Spring Fever

When I was little, it was a family ritual for us to caravan the paterfamilias side down to southern Utah every spring. Talks of where the annual Bailey trip would begin in January for the long weekend somewhere in March or April. My Grandparents were avid outdoors people and they passed their love affair with nature onto generations to come.

Home movies document the pilgrimages off to Bryce Canyon, Zion, Canyonlands, Carmel Junction, Dead Horse Point, and Escalante. They began with my father and his siblings in their youth and chronicle my cousins and my growing years. These trips are very strong childhood memories of mine. I remember cooking breakfast outdoors when there was a spring snow, bad Bailey motels where my cousins did not want to get out of the car, family baseball games on golf courses in pj's, dancing around the fire to good music, roasting marsh mellows (ultimately getting into my hair), family hikes, me getting stuck in some Anasazi's old hole in the rock dwelling, Grandpa birding, and some really bad rendition of "Hey Mr. Tambourine Man," my uncle had that my father borrowed for one leg of the drive.

I even have memories of the trips where I wasn't able to go. For instance, the year I took the AP English test and Mom and I stayed home. We got a call from my Grandmother asking if we had heard from my Dad and brother. When we said no and asked why, she simply replied, "Oh, never mind." Turns out my Dad and uncle got into a testosterone sibling fest and got themselves stuck 4-wheeling in the middle of nowhere. I think that was the first time my brother told my father to fuck off. Dad ended up bribing some guy to take him back to town and tow the cars out. He left my brother with my uncle and cousins on the "primitive" trail with matches. It was a bonding experience, that's for certain.

Every spring, I get an itch to be outdoors and travel to some sort of State or National Park. Its a good thing I married a boy scout whose idea of fun is to hike unmarked deer trails, grow your own hops for beer making, and climb waterfalls. Last weekend we stumbled across Fort Harrison State Park. Alas, its no Bryce Canyon, but its the closest thing to nature in the city we can find. There are picnicking areas, a duck pond, horse stables, a historic army post, and preserved green space. All of the "hiking" trails are paved, but then again, so are Zion's. This weekend we went back with Edgar and bought a State pass to all of the recreational areas. Grandpa would be proud.

For a mere $36 we can explore forests and state parks where apparently there are wild turkeys and "good squirrel hunting." While the squirrel hunting doesn't float our boat, the potential of kayaking down the White River or hiking through the waterfalls certainly does. Besides, while there may not be the glorious sandstone of Southern Utah, in Indiana there are historic underground railroad houses in a preserved piece of green space.

Big Love Affair

I've been sick as of late. Nothing like living with a doc who brings home all sorts of gamboo on his clothes after a long day. Its no wonder I'm ill. Between the two of us, we have a sort of symphony of hacking in the middle of the night. I feel worse for him. He's been sick on and off since mid-January. However, stories of my mucus and phlegm is not the point of this entry.

Since I've been down, I've been watching a lot of videos. Got caught up on the politically incorrect "Borat" and the much more correct "Babel." When I was returning these two I decided to pick up the first season of "Big Love." For those of you who don't know it, this is a HBO tv series that is shot in Utah and is about polygamy. Part of me was curious just to see how this alternative life style was portrayed, but really I think deep down I'm just home sick.

The opening credits were enough to make my jaw drop open. Its picturesque with the Wasatch Front in the back ground and the husband ice skating with all three wives. Then the ice splits and you see them wandering alone through translucent sheets. Not a mystery that they were referring to the "beyond the veil" belief Mormons have after death. Sure enough, the husband finds all of them in the veils and the last part is all 4 of them sitting around a table praying over a meal...on their own planet. Oh. My. God.

No wonder the Mormons took offense to this. It was a blatant rip off to their highly held beliefs. You know, the ones that mainstream think are up there with the Scientologists. Planets, veils, polygamy. I'm not Mormon, but part of me was shocked. The other part of me was amazed someone took such a huge risk in "unveiling" (forgive the pun) of their secret rituals. The only reason why I know of these is I dated a Mormon missionary (he only lasted 6 weeks before he confessed that we had sex and got sent home) and he told me about the rituals after he went through the Temple.

Once I got past the opening credits, I got into the story. I really felt bad for the characters. I think they do a great job showing how lonely and isolating the life style can be as well as all of the pressures on the man. Need less to say, I was hooked. I finished two discs in one day and was back in my pj's at Hollywood Video the next day. By now, the same cashier was just looking at me funny. Then he noticed my membership card was from Utah. I got a strange look.

"Is it really like this?" He asked

"I really wouldn't know. I'm not Mormon and I'm not polygamous. I'm just from there."

When J woke from his sleep coma post call last night, I told him about the series. He too was a bit taken back by the opening credits. But then, he started to do what I had been doing for two days now: searching for landmarks from home.

We would pause the dvd at times and point out Henrie's Dry Cleaning on 2000 E., we would guess what mountain range was in the background, we would chuckle at how they re-named Dixie Regional Hospital and put a new sign on it. Bottom line: we're both homesick. Despite all of the quirks Utah has, its still home and we're both comfortable with them. I'll trade you a red neck with a NASCAR racing scanner (sold from Costco) with a trailer as a "country home" for a vial of concecrated oil and an open investigation on a sister-wife anyday.

