The Patio of Destiny

I gave up blogging a few years ago and I've missed it ever since. I got to the point where I said everything I wanted to say. At least I did at that time in my life. Now, I have more to say, so Kate Off the Clock has been revived. It's a rebirth. A relaunch. Rebranding. Whatever you want to call it is fine with me.

A lot has changed since I last posted. For starters, I lost my Dad and a piece of my heart went with him. But, it's that loss that ultimately led me back to my true self. Sometimes it takes a tragedy to have that much needed flash of clarity. And of course it takes many trips down the wrong road before you finally make that turn on the road to redemption.

In my case, my road to redemption involved a life changing event at a local Starbuck's. For a long time, I felt so humiliated and angry that I couldn't even address it. But now? Now I'm finally free and can look at that Starbuck's patio for what it is: The Patio of Destiny. (My brilliant 12-year-old daughter came up with this very appropriate name over the summer.)

I know, it sounds a bit grandiose and ridiculous. But, there are certain experiences in life that will stay with us forever. We might see these experiences in different ways over time, but a truly life-defining moment never leaves you. It becomes a part of you. A part of your history. In my case, it took me awhile to see this moment for what it really was, but once I did, I realized that it needed to happen to me. 

The nutshell version of the story is this: I had a job in home healthcare (!) that I hated and quite honestly, I wasn't well suited for. A very good friend of mine was my boss. Ten days prior to the referenced incident, I was transferred to the Denver office where I received a new boss, whose name I will never utter again. New Boss didn't like anyone questioning her. I made the fatal error of questioning her on something. 

Not long after questioning New Boss, I received an invitation to meet at the local Starbuck's on a Friday at 9AM. Old Boss was also on the invite. Old Boss knew what was going to happen at Starbuck's and she failed to give me a head's up. She failed on many levels, but not telling me ahead of time was the worst. There are certain times in life where you get the sinking feeling in your gut that something is very wrong. I've learned that it's best to always go with that feeling.

I arrived at the Starbuck's on July 25, 2014 and ordered my favorite drink. I then took a seat on the patio and scanned the parking lot for the arrival of the others and the impending doom that I knew was coming. And sure enough, the two bosses walked up, one carrying a very ominous folder. The next few minutes are a blur in my otherwise stellar memory, but I do know that I was fired in a public place, given a letter (which I still read once in a while), a check, and sent on my way.

The hours, days and weeks that followed this awful and humiliating event are not some of my finest. To say I went off the rails would be an understatement. It wasn't until I saw a quote from a motivational speaker that I pulled it together and looked at the much bigger picture:

"You either get bitter or you get better. It's that simple. You either take what has been dealt to you and allow it to make you a better person, or you allow it to tear you down. The choice does not belong to fate, it belongs to you." —Josh Shipp

So, in early October of 2014, with the help of my very amazing and patient husband and very supportive mom,  I finally launched the business that I had been envisioning for nearly 20 years. I came back with a vengeance and a steely determination to make it. Getting fired lit a blaze in my soul. The fuse was there for nearly 2 decades, it just needed a spark to get going. A public firing was, apparently, just what I needed to ignite my inner fire. And from those flames, Flipside Production was born and has been burning brightly ever since.

And here I am, 2+ years later: Successful, grateful, happy. And now when I look back to that day on the Starbuck's patio, I see it for what it was: A defining moment. They did me a favor by cutting me loose. Being free allowed me to pursue what I really wanted to do and put me on the right path to be who I have always wanted to be: My own boss. Did I deserve to be fired? No. Did they have to fire me in public? Hell no. But, it sure makes for a great story.

And what about Old Boss? Well, she is my exercise in forgiveness and we have slowly repaired our friendship over the years. New Boss? She can rot in hell. I know she will get hit by a karma train at some point and that is enough. Although, is there any greater revenge than landing on your feet, better off than you were before?

In all honesty, it was extremely difficult for me to see the "silver lining" in this situation. It took quite some time before I could look back on it and be able to take something positive away. Before this happened to me, the following things were true: I was not a very forgiving person. I had a lot of pride. I blindly trusted others. I invested too much of myself in friendships. I rarely failed at anything. I believed that loyalty was the most important character attribute, even though I had few loyal people in my inner circle. I thought I was strong, although my strength had rarely been tested.

