on television and not a lot of them are appetizing.

I even watched Julie & Julia, a movie about the love of food. It reminded me of the joy our cousin Patti has in her cooking, her love of France, her annual Thanksgiving “Babette’s” Feast where all is made from loving scratch. It also reminded me that love goes through things together, weathers indignities, unpleasantness, inconveniences, disappointments, defeats as well as joys and celebrations. We drink from the same cup and get the same reward, whether it’s the sweetness of the wine or the wretched influenza, in sickness and in health. We share the same cup.

But it will still be a while before that boned duck thing from J&J starts to look tasty. And I’d better go wash that cup again.

**

All images in this posting are from my Art Postcard Tarot, still available.  See my page called Tarot Decks on this blog for more information. 

Best wishes.

Mr. Osborne, May I Be Excused?

I was on Facebook recently and the topic of Gary Larson’s The Far Side came up with a short discussion of all-time favorites. I mentioned that one of my favorites is the two bucks in hunting season, one commenting to the other about his pal's unfortunate target-shaped mark, “Bummer of a Birthmark, dude.”

It’s been like that for me since last Thursday with the Day Job. Like the bumper sticker, I try to take one day at a time but sometimes several days gang up on me all at once, like there’s that unlucky birthmark or something. Last Friday was going to be an ordinary day until Thursday when I found out I was needed to test an emergency software release once it had moved to “production.” It was much more like being startled than afraid, at least. I didn’t anticipate any big issues. I just needed to make sure I was there at the right time and had what I needed to get to the systems and make sure that everything looked normal.

I already had one change going in for the weekend but I knew I wouldn’t be able to take a peek at it until Saturday morning. The Friday evening task was a surprise but it was quick and easy, as these things go.

Releases don’t always go that well in the software world. I remember being on a train-wreck of a release back in 2004. Not only did we have problems to debug and resolve, my east coast time zone friends had long since lost the ol’ sense of humor by, oh, say 1:00 a.m. Pacific time. My own eyes were so dry and gritty that I could have sharpened knives with them, but that was nothing compared to my Boston-based co-worker who was just short of hysterics from lack of sleep and excess of frustration. To top it off, our conference call meeting number played “Hotel California” as if to haunt us while we plodded through the just slightly-wrong settings that were causing all the commotion. To this day, I can’t mention the word “Eagles” around her without a strong reaction, somewhere on the level of a Red Sox fan hearing praise about the Yankees. We got through it somehow. Sometime you just have to drag the boulder up the mountain.

The software release I had planned to do Saturday went well. I popped out of bed at 7:00 a.m., opened the conference call to some other co-workers who tensely checked their computers to see if the “Eagle” had landed, or at least version 1.1 of it. Wonder of wonders, it had. I was back in bed by 7:45 a.m. for a bit longer snooze, thinking my weekend was now my own.

That was the flaw in my thinking, of course. Hotel California: You can check out any time you like but you can never leave.

Sunday morning at 4:30 a.m., there came a terrible noise. The phone was ringing. At 4:30? In the morning? I keep the phone on my side of the bed. Anyone calling that number in the middle of the night is either a wrong number or a software emergency. When you work in software, sometimes wrong numbers are really welcome. This was not a wrong number. This was a software emergency.

“Mmmm. Mursha McCrud.”

I don’t speak very well before 7:00 a.m. I try to tell my eager eastern time zone buddies this when they schedule meetings for me at 6:00 a.m. They are likely to get my non-verbal phase, perhaps even my non-sentient phase. Certainly, they get my non-diplomatic phase. Yes, it has occurred to me that they may be scheduling early meetings precisely to engage me in the non-verbal, non-sentient form. I attend conference calls at those times, but I live in terror that I’ll snore into the phone without the mute button on. It’s so unprofessional.

My caller was from one of my long-standing inter-company relationships. They wanted to know if the test we had told them about for Saturday was over.

“Uh, well, yes. Why?” Oh, only that they had tried our website and couldn’t get into it. “Did you try closing all your browser windows and opening them up again?” Big technology tip: That actually helps with industrial strength websites. Oh, the guy said, OK, I’ll try that. And he hung up.