What's In A Name?

One of my staff members just went out on maternity leave this week. She had her second boy on Saturday. Her first little one's name is Trevor. Last week, she spent most of her time waddling around the office mumbling about how her chosen name of Eli may not fit a child who is only supposed to be 8#. She thought that a name like Eli deserves a big body and considering Trevor was over 10# (oh my God, is all I have to say about that), perhaps she should reconsider the name.

Meanwhile, just around the corner another staff member just got back from court and asked me to proof read and approve a mass email going out to the whole organization. It read something like, "Life's spiritual journeys lead us down different paths. Mine has lead me to a name change. I am now Faziah Musaawe. " She then put in the pronunciation with what her name meant...something like virtuous woman kneeling before God. She had her name legally changed. Now, I have to try and quell everyone talking under their breath about how crazy she is and try to remember that no longer do I have Susan-Deborah-Jane-Mary-Anne, but Fa-eeesi-wa Moo-su-a-vae for a leadership staff person.

I know I've touched on this before, about how names are such a touchy subject, but DAMN! When I was little, Ginny would often forget the name of whoever she was talking about and would then call them, "Joe Pete." For the longest time I thought Joe Pete was an actual person. Now I find I use the phrase all the time.

Names can create family rivalry or unity. One of my girlfriends refused to tell anyone her chosen names until after her twins were born because of her sisters-in-law, who were due before she was and could potentially steal the names. My sister in law, who is due May 10th, gave her mom and grandmother a photo of her fetus for Christmas with both of their namesakes labeled on the image. Yup, can't compete with that kind of drama. And we all thought that my cousin was certifiably loony when she named her second daughter after her sister. Hell, I have treated families in therapy for that kind of incest.

Seems to me that little Eli doesn't have an issue on his hands. If he thinks he's too small for his name, he can go change it legally to Joe-Pete in the future.

March Hair

I've realized I've been in denial of needing a local hair dresser for awhile now. This fact has caused me great anxiety, I'm not going to lie. On some level I think I'm a hair dresser's dream: I'm loyal to the point of co-dependency.

I've been with Jerry since I was about 3 feet tall. I've only strayed three times in my decades of going to him. Once in junior high to a woman in his salon who did the trendy layers and triangle cut (God, what were we thinking in the 80's that your hair should go to one point down your spine?). Once a couple of years ago after I walked up to some random woman at Strut Your Mutt to get her fabulous hairdresser's name. And once because I lived in New Orleans and couldn't afford to fly home every 3 weeks for maintenance of my really short pixie cut. That is it. Jerry has always taken me back with open arms and a grin of flair that conveyed, "See I told you so. You will never find any one as fabulous as The Jerry. I am fabulous and I make you look fabulous."

I did manage to sneak a cut in with Jerry when I was home for Christmas, but its been 3 months since then and my bangs have been home-butchered long enough not to mention my highlights have roots that are almost down to my ears. I went in search of a new hair dude or dude-ette. I found that "Indianapolis Monthly" did a story on the best hair designers of the city. And with that I poured through my choices for another couple of weeks to ponder my decision. In the meantime, my anxiety about my hair transferred to Edgar.

I found his grooming experiments through angieslist.com. At first in the fall I took him to Good Dog Spa. He came back looking like a teddy bear with a military buzz cut so short you could see where he was nicked. I wrote a nasty review and we didn't go back. He also went back to his regular groomer, who is also the president of the Scottie association of Utah. She grumbled about how no one knew how to groom a Scottie and fixed him. However, he was getting shaggy like me. I went back to the list and found Heaven Scent Mobile Grooming. A girl about 19 with Bo Derek braids showed up with her mobile van that looked like a sexual predator's dream ride from the outside to cruise the neighborhood. It was large, tinted windows, but for the most part unremarkable.

Edgar took to her right away and was more than willing to go into the van. He needs some "stranger danger" work, I realize. Edgar came back with a shaved nose, another military buzz cut again with nicks and a tail that was untouched by the scissors. Huh. The worst part was this 19 year old kept criticizing me by clicking her tongue against the roof of her mouth and waiving her pointer finger at me about things like what kind of food I gave him (although then admitted she ran out of treats and gave him Peanut Butter Captain Crunch.) I again, wrote up another review online and told Edgar he would never have to go back into the van. Needless to say, my hair anxiety was not dissipating.

I had an appointment with Jon Skinner. He was described as "The Shape Shifter" in the article. He just did a hair show in Chicago and it read that he was so hard to get into people would work their way up other stylists in his salon just to be on his client list. "My style has always been a precision cut, something strong-lined, with dimensional texturing."

I called telling them I had just moved and heard about Jon. I got a cancellation which I was then told I was quite lucky by the receptionist. I was so giddy I danced around the house. So, in I go at 10 AM on Tuesday.

