Ellen Bartelle, Woman of Mystery, Part 3

It was a dark and stormy morning.  Despite the gloom and drizzle, there were people swarming Swank Street in Seattle.  Ellen peered out from behind her crossword to take in the Fit for Life building entrance.  It was now or never.  She slipped on the rhinestone speckled spectacles and crossed the puddly street.  She nonchalantly walked in the front door, flashing the ID badge the Mayor had given her at the disinterested security guard.  Scuttling around the corner, she stopped to let her pulse return to normal. 

In any other business, the hallway by the elevators would be packed at 9:30 a.m., but this was the Fit for Life Association...all it's employees were expected to neglect the elevators in favor of the stairwells.  Everyone, of course, except for the Mayor.  He was lucky enough to have an office on the ground floor, for reasons obvious to everyone who had ever seen him.  Ellen pressed the upward arrow and waited, cautiously peering from side to side.  She tenderly folded and inserted her crossword puzzle into her fanny pack, ingeniously concealed beneath her green frog rain jacket.  Ellen was a master of disguise.  The elevator door opened, and she stepped on, pressing floor nine.  She fished the somewhat crumpled resume from under the rain jacket.  The elevator door opened, dinging conspicuously.  The jealous eyes of thirteen underemployees stared as she made her entrance...they were still glistening with sweat from the jog upstairs.

Ellen slowly stepped toward the reception area.  The wet dog smell of the carpet confronted her immediately.  At least she wouldn't have to worry about her rain jacket dripping on the floor.  There was a hungry looking receptionist directly in front of her.

"Welcome to the Fit for Life Human Resources Department.  What can I do for you today?"  she mechanically said.

Ellen held out her resume.  "Oh, yes, actually, um, I'm here for an interview for the opening in accounting."

The receptionist was obviously unimpressed.  After a brief phone inquiry, she rose to show Ellen into the office of her contact. 

"Follow me, please."  she said.  She was painfully thin.  Ellen was surprised she had the strength to be so surly.  After a neat rap on the office door, she was gone, and Ellen took another sip of her mochaccino.

"Come in!" came the shout from the office.  Ellen entered, closed the door, and smiled at the man behind the desk.  Frank was a stout man with a passion for tweed and peanuts.  There was a halo of shells littered around his desk.  His reckless snacking habits didn't matter, however, because Frank was exceptional at his job and everyone knew it.  He smiled back at Ellen, then hugged her roughly around the shoulders.  It was great luck to have an old friend of her father's already incorporated in the politics of the place.

"Sit down, Ellen, and have a peanut."  He clanked a small nutty bucket near the chair before continuing.  "I'm really glad you were able to come in today, but I've got some bad news for you."

"What's that, Frank?"  Ellen sounded as confident as one can with three peanuts in her mouth.

"Well," he began with a sigh, "I wasn't able to find an opening in accounting without raising questions, but I did find you a job across the hall."

Hmmm..."What floor is it on?"  Ellen queried, worried about what the upper teen levels would do to her heart rate.

"Oh, it's on the third floor...no problem there...The only reason I was concerned is because the position is in the Nutrition Center, as assistant editor."

Ellen smiled...editing she could do.  "Why should that be a problem as long as it's next to Accounting?  It should work out fine, Frank...".  She reached for the file he handed over.

"You don't know what you're getting yourself into, Ellen.  You can't so much as bite your fingernail without logging the calories onto your food journal.  You're going to have to stop with the chocolate, and the lattes, and the hot dogs while you're working there.  Do you think you can do it?".

The thought of carrot sticks and hummus flashed through her miserable brain.  For a moment, she wavered.  She rallied after a swig of mochaccino.  She had a job to do, and no matter how much tofu it took, she would pass herself off as a nutritional guru to crack this case.  Besides, she could eat whatever she wanted once she got home.

Compromise at Play

Perpetual weddings grace our rooms.
My daughter's the bride; my son is the groom.
She smiles and dons a long bridal veil.
He stands, not caring; quite typically male.
With singing and vows said under the stars,
Phew! We're done...now let's go play cars.

****Editor's note: This happens on a regular basis.  You do what you have to do to get a playmate!

In His Steps

I've decided to actually review some of the books I've read lately.  Now that I have children, I've found it somewhat difficult to race through books like I could when I was first married, but I do find some time to read here and there. 



