A few pictures from the weekend

While today is technically our fifth anniversary, we took our trip last weekend. The rates were better and it worked for our schedules. A few highlights:

After arriving in Vegas on Friday morning, we did a little outlet shopping (mostly looking) and then went to dinner with Baxtersmum. On our way back from the fantastic restaurant where we met her, we passed our old haunt, Circus Circus, where we stayed during our honeymoon (now referred to as "our Hunter S. Thompson honeymoon", because you really need to be high on ether to enjoy the carpet in there).

The scene as we pulled into the Venetian. Guy would stay elsewhere in Vegas, but I love their spa way too much to stay anywhere else.

The next night, we had dinner at a great Tex-Mex restaurant in the Venetian, near the indoor gondola channel....

...where we promptly spent part of our meal staring at the ceiling and wondering how they got away with painting the escutcheon plates for the pop-down concealed sprinklers.

It was off to the Rio for the Penn & Teller show, but before that we enjoyed a "Carnivale In The Sky" in the casino area. "Floats" hung from the ceiling and slid by on roller coaster-like tracks while very attractive and in-shape dancers threw beads at us. One of them clocked me in the head, but I caught the beads.

As always, we have to know how it works. Here's the opening in the casino wall that allows the "floats" to enter the casino ceiling space. It's hidden behind a curtain.

The stage the Penn & Teller show. They ask people to come up on stage and sign an envelope and look at a wooden box on the stage. As the show starts, Teller pops out of the empty box. Very cool. The envelope is also used in a trick, but it's kinda hard to explain here.

One of the hallways at the Canyon Ranch Spa at the Venetian/Palazzo. Squee!

On Monday, I'll post about Liebskind's building at City Center Las Vegas. It deserves its own post.

I'll see your anniversary and raise you a good weekend...

We just got back into town from a quick weekend in Vegas for our fifth wedding anniversary. Technically, our anniversary is this week, but going there this weekend was better cost-wise, plus we got to spend the night with my GA Tech and interwebs pal Baxtersmum (and her naughty pup and awsum girthulent kittehs!). I'll post pix later this week, but for now, I've got to do some cleaning around the house and get back into the swing of things at work.

No matter how many times I see this, it's still funny.

I first saw this in grad school, between 1998 and 2000. It's still funny as hell.



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Sign-off, schmign-off

Today, we're supposed to get sign-off for two departments in the remodeling of the Bierstadt Building for Gestalt HMO. But just yesterday, I got several emails from the Gestalt project manager I'm working with--she reviewed the plans with her boss, and her boss had changes at this late hour. Thing is, we're about to make these changes and then walk into the sign-off meeting and say "oh by the way, someone else at the Facilities Department of your institution decided we need to move this storage area over here and flip the check-in line for your department all the way across the room. Ready to sign off?"

Sign-off is important for a design team. We present a plan to the users of a department, and all the people who have a say in the project sign the drawing confirming that they agree with this plan, and that they will be consulted if it changes in any major way. We now have a document that says we all understand what the users need and want and have asked for, so if at any point in the future we've forgotten something, they users can point to the plan and say "see? there it is, you forgot this and we need it." Conversely, if the owner or a user complains about some part of the plan, we can point to the drawing and say, "well you agreed to this four months ago--if you want it changed in any major way, you will owe us additional services."

The other thing is, we need sign-off so that we can move forward on the rest of the drawings for the project. When we stop changing the floor plan, the engineers can start doing their stuff, and we can start making the drawings that allow the contractor to price and build the project. And work is so hard to come by right now that we'd really really like to start working on this project right now--that goes for architects, engineers, and contractors.

But I bet we're not getting sign-off today. Not with these changes.

Meanwhile, back in Architectureland, where there's a tiny silver lining...

First of all, many many thanks to all of you who have emailed and commented your sympathies regarding Maddy. I really and truly appreciate all the kind words, thoughts, and prayers. This has been a rough couple of weeks and an especially painful few days; it's been hard to care about anyone's stupid AIA continuing ed credits and their waiting room layouts. I've tried my best to do the work I had been assigned and to stay professional, but I often found myself running to the ladies' room just to keep from punching someone or crying.

On Thursday, before I left at the end of the day, I got a call from Sven. (You'll remember that Sven is the partner at DA with whom I work on Gestalt HMO's various and sundry remodeling projects.) I wearily lifted the receiver and said hello, and Sven said in his supercalm voice, "Hi Pixie, you rock."

I chuckled. "Oh, well thanks, sir. You rock, too."

"No, I mean you really rock," he said, his typical casual, friendly tone becoming a little more formal and earnest. "You get things done fast, and well, and you're a great space planner, and you're really good and comfortable in the user group meetings. I don't even know why I go to them any more--you got 'em."

I accepted the compliment with as much grace as I could muster, we traded a couple of jokes, and then he asked me to find some drawings for someone and send them out. I said I would (though obviously that's going to happen this week instead of last week), and we hung up. It was a nice relief in the middle of a painful and stressful situation--layoffs, continuing ed coordination, Maddy--to have someone give me a professional and sincere compliment. With the exception of one social obligation Guy and I had on Sunday, I spent most of the weekend just being quiet and kind to myself, going for walks, doing my nails, reading cheezy fashion magazines, and occasionally letting grief wash over me and then subside. As I reenter the work world this week, it's good to have a few more kind words in my head to ease the frustration and tiresome pace that I must now recommence.

