Damn Swede

There is something to be said for keeping your mouth shut.

At work they are attempting to implement a web-based scheduling system to track projects through the shop. The problem is that the system they are going to use is cumbersome and not user-friendly. It will actually complicate things rather than streamline them. However, the system was already purchased before the taskforce was assembled, resulting in more of a band-aid approach implementation. “How can we make this less awful?”

Shooting the breeze with the EVP, Creative Director, I made mention of my frustrations with the new system. I also mentioned that I implemented a similar system at my previous agency. This revelation promptly got me invited to - rather required at - a meeting to discuss the ’system’ and how to streamline implementation in the Chicago office. The solution, I am told, cannot be ‘don’t do it’ or ‘purchase another system’. What is the point? We are going to have a meeting to discuss how to implement a system that won’t work for us in the best way possible. And it will be two hours. And there will be lunch, but I bet anything that Kevin forgot to alert Culinary so there will not be lunch for me.

I probably should have just kept my mouth shut.

My South Carolinan aunt and uncle stopped by my condo earlier today because they happened to be driving by. They had not yet seen the place, so they appropriately “oooooh-ed” and “aaaaah-ed” as I took them from room to room. I had a snack set out on the platter I was thrilled to salvage from my Grandmother’s house - the same plate my aunt deemed “ugly”. She was tickled to see it in use.

We chit-chatted about life, work this, plans for condo improvements that, laughing along the way. It got to be time for them to move on to my parents house and we hugged mulitple times as they walked to the door. “I guess I will see you soon,” I say. At this point Janelle’s eyes begin to water. At my grandmother’s doctor’s requests, my uncle and aunt were on their way to upper Michigan to be with my grandmother in her final hours.

In a way, my grandmother’s passing will be a graduation. My parents will become the eldest generation and my nieces and nephews will move into the role of the third generation - not be much differenct than their current role. The second generation, however, is the generation with the responsibility. It is that generation’s job to carefully watch the first generation for any signs of weakness. Forgetfulness and fatigue will set in as we slowly commandeer family responsibilities away from them. Problems that used to be solved behind closed doors will now not only require our attendance but our vote. It will now be our job to spend the day in the kitchen, making sure people are fed at a time close to normal. We will be figuring out the sleeping arrangements and making sure everyone has clean towels. All these are in preparation for the major decisions concerning our parents we will have to face in the future.

I like being the third generation. There is a certain security in not having that much responsibility. A blissful ignorance of death being a far away thing, instead of something that is steadily approaching. I have never felt more like an adult than I do now.

That’s how long it has been since I had a good night’s sleep. Well, plus or minus a day. Which I just realized means that I haven’t sleep well all year. It’s funny how that sounds more dramatic than twelve days. At some point I know I will sleep out of sheer exhaustion.

Monday and Tuesday we were on set filming TV commercials, film of the featured limited time offer sandwiches for the year for one of my clients. Filming commericals is the most glamorous-sounding aspect of advertising. Let me tell you, it is not. Twelve to fourteen hour days for approximately thirty-three seconds of footage. Despite the make-shift office we created on set, vice presidents and clients alike still get restless . . . and no amounts of Trival Pursuit or darts could fully entertain. A team of food stylists, armed with tweezers and tiny brushes, busily clear the set of crumbs and carefully place pieces of oregano on the sandwich. Props switch out ramekins to create the right contrast. “The green one or the red one?” was one of the biggest decisions of the day. Production Assistants run to the grocery store to get fresh basil while the Producers keep the day on track.

Even though I have been in the business for ten years, I am still amazed by the amount of work that goes on behind the scenes. All this work for a 7% increase in sales. That is if we are lucky.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Oiqjo6qwZZI&eurl=

I honestly thought this was THE call. The one where I would pack a bag and hastily pass along directions to the lucky collegues tapped to fill in during my absence.

My dad is an interesting person. I could go on and on about the many things I love about him and how he amuses me so, but the one unique aspect of his personality is how he handles difficult news. Most people know something is wrong by the stressed voice and the urgent request for a return call on the other end of the line. With my dad it is quite the opposite. I get an even-toned (borderline upbeat) message that says something non-descript like giving an “update”. The end of the message is key. Most times the return call is requested when I have the opportunity, sometimes it will be ’soon’. Only with sad news is the return call requested same day. When a death occurs a “no matter how late” is tagged on to the end.

My cousin Natalie, the eldest daughter of my aunt and uncle who were in the accident, had been studying in France since September. It was an internship that turned out to not be as exciting as it originally sounded and she was axious to return to the States and see her family. Due to the weather, her flight was delayed and she didn’t arrive in Chicago until the Saturday before Christmas or the day after her family’s near fatal accident.

Her father was still in the hospital and the rest of her family was just released hours before. With no cell phone, she had no way of knowing what had happened and a family pow-wow decided that my cousins Daniel and Erik would take Natalie to Michigan and my Mom and I would go with them to O’Hare to break the news. On the way, my mom said she didn’t think she could keep it together, so I would be the one to break the news.

We arrived at O’Hare and waited anxiously at Gate B for Natalie’s arrival. Erik wandered off and returned in a hurry. “We are at the wrong gate!” The four of us ran to Gate A, Mom and I pushing our way through the crowd to get a good view of the passengers leaving Customs. Daniel and Erik split up, each making their way through the crowd to make sure we didn’t inadvertantly miss her. Through the Customs door, we saw Natalie’s face light up as she saw us, waving excitedly and picking up her pace to a near run. We motioned her over and Erik and Daniel resurfaced to share in the greetings. After exchanging pleasantries, Natalie said, “Are we waiting for something?” It didn’t seem to occur to her that her parents weren’t there to greet her; after all the extended family was to arrive at my parents house the night before.

As I took her hand to tell her the terrible news of her broken family, I found I matched my tone to the one my father uses in these situations. Matter of fact. As I spoke Natalie’s huge smile quickly faded into tears. Erik held her up. Daniel poured her a glass of water. Mom handed her Kleenex. I held her hand tighter and told her every detail I could think of in the most factual voice I could muster.

The ability to remain calm in stressful situations is a gift that my parents gave me through a lifetime of training. And watching Natalie, I think it is a gift to the recipient of the news as well. She started to become very upset but calmed immediately and matched my tone with her questions. It almost acts as a cue that everything will be okay.

Tonight it was not THE call, but it was the pre-call call. Grandma is in the hospital and her sugar levels are uncontrollable. My uncle Larry has his bag packed by the door. My parents are in the process of calling us kids to prepare us that the next call may be soon. And that call will be THE call. But, as my uncle pointed out, she is a stubborn Swedish woman, so it may not be as soon as we think.

Those damn Swedes sure are stubborn.