I recently finished the book In His Steps by Charles M. Sheldon.  For some reason, before I began it, I had the impression that it was going to be a non-fiction, instructional book.  This is a fiction which follows the lives of several members of a well-to-do church when they commit to viewing every decision in their lives through the lens of what Jesus would do in that situation.  There were many personalities involved... musicians, pastors, wealthy socialites, businessmen, a newspaper editor, and it was intriguing to me how well Sheldon was able to deal with the personal struggles that arise in all types of professions. 

The book is a little older, and you can tell through a few things here and there, but overall it was really applicable for today.   It struck me as a little sad how far Christianity has come in general.  There isn't the outrage over a newspaper publishing who won the prize fight, or the fact that the city allows a bar to run.  The world has changed some, too.  The minister in the book was treated as an intellectual professional man, on par with the president of a university.  Ministers rarely get that kind of respect anymore.  I guess it was a good glance on how American culture has changed over the years.

The plot is interesting, the book moves along well,  the characters are pertinent and believeable, and the message is convicting.  What would Jesus do as a blogger?  What would Jesus do with His time at home with children?  It's a good read to get you thinking without the heaviness of a spiritual instructional manual.

When you become a Mom, you become a toddler all over again...

An exciting night out involves Sam's Club and samples.

Grilled cheese or peanut butter and jelly seem like balanced meals.

You don't care what your hair looks like.

You have a very short attention span (ie "Comeherewhatdidyousaydon'tdothatthegrilledcheeseisburning".)

You wake up at 7a.m. even on Saturdays.

You can cry at the drop of a hat, and some days you do.

You don't notice your belly hanging out.

You're too busy to listen to who's talking to you.

You're constantly running.

You love Daddy.  A date with him is the ultimate treat!

You have no idea what is in style.

You can translate what other two year olds are saying.

(Sigh...I used to be so intelligent!)

Word of the Week

Here's an interesting one for you meanies out there...

Schadenfreude [shahd-n-froi-duh]: noun

satisfaction or pleasure felt at someone else's misfortune.

It shames me to say that I have occasionally fallen prey to the sin of schadenfreude.  Better practice the pronunciation a bit on this one before you teach it to your kids.

"I tell you, Honey, I never thought I'd see the day when a son of mine would hit someone with a toy, then be so shamelessly full of schadenfreude about it."  (sigh comes here)

Paul's smirk of schadenfreude nearly betrayed his plot to feed his roommate the laxative 'vitamins'.

Independence Day

Have you ever discovered the true poetry that happened in the friendship of John Adams and Thomas Jefferson?  It's intriguing. 

They were as different as different could be.  Adams was a straightlaced, hard working, plain speaking, puritanical New Englander, Jefferson a leisurely, gentlemanly, charming, introverted Southerner.  They were nearly perfect opposites, yet they helped form a nation together, they wrote the Declaration of Independence together, and became friends of a lifetime. 

They became like brothers for a time, against a backdrop of Boston, Philadelphia, Virginia, Paris, Denmark, and Washington.  As is often the case, then politics took its toll on them.  As they ran against each other for two presidencies, their contrasting ideals and political gameplay drove a seemingly incurable wedge between them.  Theirs was the bitterest enmity of brothers parted on bad terms.  Then, late in their lives, as they were both dealing with the loss of their wives, age, and semi-infirmity, they began a cautious correspondence which blossomed into a tenderer friendship than they had had before.  Their letters to each other were comforts and delights.  The kinship of forming the new nation was sparked yet again, and their personal interest in each other's lives were rekindled.  They corresponded regularly the rest of their lives.  In fact, in the final act of poetry, they died on the same day...July 4, on the fiftieth anniversary of the nation whose Independence they had drafted together.  Truth is stranger than fiction...you can't make this stuff up.


***Editor's Note:  For more reading on this subject, check out John Adams by David McCullough.  It's fantastic.

photos courtesy of Wikipedia

Celery

Here's my Mom's favorite Nash poem...which makes me hungry.  This is why I don't write much food poetry.

Celery

Celery, raw

Develops the jaw,

But celery, stewed,

Is more quietly chewed.





I think the Wonder Pets also like this poem.  You have to be a Mom of a small one to understand.