The take away is this: Forgiveness sets you free, although I still struggle with this one from time to time. (Thankfully, I have a best friend who helps me in this area.) Pride can be lost and found again. Friendship is a gift. Trust has to be earned. Failure is not fatal and failing actually makes you stronger. If you're not loyal, I don't need you. Finding out I was stronger than I realized became another one of my life's defining moments.

Very few people know this story. Many people have asked over the last couple of years about the back story on Flipside Production. I wasn't able to tell it until now. 

Behind every business, there is a story. This is the Flipside story and I'm so thankful that I can now say "See you on the Flipside" and know that is has actual, literal meaning. 

The very awesome tunes playing in the background while writing this: Spirits, the Strumbellas; Closer, The Chainsmokers; Good Grief, Bastille; Could Have Been Me, The Struts; A Murder of One, Counting Crows; Hold Back the River, James Bay; Cake By the Ocean, DNCE; Ghost, Ella Henderson

My Dad: A Father's Day Tribute

Note: I haven't posted to this blog in 2 years. But, I wanted to share something that I wrote about my Dad and this seemed like the best avenue.

I miss my Dad. I find that everything reminds me of him and as time goes on, things are starting to be more bittersweet. But, I have this empty feeing in my heart and sometimes the sadness overwhelms me.

My brother gave this amazing eulogy at the funeral. I don’t know how he got up there, but he did and I was so proud of him. It’s taken me nearly six months to be able to write my tribute. I wrote the obituary on Christmas Day (https://gateway.frontrunnerpro.com/book-of-memories/1450306/Snell-Roderick/obituary.php) and I found that there was so much more I wanted to say. Needed to say. But, it’s taken me some time to work on it.

The little things I remember about my Dad are actually the biggest things he taught us.

Growing up, we always had records playing. His favorites were Neil Diamond, Janis Joplin, Willie Nelson, Kenny Rogers, Waylon Jennings and The Kingston Trio. My Dad and I would always dance when music was playing on the stereo. I remember when my Dad bought a tape deck recorder (it was a giant stereo component) and started making mixed tapes from his favorite albums. We had a cassette player in our van and on our family road trips, we would listen to his homemade tapes. I can actually picture Rod and I, riding in the van, singing “Forever in Blue Jeans,” “On the Road Again” and “The Gambler.” Several weeks ago, I heard “The Gambler” on the radio in the car and I had to pull over and cry.

I remember going to see “Star Wars” at age 4. My Mom was bored to death, so after that, it was my Dad’s job to take us to cool movies. The last movie I saw with him in the theatre was “Braveheart” on Father’s Day in 1995.

My Dad was fiercely protective of his family, but not overprotective. If we wanted to ride our bikes off of a cliff or jump off the roof into the pool, we always asked my Dad and he always said yes. (OK, maybe a slight exaggeration there.) My Mom always said no to crazy, adventurous things, so we figured out to stop asking her by the time we were 5 or 6.

If someone messed with our family, my Dad brought the full wrath to them. My Dad wasn’t a big guy, but when he was mad, you knew. My Dad always stressed how important family was and how a family always sticks together and supports each other. I suppose that is why he wasn’t mad when I got thrown off the bus in 9^th grade for threatening to kill someone. My Mom had breast cancer when I was in 9^th grade and this girl in the neighborhood was saying all of these horrible, hurtful things about my Mom. I believe my exact words were “If you ever talk about my Mom again, I’ll kill you.” Apparently she believed me.

My Dad strongly believed in owning your mistakes and learning from them. He also taught us to always take responsibility for our actions, which is a lesson unlearned by many of today’s youth. He also believed that being honest was always the best policy.

My Dad taught me to love sports. We always watched NFL games together, even when I was a little girl. He would explain all of the rules to me and we would regularly bet on games. The best part was that I never had to pay up when I lost, but he always paid up when I won. Our favorite sporting event was the annual Michigan-Michigan State football game. We were late to my cousin’s wedding in 1997 because we were watching the game. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to watch that game again. It won’t be the same without my Dad.