Suddenly I was awake, thumbs to the Blackberry, feet to the desk and, well, huh. When you’ve done software production support as long as I have there are a couple of things you do automatically. You check and double check. You think so far outside the box about how a problem could happen that you lose the box. I sent out an email to some of the gang at my company who had some special activity going on. Yup, that finished Saturday, wasn’t the issue. Looks like the website was OK, too, after a quick check. I wondered what the problem was. And then started the long, long saga of trying to get back in touch with the people who had called me in the first place.

Another one of my very favorite Larson cartoons is the Crisis Clinic. It’s on fire and going over the falls. My friend Derek thinks that is a fair representation of my desk. The vortex of my pack-rat-ism and need to have tools like pens, pencils, notebooks, CD’s, cables, a letter opener, storage devices, incense…incense? at hand has its event horizon just behind my work laptop. Sometimes I have stuffalanches, occasionally cat-induced. None of that affects my work productivity. It’s part of the ambiance. When I work, I’m focused with laser-like intensity. Things happen, like small earthquakes, and I don’t notice. And the Bat Signal had lit up the skies.

Now it’s one thing for the people you’re helping when you’re trying to fix a technology problem to be ungrateful. This is common. All that leftover frustration at the problem happening in the first place has to go somewhere. So when I’m in the Crisis Clinic, I’m used to being slugged by a patient, at least verbally. You start to look out for key phrases like, “You people….” I don’t think any good, kind words ever follow, “You people.”

It’s quite another to have your Sunday morning prime sleeping time jangled into unplanned action and then to disappear on me. But that’s what happened. It was like a bad practical joke. Let’s see, I get this call at 4:30 a.m., I successfully page someone at the affected company around 7:30 a.m to ask if they had indeed resolved their issue. It’s someone I’ve never spoken to before, but that company, like many companies’ technology departments, has had some changes. The person does not know, so I ask if they can check and call me back. No matter, they have my work number, my cell number, my email address. Then time passes. I start sending emails. “Please advise of status. My company’s experts are standing by.” Actually they’re likely to drift away without sufficient urgency from the patient, but there’s this Responsibility thing I do. Such an annoyance, responsibility.

I page the emergency after-hours pager. Several times. No answer. Time passes. I’m chained to the phone and the computer now because I can’t leave my post. I miss mass. I blow off the barbeque with the Football Pool people. Finally, it’s 2:30 pm and I’ve now been hanging around at the Crisis Clinic with my hair on fire, and perhaps no one else’s, for 10 hours. I start calling all of my friends at that company.

I’ve worked for my company and with employees of the other company for about seven years now. Over time, I’ve collected little things like cell phone numbers, home numbers, stuff like that. You never know when you’ll need to contact someone.

The third person I called answered her phone. I apologized profusely. She gave me the new Team Leader’s cell phone number and email address. I dialed and suddenly found myself talking to the then nameless, now nameful stranger I spoke to at 7:30 a.m.

I introduced myself, apologized for interrupting her day and asked if she had gotten any of my (frantic) emails. “Oh,” she said. “That’s my fault. You sent, like what, 3 or 4 of them?” More like seven or eight but, hey, who’s counting? “I got busy doing,” she hesitated, “other things.” Oh, no problem, I profess in my most liaison-like tones. We just wanted to know if you were in fact able to access the website.

You see, if they can’t access our website, they can’t sell our stuff. If they can’t sell our stuff, they’ll sell somebody else’s stuff. We want them to sell our stuff. You’d be surprised how complex a concept that is. Or, I am, at least, every time I run into a co-worker who doesn’t get the dynamic.

“Oh, right. The website,” she hesitated again. “Well, we found out that the guys who were checking at 4:30 a.m. were actually looking at the wrong website.” Oh, I smiled dryly, day ruined, disposition slipping. No problem.

It took me hours to come down off the “battle stations” adrenalin high. I want my nap. I want my break. I want my blanky and my kitty. I don’t want to have to think any more. I want, no need, my 4 of Swords.

There were two more production problems today that were mind-boggling in their resolution. Boy, howdy, I could use some sleep. My Day Job is The Far Side: “Mr. Osborne, may I be excused? My brain is full.”

Best wishes.