I would like it noted here that it is remarkably frustrating to witness someone being micromanaged. I might be able to understand it if an employee were inept, incompetent, or in training, but otherwise there is absolutely no excuse for it. Either trust your good employees to do their work correctly (with you checking in periodically for status reports to make sure there aren’t any hiccups) or DO IT YOURSELF.

I chafe under such conditions and would resort either to passive-aggressive behavior on my own part of just ignoring the instructions that were pointless or to extreme, obvious, and job-endangering sarcasm.

(N.B.: This has nothing to do with my own employment, as Suzanne is a lovely boss.)

… but it won’t get me a failing grade, either, on the Civic Literacy Test put out by the Intercollegiate Studies Institute.

“You answered 48 out of 60 correctly — 80.00 %
Average score for this quiz during October: 70.5%
Average score since September 18, 2007: 70.5%”

Apparently a stronger grasp of American economic history and macroeconomics in general would serve me well, according to the ISI.

Thirty-five years ago today, my parents got married on a wooded knoll in my grandparents’ backyard. My father wore a flowered shirt and my mother wore an ivory dress that she and my grandmother made and a veil of lace tatted by my great-grandmother. I can only imagine how proud both families must have been and how excited my parents (both younger than my brother or I are now) were to start a new life together.

Thirty-five years later, they are a little older, a little wiser, and a little more serious. They fit each other like jigsaw pieces, each with strengths to accommodate any weakness of the other. And they still love to cuddle up on the couch, to sing along with the radio, or to hop in the car for a drive together. And if you invite them someplace with a loudspeaker and music, expect them to dance. It used to embarrass us, but now we just find it sweet and reassuring.

Happy anniversary, Mum and Dad. May your next 35 years together be filled with much music, laughter, and dancing.

If you hope to accomplish certain things, inevitably something goes at least slightly awry. Flexibility is important when making plans because otherwise you end up disappointed. (This is a lesson I sometimes have trouble with, particularly when the plans involve friends.)

As you might recall from my last entry, this weekend I had planned to join fellow alumni from the local area in picking apples. I went to the farm’s website to find directions and was surprised to see that they only had pumpkin and raspberry picking listed. No matter, I thought. They probably have a few trees set aside for special occasions. And I’ll bring a container for the raspberries.

Well, there were no apples to be picked. (In fact, even the apples in the little market had been imported from Pennsylvania and New York and Vermont, I overheard a worker say.) And I never managed to find where we were supposed to check in to join the alumni, although I did see some folks from Colby up in the pumpkin patch. The line to weigh and check out the pumpkins was about half an hour long, so I opted to forego selecting a pumpkin and will have to procure one sometime over the next two weeks — perhaps at one of the local farmers’ markets.

But because I had a container, I picked about a quart of lovely, deep ruby red raspberries where there were no crowds and the only competition I had for the berries were from the buzzing bees. The day was gorgeously blue, and although there was no colors in the surrounding Maryland hills, the flower garden was lovely and I cut a bouquet of flowers to bring home. I also procured some plum jam and some pumpkin butter — both of which I look forward to slathering on homemade bread.

Saturday night we fêted our friend Susan’s 40th birthday. It was a family-style restaurant and a large crowd, and we ordered quite a bit too much food, but it was still fun. Several of us headed to a local French restaurant afterwards for midnight drinks, but everyone was tired and we soon parted ways to head home. (I must remember to stop going to French restaurants with my Dean friends. They (by and large) are not dessert people and I have now been to a French restaurant with them twice without having dessert. Instead, I think I’m only going to go to French restaurants with my work friends, who appreciate dessert more than anyone else in D.C.)

Today my allergies seemed to kick in full force and I felt so groggy that I returned to bed while Rudi was getting ready for the farmers’ market. Eventually he roused me and shoved me out the door, and we were able to pick up a bunch of apples for a crisp and soup and a salad, carrots, and some late-season tomatoes before the bell tolled the end of sales. We acquired some other tasty morsels, but for us we had a rather restrained market.

This afternoon, we stopped by the local charity bookshop so I could pick up a couple mysteries for my travels, headed by the garden to pick a few hot peppers and tomatillos, and then went out for tea. At Rudi’s suggestion, we walked along the canal down to Georgetown to an Austrian restaurant and had appetizers, drinks, and desserts. (Okay, the appetizers were an impulse thing once we saw the menu.) Usually the restaurant is packed, but this evening, there were vacant tables and we were able to sit outside next to the fountain and bask in the early evening air. Rudi had a cold mint-pea soup with his half-liter of beer, while I had tea and crostini topped with cheese, peas, and fava beans. Rudi concluded his meal with a pistachio mousse-strawberry concoction, while I opted for the almond-raspberry torte (seeing as how raspberries are in season). Everything was delicious and we window-shopped our way back down M Street and then crossed Rose Park amidst the growing shadows of the night.

Nothing went totally according to plan, but in general it really was a nice weekend.

A new study links the desire for chocolate to the bacteria in one’s stomach and intestinal tract. The study is tiny (only 22 people total) but is probably enough to warrant funding a larger study to investigate the trend.

I don’t have a lot planned for the weekend, which is good because I’m quite behind in my blogging and having Sunday free might enable me to catch up, right?

Saturday afternoon I’m going apple picking with fellow alumni from my alma maters and ten other small New England colleges. I’m also hoping to pick some raspberries and maybe a pumpkin. Saturday night, I have dinner plans with friends, which is always exciting.

Sunday has nothing on the calendar other than the farmers’ market (to supplement the orchard’s takings). I’m thinking I’ll be using it to finish the Red Scarf that’s due on Monday and to cook up some of tomorrow’s pickings. Plus maybe I’ll get a bike ride in during the nice, cool weather.

Relaxing is important because things at work will be busy this week. Monday afternoon is my company picnic and Wednesday I leave for Detroit for a three-day work trip. (BTW, does anyone have any recommendations for restaurants/sightseeing/shopping to do in downtown Detroit in the evening?) This means I only have a day-and-a-half of actual work-time and will require lots of focus and staying on task. Plus I have to train someone to work on the project I left so she can get started in earnest on it.

Ack!

Let’s think about all those nice apples instead. Apple-carrot soup. Apple crisp. Apple cake. Baked apples. Anyone have a fantastic apple recipe they love they want to share?

Well, Rudi’s bread is done and I’m feeling a little tired, so I think it might be time to hit the hay. After all, I need to get up early tomorrow to start enjoying my relaxing weekend, right?