Goodnight, my angel

At 1:35pm MST yesterday, February 12, 2010, Guy and I released Maddy's soul back to the Universe and helped her to the Rainbow Bridge. She went peacefully, without any pain or hesitation. She was ready, so Mama had to be ready with her as well. She was just a couple of weeks shy of being 12 years old.

Towards the end, Maddy was obviously no longer feeling good but was not yet pooping herself or really really hurting. Many folks told me that when it was time, Maddy would "let me know". While talking with a friend of mine last night who lost a cat to cancer and old age, she observed, "You sent her along before she needed to give you The Look and 'let you know'. That was a really good thing actually."

Before she went, I think she and Hazel made their peace, after Maddy spent nearly all of their 12 years together kicking Hazel's butt. They were able to coexist peaceably on the chaise together, sometimes on the bed, and even in the closet occasionally.

Maddy spent a lot of time in the closet, and I kept going in there to pet and snuggle her, knowing that her time was coming. One day early this week, I came in to find Hazel running interference for her. "Mama, back off--Maddy needs her rest!"

Thursday night, Maddy sat on the futon with me, and we watched the snowstorm charge towards the Southeast, at which point I'm sure it was sending all of my sister's town into a bread-and-milk-buying frenzy. She let me pet her now-near-emaciated body gently, so I didn't make anything hurt but did provide a little massage. She purred and tried to rest.

Friday I took the day off from work, and Maddy and I laid on the chaise and read a bunch of fashion magazines that Aunt Kitty kindly sent us. We flipped the pages while I pet her, and we clucked our tongues over the dubious fashion choices of Rihanna and Lady Gaga. I pulled the blinds all the way back so that Maddy could see the balcony and the view outside. As the sky went sunny to cloudy to sunny again, I whispered to her through tears, "Today is a good day, sweet pea. Today is a good day." She chirpy-purred her assent.

I scooped up her frail, soft body and took her for one last tour of the Happy Kitten Highrise: here's the balcony where we shared many wonderful summers together, playing in the "garden" and snoozing; here's the closet where you and Hazel stayed warm each winter, so touch noses with Hazel for one last time (they did); here's the bedroom where you've woken me up just before my alarm clock every morning for nearly nine years, here's the TV room where we all hung out and watched TV or a movie and you sat on Papa's lap while he played computer games. Then we put he in the carrier (which she still fought with what little strength she had, Bastet bless her!) and we went to the vet. The vet put us in a nice, quiet room with a sofa and some candles, and we held her and said our final goodbyes, my tears wetting down her soft fire-colored fur, and she breathed gently while the vet gave her the final two shots that would take all the pain away and then stop her heart.

And then she was gone.

I never realized all the things I do around the house because of her. I walk a certain way because she was always underfoot. Everytime I walk into the bathroom, I reflexively look into my shower/toilet room to see if she's laying on the rug, and I perk my ears as I walk by my closet to see if I can hear her in there. I've spent a great deal of nearly every night since June of 2000 (when I moved to Denver) sleeping on my left side so that I could pet or spoon with Maddy, both in my downtown loft (which was cold as hell, so Maddy actually slept under the covers with me) and here at the HKH. I touch the indentation in the back of the chaise where she was just hours before, and it hits me that she is truly gone, and the sadness is raw and fresh again. And I weep.

As I write this, dawn is just about to break over the Mile High City. The sun is coming up red-orange and faded ultramarine in the southeast, more pinkish and faded watercolor-cobalt blue in the northeast. The dawn causes Capitol Hill's buildings to reflect back a gentle, grayish-white glow. The building across from ours now reflects my building in its windows. A few more cars are driving by on the major streets outside--the world is waking up but not totally awake yet. In my condo, Hazel is curled up on a horse blanket in a chair near my desk in the living room. I occasionally hear her snore (*gzzzzz*) and even purr. Across the living room, the back cushion of the chaise sits crooked, bearing a dent still left behind by the kind, furry soul who once lay on it. I weep still for that kind, furry soul. She was an integral part of my life, my being. She was with me through so many things, so many ups and downs, never judging or blaming or getting angry with me, and always forgiving when I was angry with her or anyone. No matter what had transpired during the day, she would hop! up into bed with me at night, purring and licking my hand, just wanting to be part of the pack.

Goodnight, my angel. I carry you with me forever in my heart and in my memory. May you be comforted on the other side, and until I see you again, know that I love you so much and miss you more than I can describe.

Putting down the heaviest burden

I scheduled Maddy's final appointment for Friday.

She's started stumbling when she walks and has stopped eating, even drinking the milk from my cereal. She stays in the closet or in the bathroom, but last night she ambled into the bedroom and crawled up onto my side of the bed, curled up, and looked up as if to say, "Ready to go to bed wif you, Mama!"

She laid on the bed with me all night, alternating purring with twitching/jerking all of a sudden. Even this morning she got up and left for a couple of minutes, and then came right back. Hop, purr, snuggle.

It's so hard to look at this little face and know that she'll be gone soon, and I'm the one who has to do it. I alternate weeping heavily with calmly accepting this fact. It's hard sometimes when she's being sweet and curled up by me, but I know that it's not getting any better for her, only getting worse. I want to release her soul back to the Universe while she still has some dignity, not pooping herself in the closet and dragging around the house. Forgive me for a while as I shut off the laptop and enjoy these last days with my beautiful, wonderful furry friend.