Growing up, I was an awesome softball player. I can still hear my Dad, yelling from the stands “Get your elbow up!” when I was up to bat. He spent countless hours playing catch, hitting grounders to me and throwing pop flys up for me to catch. I was so good, that people who didn’t have a kid on the team would come to watch me play. I know this made my Dad very proud. I also remember him teaching me to play pool when I just 7 years old. He never let me win. Ever. I remember the very first time I beat him. I was 10 years old and earning that victory felt so awesome. I think that was the lesson: The harder you work, the better it feels when you reach your goal.

In 6^th grade, I had this awful science teacher. She was always on my case and essentially picked on me. Granted, I was a bit of a smart ass, but she really made my life miserable. One night, the phone rang at home and it was Mrs. Varchi, the science teacher. And my Dad let her have it! I can still hear him yelling at her. After that, there wasn’t another problem in 6^th grade science.

When I got suspended from school in 9^th grade for starting a food fight, it was my Dad that I called to come and pick me up. Things like that didn’t make him angry. But, bring home a report card full of bad grades and there was hell to pay. Not because it wasn’t OK to not be perfect, but because it wasn’t OK to not try your best. Always. He believed in the theory that if something was worth doing, it was worth doing right. Not applying ourselves was not acceptable.

My Dad was saddled with the very fun task of teaching me to drive a stick shift car. It didn’t help that our neighborhood entrance was on a road very appropriately named Bunker HILL Road. At the end of Bunker Hill Road there was a store, the Holiday Shopper. The Holiday Shopper was what is known as a “party store” in Michigan. The owner of the store was a really funny guy named Daryl. Daryl witnessed my driving lessons in the parking lot and my many attempts to drive up the hill, and promptly nicknamed me “Whiplash.” (It is worth noting that my Dad made me stop on the hill, and then get the car going again, which was quite a jerking and lurching feat.) Unfortunately for me, the nickname stuck. I ran into Daryl once, many years later, when I was about to graduate from college, and he yells “Hey Whiplash!! How ya doing?”  I promptly called my Dad and relayed the exchange and we had a great laugh.

In 10^th grade, I failed to come home one night. Before we had cell phones and caller ID, it was fairly easy to say you were one place when you were in fact, not. Well, my story blew up and it was discovered that I was not where I said I would be. Instead, I was camping with a bunch of friends and my brother and his friends. After driving all over town and knocking on the doors of multiple friends’ houses looking for me, my Dad finally spotted my car behind a party store. He put a note on it that said “GET HOME NOW!” I saw that note and for a few split seconds, I actually contemplated driving off into the sunset and never returning home. That would have been an easier solution, in my adolescent mind. Instead, I drove slowly up the driveway and when I got out of the car, my Dad was standing there, with his hand out. I dropped the keys into his hand and very few words were exchanged. The disappointment in his eyes was enough of a punishment.

When I graduated from high school, I gave the commencement speech and I can still remember looking out into the crowd of 6,000+ people and spotting my parents. My Mom had tears in her eyes and my Dad was just beaming. He told anyone that would listen “That’s my daughter up there!”

When I graduated from Ball State, we had a big party in the front yard of my apartment building. My Mom was very clear when it came to what kind of epic blow-out the party would be: “We are only buying one keg.” Well, seeing how this was Ball State, and I knew a zillion people, the keg was literally gone in a matter of minutes. The keg problem led to this legendary exchange:

Me: “Dad, the keg is dry.”

Dad (with no hesitation): “Here’s my credit card, go get another one!”

And the party raged on. It was appropriate that my college experience ended like this, with my Dad. Only because it had started like this:

A few days into my freshman year, my Dad wrote me a letter. The letter said:

“It is important to never lose sight of the objective. Graduation is the objective. Have a great time along the way. Study hard. Party hard. Graduate.”

I did all 3 things and to this day, I think that is the greatest advice my Dad ever gave me.

When I met Keith, my Dad was thrilled. The two of them were fast friends and I think my Dad secretly hoped we would get married. When Keith called my parents to ask if he could marry me, my Mom answered and Keith asked if he could talk to my Dad. My Mom says “Rod, Keith is on the phone.” And my Dad says “Keith? Keith who?” He was kidding of course, but it gave an already very nervous Keith a near panic attack.

