Count your blessings - for Karen W

This weekend draws to a close with a sad farewell to a lovely lady. I went to the funeral of Karen on Thursday. It was a beautiful personal service and evocative of who Karen was. Her three children stood for the eulogy and it was as you would expect very moving. To all intents and purposes she was a bubbly funny lady full of life and mischief. I got to know her on a personal development course at work and we had lots in common. One of our first little adventures as she called them came about when we had our colours done. It turned out we were both wearing the wrong colour for our hair and skin tone, in fact each was wearing what the other should so in the break we went and swapped outfits, in the toilets giggling like a couple of kids and then trying to keep a straight face whilst waiting for the others to notice.
Prior to the course our only contact had been by email and so we just exchanged pleasantries. After the course that changed and one of our constant sources of amusement were the medical appointments she had to send to my station. We started trying to think of all the possible alternatives to say the same thing. It was so funny at times that we would end up phoning each other and she would always answer as she knew it was me with a Leslie Phillips type hellooo. Our friendship continued when I covered for 12 months at the station next door to her office. We shared jokes, confidences, talked about our failed relationships, our kids, our lost babies.
When things got tough for her at work I tried to give guidance and advice and visited her at home when she was off work. Regrets? Yes definately that we seemed to lose touch after this, only the occasional text or Facebook message. That she didn't feel able to share the way that she was feeling or ask for more support. That I didn't recognise her withdrawal as a sign she was struggling. Under the surface of that devil-may-care attitude she was obviously suffering and in pain and for that I will always feel truly sorry and sad. That the world has lost a one in a million diamond and those children have lost their mom is such a terrible shame and such a waste.
So another reminder that we should be grateful for what we have, those who love us. Kiss your babies and treasure the good times. Never judge another until you have walked a mile in their shoes and never be afraid to ask for help when you need it. Sleep tight Curly Kaz, until we meet again for that great big party in heaven.

Sometimes only a strop will do

Work for me just lately is a constant niggle. It's not something I am accustomed to and I don't like it. For over 7 years I have been very lucky to have been in a position where I have loved my job and not minded going to work at all. Towards the beginning of this year this all changed. Austerity cuts to the fire service have meant a rocky ride for myself and my colleagues and I found myself having to justify my role, being interviewed for my own job and being compulsory transferred from the fire station where I worked to the corporate headquarters. It has not been easy. I know I should be grateful I still have a job when others don't but still I am finding it increasingly difficult.
The work should be fundamentally the same but in reality it's poles apart and the very bones of my old role, the stuff I really loved and that really challenged me has gone. These days the challenges are of a different kind and I begin to question whether its time for another change. I don't have a problem with change generally but it needs to have a good rationale behind it and all this just doesn't.
Last week on my first day back at work after holidays I found myself feeling very out of sorts. Office politics plus the organisations tendency to bend rules to suit them driving my stress levels high up the Gail force scale.
All I wanted was my own desk, not much to ask in a building which is littered with empty desks and sections you would think. My own little space to call my own after being uprooted from my little station world where I was more or less queen, somewhere I could adapt to my lefthandedness, an oasis of calm to come to after the hellish commute with its increased diesel bills, road rage and tripling of my journey time. A little niche within my team which incidentally now includes someone who has no admin experience but has been given the job anyway when other colleagues have been displaced or left. I digress.
So it came to be that I got a strop on. Now in the general scheme of things my strops aren't huge but their rarity makes them somehow more potent. I hate feeling this way and I also hate that it sounds to others that I am always moaning and being negative which goes against my very grain. It's all very wearing and counterproductive. Anyway up a strop it was and I think more by luck than judgement on this occasion I got my own way and I do currently have my own desk. A small battle in what has increasingly felt like a war. The only problem is now I have it, it doesn't seem as important now as it it did and I am left looking again at the reality of my new circumstances and having to decide what steps to take next. Hmmm