Trading Places

Work has kicked into high gear the last few weeks.  Days are packed with meetings, down time is spent reading, preparing notes, and keeping things organized.  Sold four new projects in almost as many weeks.  These long workdays make Fridays even sweeter.  The weekends are essential for me to replenish the well.  Since my uncle died two weeks ago my family has been thrown into an unexpected tailspin.  I have been drained and greatly saddened by the events that have transpired.  I always prefer for the drama in my life to be in the projects I develop, not in my personal day to day existence.  I certainly can't control what happens in life, or how people behave, but, as always, I get get to choose how to respond.

In the midst of the craziness this week my uncle was misplaced.  On Tuesday, I received a slip from the post office, a missed delivery, the package would be held at the station in Hollywood.  My uncle's ashes had arrived.  Two days later, when I had time to retrieve the parcel, I was confronted with a nonchalant, uncaring postal worker who informed me she couldn't locate it.  "Can you look again?" Nope.  "It's not here."  Her blase stare was unnerving.  She would have a supervisor call me, but couldn't give me the supervisor's name.  Rushing to get to another pitch, I left and added to the next day's to-do list --  find Arthur's ashes.  The post office never called, and my attempts to reach them were futile.  After an hour on the phone with various people at USPS and a woman in a department named consumer affairs, the box had been traced to the Hollywood Station.  Back I went, slip in hand, and this time I left with my uncle's remains.

It's not lost on me that for months my father's ashes sat in a bowl in my living room, a pit stop en route to Seattle, my uncle's home.   Now my uncle's remains have replaced my father's, as he waits for his trip to Seattle.  Bizarre.