On my wedding day, I was a little (OK, a lot) stressed out. My Dad was this calming presence. We stood outside the church, waiting for our cue to walk in. The doors to the church opened, the trumpet started playing, and my Dad took my hand and said “Here we go!” and in we walked. It was maybe the proudest I had ever seen him in my 27 years. At the reception, we danced to “The Way You Look Tonight,” and he cracked me up the whole time. We always had so much fun dancing together.

The night I found out I was pregnant with Lauren, I called my parents. Only, my Mom wasn’t home and my Dad got to hear the news first. I can still hear him, so excited and saying over and over “Wow! That is so great, Kate!” I think I made him swear not to tell my Mom because she would be so upset if she didn’t hear it from me. He was thrilled and for the next 7 or 8 months, it was all he talked about. He couldn’t wait to be a Grandpa. With Lauren, we didn’t know if we were having a boy or a girl. When she was finally born (after 40 hours of labor!!), Keith called my parents to announce she had arrived and the grandparent adventure began. It is also worth noting that my Dad finally got a mini-me, as Lauren has looked exactly like him since the moment she arrived. She was blessed with the same big, clear blue beautiful eyes and every time I look in her eyes, I see my Dad.

My Dad’s office was covered with pictures of Lauren, who was nicknamed “Pumpkin Pie” when she was a few days old. When Lauren was 4 months old, I took her to Louisiana to visit Grammy and Papa. I took her to my Dad’s work and I was walking down the hall, carrying her. One of my Dad’s coworkers, who I had never met, stopped me in the hall and said “Is that Pumpkin Pie?!” She recognized Lauren because my very proud Dad was always showing pictures to everyone. It was so cute and it melted my heart a bit.

When Ryan was born, my Dad was equally thrilled. He loved having a little boy around and he loved teaching Ryan things. Where Lauren looks just like my Dad, Ryan acts just like my Dad. He has the same analytical, engineer-in-training mind. My Dad would always say “Ryan has the knack.” He was referring to the famous Dilbert cartoon. Google it if you’ve never seen it; it's hilarious.

I don’t know if a little boy has ever loved his Papa as much as Ryan loved his. Ryan loved every minute he spent with my Dad and I know the feeling was mutual. I think knowing that my Dad won’t get to see these 2 amazing kids grow up is what makes my heart hurt the most.

When someone you love dies, there are so many things you ask yourself: “Did he know how much I loved him?” “Did I tell him how lucky I am to have him for my Dad?” “Did he realize that everything I am is because of him?” I like to think that he knew all of these things. I really wished I would have thanked him more. Thanked him for all that he gave me and taught me. Thanked him for working so hard and providing for our family. Thanked him for the opportunities he gave me and the important decisions he helped me make.

There is one thing that I definitely know: My Dad wouldn’t want us all to be sad. He would want us to have happy memories and live our lives in a way that would make him proud. I know that he’s always with me. I feel him watching over us and I can actually see him shaking his head at me, when I’m freaking about something.

Losing my Dad made me see how precious time is.  It also made me realize what matters and what doesn’t. I’ve definitely had some challenges this year and so may times I’ve heard my Dad’s voice in my head saying “To hell with them!” And so often he was right. I also remember him telling me this once:

“Good times don’t define who you are. It’s the bad times, and how you respond to them, that show you what you’re made of and define who you are.” Well, I’ve definitely learned a lot about myself over the last 6 months. Looking back, it’s been the most difficult time of my life and I think I’ve responded to the challenges in a way that would make him proud.

So, Happy Father’s Day, Dad. Thanks for being the world’s greatest Dad. You are so missed by all who knew you and especially by your family. I made you a promise in the hospital that I would always take care of Mom and I think you know that I’m doing my best. I will continue to live my life in a way that would make you proud and I will continue to teach Lauren and Ryan the same values you taught me. Your legacy will always live on. I would give anything to share one more beer with you, to clank the bottles together, and say “Cheers” and see your big, warm smile. Rest in peace, today and always.

Guess Who's Back?

I'm baaaack! In more ways than one, actually. Not only am I blogging again, but I'm also back on the clock. Interestingly enough, I didn't realize how much I missed being on the clock until I clocked back in.