"What I see is a very Vidal Sassoon look. Geometric, precise, with lots of movement. Strong bang, warm highlights. You'll love it." He said as he ran his fingers through my one length long hair. Sassoon? As in the 80's Sassoon? "Sassoon is really back with a strong presence." And he went on to describe how he watched Angus Mitchell, Paul's son, do a demonstration in Chicago where he cut a chunk out of his finger and bled like a stuck pig on stage.

After the gourmet coffee, fun magazines, and attentive staff I began to feel more at ease. I listened to him talk with his other employees about problems surrounding running a salon. Dirty color bowls, cleaning up after people, inventory of products, "borrowing" other stylist's tools. We commiserated on business and managing employees. My favorite was when he was talking on the phone with one of his people, "Well I'm not accusing you of anything, but take a minute and think back to see if you remember taking $220 in tip money on Saturday." Sit back and remember? If anything, I will say that it doesn't matter what salon you go to, the problems are all the same.

His mom ran a salon which is where he began the trade. Lo and behold, Mrs. Skinner showed up. A little lady with a loud British accent. "Ello, love. Yur goin' to do my hair now aren't cha?"

She sat down across from me and then remarked, "My my she certainly has lovely hair. Medium texture, straight, long," she lifts my face, "And you are a pretty thing too."

"Mom, this is her first time in my chair. Don't scare her off. Now is Amy doing your perm?"

"Aye. Ello, Amy!" A young girl with trendy hair and clothes showed up.

"Do you want the grey or the pink rollers?" She asked Mrs. Skinner.

Both Jon and his mother said at the same time, "Pink!" "Grey!"

"Now then, I've been doing hair for 44 years and I think I know a thing or two about my hair. Don't get smart with me from your fancy hair show in Chicago there. I like it tight because it relaxes." She smiles at me, "I'm still his mother."

I was then whisked away to his chair and I said goodbye to the matriarch. I began to watch my locks fall as he began the cut and a few of his proteges gathered to observe. My anxiety began to rise. Oh my God, what if I end up looking like one of the puppets from "The Dark Crystal" with stringy hair or what if I end up looking like Rachel from "Friends?"

I will say the color was gorgeous! I did look like a model for a hair show when I was finished. However I wasn't used to the layers.

"Are you sure I don't look like Rachel?" I said.

"Which one was she?" Ok, maybe not. "Oh, no, I remember her. No, Rachel didn't have bangs."

Ok, so maybe I looked like a news anchor? I began to feel quite nervous about my new look. My solace was I kept thinking I could fly back home to Jerry and have him fix it if it was terrible. After all, the cost of the cut, color, and two products was about the same price as a plane ticket.

I went up to Jon after to tip him while he was working on his mom.

"Oh no, I don't accept tips, but thank you." He said.

His mother then screamed out, "I do!!" She was a trip!

Turns out, everyone LOVES it! Once I realized by day two that I didn't need to fuss styling it (it was that good of a cut it just fell into place), I grew to love my look too. Its the new me, reinvented.

Fear of Success

For those of you who are keeping track of my professional life, I have another story that seems to rival the water main story on my old blog. This has to do with successes.

Many of you may have read The One Minute Manager, an old skinny text on how-to lead from the late 70's/early 80's. It began the windfall of management books that are kind of between self-help and business. My uncle gave me this book for Christmas one year right after I landed a management role. One of the basic premises is to spend 80% of your time with the top 20% of your staff. Most people spend 80% of their time with the bottom 20% of their staff. Getting to the first goal is difficult at best. It requires culture shifts on dramatic levels.

When I first got to Indy one of my challenges was to "de-silo" the teams. There were different cultures in each team, different dynamics, and different motivations. The one thing this job had that my last one didn't was reports on staff performance from various angles. For the most part, all I see is bad news. Last month I sent an email out to all of the staff I manage recognizing those who met or exceeded production expectations. I hoped this would encourage people, let them know management took an interest and spent time celebrating success. I put their names up on the FISH bulletin board and put their names into the drawing for employee of the month. The reply back was, "All management cares about is making money." What the??? Productivity isn't even rated in dollars!

Ok, so I went back to research where exactly this message was cultivated. Turns out I have to face the "H" word: history. I will say several individuals really responded well to my initial email and thanked me for paying attention, but I got an ear full from a few. They advised me that their teams were "private" and "were just doing their job" (even though their numbers were terrible...I could argue that they weren't doing their job). However I was the listening open boss and let the feedback in. One pointed out that by recognizing those who made expectations immediately pointed out who didn't which was mean and encouraged competition. Holy cow. These people would be eaten alive in a for profit sector. One person advised me to recognize the whole team, not just the individual. I told them that I would be open to that if I actually had a team that WAS up to par. I don't.

I solicited feedback from all of my employees on how to best do recognition for success. Not surprisingly the ones who were against public recognition were those who were so far below the mark they were on disciplinary action. In the end, I did "modify" my recognition but I sent it out again last week acknowledging progress with several individuals.

The response I got back from one was, "And now you have to spend your time filling out all of the paperwork for every single person you recognized for the FISH board." I replied, "I will and I look forward to it."