Thanks
Wait, I really didn't complete my last weblog. I have to get a few more things out.
I have to thank all the people who helped launch my project. Meg, my program manager. She's great. Always cheerful. Optimistic, patient. High energy. She was my right hand. Robert was my left hand. He had one of the toughest jobs, because he had to request things from other people, and handle lots of intense personalities. He'll claim to not be tough, but don't believe it. He can grind with the best of them. Audrey and Erin, my clever web devs. Just cranking through bugs like machines. I hadn't worked with Erin before. She's sharp as a tack. Poor Audrey had a problem with her eye at the end. It was all red and highly sensitive to light and pressure. We finally just had to kick her out and send her home.
Jim, our search guy. A true professional. Sam, my tech lead. Very level-headed. Mark, our editor. A gamer. Put up with all our last minute edits. Pete, our primary designer. Again, able to put up with crazy people like me, keep us laughing, and crank out designs at all hours. Again, able to keep his cool even under high stress situations. Rob, my catalog ops guy. Always smiling. Always. Has never never complained about any job in all the years I've worked with him. Never! What does that guy eat for breakfast?!? AlexG, Boris. Two newer web devs, thrown into the fire. Barb and AlexP, who stepped up to help me deliver and send one of the more ambitious, complex e-mails in the history of the Internet. Again, cool under pressure.
Ryan, who used to be on my team, now on the marketing team, helping us get our e-mails right. Chandra. Murray. Jason. David. Of course, Bean, who we had to call back in yesterday night at 2 in the morning to fix another bug. I see Bean more at work now than I do outside work, which is kind of sad. One of these days I have to take her to a movie and get some mashed up ice cream and brownies and strawberries. It's like To the Lighthouse by Virginia Woolf, an unfulfilled mission between us. Actually, I've been a pretty lousy friend to almost everyone these past six weeks.
I think the one thing in common about almost everyone on the team was that they were level-headed and cool under pressure. Focused on fixing problems, able to set aside the frustrations of a tight timeline. They just all kept their cool even though the demands were so extreme. Oh, we had the occasional fit, but then it was done and we were back at it. I'm so proud of all of them.
I wish my mom could see the site today. She probably wouldn't really understand what it was all about, but she'd still be excited. Every mother's day I fall into this melancholy. Nostalgia laced with guilt. I remember when my mom had cancer, I bought her a copy of Still Me by Christopher Reeve. I bought it from Amazon. I thought his story might give her some encouragement and hope in her own fight. I asked her one day if she had read much of it yet. I knew she had picked it up once or twice and tried to give it a go.
By then she was too tired to say too much. She just said, "There are too many words in it." She was joking, of course, but also half serious. She never did make it any farther into the book. But I remember many moments like that, when between her pain and her suffering, her old sense of humor managed to poke through. Those are the stories that always choke me up. Damn, I miss her a lot.
I have to thank all the people who helped launch my project. Meg, my program manager. She's great. Always cheerful. Optimistic, patient. High energy. She was my right hand. Robert was my left hand. He had one of the toughest jobs, because he had to request things from other people, and handle lots of intense personalities. He'll claim to not be tough, but don't believe it. He can grind with the best of them. Audrey and Erin, my clever web devs. Just cranking through bugs like machines. I hadn't worked with Erin before. She's sharp as a tack. Poor Audrey had a problem with her eye at the end. It was all red and highly sensitive to light and pressure. We finally just had to kick her out and send her home.
Jim, our search guy. A true professional. Sam, my tech lead. Very level-headed. Mark, our editor. A gamer. Put up with all our last minute edits. Pete, our primary designer. Again, able to put up with crazy people like me, keep us laughing, and crank out designs at all hours. Again, able to keep his cool even under high stress situations. Rob, my catalog ops guy. Always smiling. Always. Has never never complained about any job in all the years I've worked with him. Never! What does that guy eat for breakfast?!? AlexG, Boris. Two newer web devs, thrown into the fire. Barb and AlexP, who stepped up to help me deliver and send one of the more ambitious, complex e-mails in the history of the Internet. Again, cool under pressure.
Ryan, who used to be on my team, now on the marketing team, helping us get our e-mails right. Chandra. Murray. Jason. David. Of course, Bean, who we had to call back in yesterday night at 2 in the morning to fix another bug. I see Bean more at work now than I do outside work, which is kind of sad. One of these days I have to take her to a movie and get some mashed up ice cream and brownies and strawberries. It's like To the Lighthouse by Virginia Woolf, an unfulfilled mission between us. Actually, I've been a pretty lousy friend to almost everyone these past six weeks.
I think the one thing in common about almost everyone on the team was that they were level-headed and cool under pressure. Focused on fixing problems, able to set aside the frustrations of a tight timeline. They just all kept their cool even though the demands were so extreme. Oh, we had the occasional fit, but then it was done and we were back at it. I'm so proud of all of them.
I wish my mom could see the site today. She probably wouldn't really understand what it was all about, but she'd still be excited. Every mother's day I fall into this melancholy. Nostalgia laced with guilt. I remember when my mom had cancer, I bought her a copy of Still Me by Christopher Reeve. I bought it from Amazon. I thought his story might give her some encouragement and hope in her own fight. I asked her one day if she had read much of it yet. I knew she had picked it up once or twice and tried to give it a go.
By then she was too tired to say too much. She just said, "There are too many words in it." She was joking, of course, but also half serious. She never did make it any farther into the book. But I remember many moments like that, when between her pain and her suffering, her old sense of humor managed to poke through. Those are the stories that always choke me up. Damn, I miss her a lot.