For the obvious reasons, I'm not going to divulge too much about the new job. Let's just say that I started this new job about 4 weeks ago and I right away recognized what this whole experience has meant to me. And I think that's all I've been after this whole time: Taking something positive from the outsourced experience. Here's what I've learned:

• I really enjoy working. But, work will never again be the number 1 thing in my life.
• Distance. As in keep some between me and my coworkers.
• I know I can lose this job and be OK. I didn't know that before. I thought my whole existence would die with the job.
• Healing. I can finally begin to let go and go on. And mean it.
• Perspective. I can clearly see the big picture. I can look around and know that I am so much better off than I was 2 years ago.
• I'm good at what I do. I lost sight of that for awhile, but now that I'm back in my element, I know that I bring something valuable to the table.
• Karma? Yes, I still believe in it.
• Work should be fun. When you stop enjoying what you do, it's time to find something else to do.
• It doesn't always pay to be a superhero rock star at work. Let me clarify: I will always work hard, as that work ethic is embedded in my soul, it's who I am and I can't change who I am, nor do I want to. But, I will never forget that doing the impossible only made it possible for me to be taken advantage of. And that's on me, as I firmly believe you can't be taken advantage of unless you allow it to happen. Which I did.

I'm getting back to regular blogging, so stay tuned. I feel incredibly lucky and thankful at the moment, let's hope this feeling stays with me for awhile. And finally, I have recently found unexplainable inspiration in this quote from the final episode of Oprah:

"You need to find what sparks the light in you, so you, in your own way, can illuminate the world."

Read it again. Sleep on it. Think about it. And get to work finding that light, as that's what I'm doing over here.

Peace. Out.

Spring Break Hack Job

It's spring break over here, which means a whole lot of sleeping in, play dates, trips to Blockbuster, Build-A-Bear and Chuck E Cheese, and the realization that summer will be here soon. I've also just realized that a stuffed dog that plays the Star Wars theme song is maybe one of the best inventions of the last decade. And yes, The Boy could care less that his "pet" plays the Star Wars theme song, so that addition was strictly for me!

So far, the highlight of the week has been the hacking of my email account. Remember my previous post about spammers? Well guess what? I became a spammer and sent hundreds of Viagra messages to everyone on my contact list. Joy. After some investigation, it turns out that LinkedIn was compromised, resulting in thousands of email accounts being hacked. Apparently, even networking isn't a safe activity!

I finally have a few promising job leads, so let's hope that something (anything!) pans out soon. In the meantime, I'll be working on my book, jumping on the trampoline and discussing the meaning of life with the other spring break moms. Of course, these are three separate activities; I'm not nearly talented enough to pull off all three at once.

Oh, and a big Happy Birthday to Kate off the Clock. I've now been blogging for one full year. Quite an accomplishment for a serial non-finisher like myself. As always, thanks for reading. Bring on spring!

Captain Intelligent

When I worked every day, it seemed like there was always something crazy going on, always something to laugh at. But now, when I try to recall those things, I get a whole lot of nothing. Suddenly, what once seemed hilarious, now seems irrelevant. I guess overall, it's the people I remember first, and then the incidents involving those people.

I can clearly see my former boss standing in my doorway, asking "What are you guys talking about? What's so funny?" with a look of panic on her face, certain we were talking about her. And if we were talking about her, like we were going to respond with "Oh, we're talking about you!"

Or, the editor who always smelled like garlic and was a close talker, a lethal combination, getting right in my face to go over edits. Plus, she never wore a bra, so she was too close for comfort in more ways than one.

There was the crazy admin who one day suddenly claimed to be allergic to scents. If you walked by her office wearing perfume or smelling of clean laundry, look out! She verbally assaulted anyone who smelled like anything other than nothing because it was a violation of her right to breathe clean air. Did I mention that she always smelled like cats? Anyway, she ended up quitting. Hopefully she didn't end up working in a grocery store. Or a daycare center.

But, perhaps my favorite coworker story at The Prison involves one of the highest ranking "captains." We were at an off-site team building meeting at the local events center. This is the same events center where the minor league hockey team plays. During a break from our team building "exercises," I was standing in the upper seating area, looking down at the ice arena. The hockey team name "Warriors" was painted on the floor and the crew was getting the rink ready for a game later that night. Well, this genius comes up to me and says "Wow, what kind of paint sticks to ice? I didn't know you could paint the ice!" I just looked at her, kind of worried that someone this intelligent was running the company. I finally said "The paint is on the floor, under the ice." And she was like "Ah-ha, that's how they do that!" Her pure sense of amazement was frightening, like she had just discovered how to split an atom or break the sound barrier.

And that my friends is a prime example of the promotion of stupidity in corporate America.

Go West

Exactly 12 years ago today, I packed up my VW Jetta, drove out of Indy, and headed west. After months of contemplating a move, I finally did it. I mapped out my trip beforehand and decided to stop in Manhattan, Kansas for the night. My mom was nice enough to make me a reservation at the Holiday Inn Express. I was traveling alone and I didn't own a cell phone. Did everyone but me have a cell phone in 1999? Probably. Anyway, I walked into the hotel lobby and went up to the desk to check in. When I told the 2 employees my name, they both said:

"Oh! You're Kate!"

Wow, quite the welcome!

And then one of the employees continued: "Your mom has been calling here every 30 minutes for the last couple of hours. You should probably call her right away and let her know that you arrived safely."

Um, thanks. (Now that I'm a mom, I totally understand.)

I settled into my hotel room. I ordered a pizza from Pizza Hut (thin crust with pepperoni and bacon) and wondered how this life-changing journey was going to play out. Quite the exciting St. Patrick's Day, eh? But, it's a day I will remember forever. The next morning, I hit the road for my final destination. I arrived without incident and the rest is history. My history.

Well, 12 years later, I'm happy to say that everything has worked out fabulously. I was fortunate enough to crash on my brother's couch until I found a job and a place to live. I landed my job at The Prison about a week later and officially started on April 1, 1999. April Fool's Day! I guess I was destined for something ridiculous from day one.

Who would have thought that my best St. Patrick's Day story wouldn't involve green beer? Or any beer, for that matter!

Side note: I remember so clearly driving west along I-70, looking out the window at the Hoosier Dome (RCA Dome, whatever) and the Indy skyline and hearing a certain song playing on the radio. And while this is a dorky song, and I feel like I'm expressing my inner 14-year-old, I will admit that I still love it and I will always associate it with that moment.

"Good Riddance (Time Of Your Life)"

Another turning point, a fork stuck in the road
Time grabs you by the wrist, directs you where to go
So make the best of this test, and don't ask why
It's not a question, but a lesson learned in time

It's something unpredictable, but in the end it's right.
I hope you had the time of your life.

So take the photographs, and still frames in your mind
Hang it on a shelf in good health and good time
Tattoos of memories and dead skin on trial
For what it's worth it was worth all the while

It's something unpredictable, but in the end it's right.
I hope you had the time of your life.

Don't Call Me That.

On Friday, I went to the bank to make some changes to one of our accounts. As the teller was updating our information, she asked me the dreaded "Do you still work for Prison Media?" question. And the conversation unfolded like this:

Me: "No."

Her: "Where do you work now?"

Me: "I don't."

Her: "You don't work?"

Me: "Not unless you count being a stay at home mom as a job."

Her: "I would love to be a stay at home mom."

Me: "I would love to be working..."

When she handed me some paperwork to take home for the husband to sign, she had filled in my occupation with my least favorite word: Unemployed. UGH. I despise that word and I try to never use it.

Which got me to thinking. What am I, exactly? Am I unemployed? Am I self-employed? Am I a stay at home mom? I'm not such a fan of labels, but I feel like I need one. And a flattering, positive one. I like Rock Star. And Blogger Who Doesn't Earn Any Money is OK too. Heck, even Chef to the Children or Cleaning Expert would be better than Unemployed.

Why is it so important to me to not be labeled as unemployed? I think it's a couple of things. First of all, I didn't choose to be unemployed. Second of all, this is the longest I've gone without a steady job since I officially entered the workforce at 16. That's a heck of a streak and I hated to see it end.

On the plus side, spring break is coming up soon and working people don't get spring break. Except for teachers. Which brings me to a question I keep asking myself: Would I make a good teacher? Well? Would I?