Grillin' and Chillin'

Got myself a little tiny baby grill, 19 bucks at the supermarket; tried it out tonight and it made awesome chicken breasts, so I'm stokin. I've also been pretty much dominating the pool. Everyone goes for dinner around 7, so I get it all to myself for a couple hours every night. Awesome. Awesome. Dude! Awesome.

Pool's Filled and Glistening

Here's the view from my apartment. The pool's been out of commission for two months while the electrical was replaced and the entire pool retiled and restuccoed. This weekend was the first it's been up and running. So I went for it. And let me tell you, it was heaven. It's about 85 today, the water's maybe 70 degrees, very refreshing but tolerable. There were little kids cavorting around but I didn't care - just call me Shamu. I am what I yam. They were fascinated with me for about 30 seconds, then went back to their splashing and screaming. But there's plenty of pool to go around, and I had an entire "wing" of it to myself. Loved every minute of it.

Remembering Cookie

Here's a picture of my mom, Cookie, aboard the S.S. Roosevelt on our journey from Japan to San Francisco in 1964. My Dad was in the Navy and we had just spent four years in the Orient. We would be seeing family members in the United States for the first time - Mom's parents, Kathryn and Al, were driving up from Long Beach in their sky blue Plymouth Sports Fury with the green tinted windows to meet us at the dock. Those days, they're so Technicolor in my mind.

I love this picture of her. Great outfit, eh? The lipstick exactly matched the accessories, as was the style in those days. The outfit was run up by the sweet Japanese seamstress who came to our house each week to sew clothes out of material Mom bought. I remember going with Mom to tiny crowded stores and translating for her (I spoke Japanese) as she dickered for bolts of the most delicious fabric. In Japan, every Sunday my parents and I would go to the Officers' Club in formal wear, my Dad impeccable in his dress white uniform and my mom in a self-designed gown. She would pick out a fabric, then make a drawing for the seamstress, and voila, a Cookie original. I remember a dress and jacket of blue satin embroidered with delicate chrysanthemums in gold and silver. I remember a full-length navy shantung silk coat with an all-over paisley pattern in black embroidery, trimmed in black bugle beads. I remember lots of whirly swirly skirts and smart matching jackets in madras and pastel polka dots.

Back to the ocean-crossing ensemble pictured. Little Stevie, age 5, had a matching outfit - a jacket made of the same seersucker fabric, worn with white short pants, white socks and black shoes. In case you didn't know, matching mother-son outfits is a sure precursor of, ummm, impending faggotry. But I didn't know that then. I just remember being delighted wearing that outfit, and proud that the whole world knew that Cookie was my mother and I was her son.

It was a great voyage for us. Mom and Dad sat at the Captain's table each evening, reveling in the deluxe accommodations and my father's status as a Navy captain. I enjoyed great freedom aboard the ship. I was babysat by twin Brazilian teenage girls who took me with them all over the ship. Our ship docked in Hawaii for a couple of days and we were greeted by gorgeous Hawaiian ladies bearing fragrant leis. They bent down to kiss me but I was embarrassed and hid in my mom's full turquoise skirt. My parents got a red hawaiian shirt for me and I later wore it with a grass skirt and straw hat, winning the costume contest, little kids division. My babysitters won in the teen category by dressing in matching Mexican outfits, one of the girls dressed as a Senorita with lace mantilla and one of them dressed as a matador complete with toreador pants and penciled-on mustache. I thought they were so beautiful. I played piano at the talent show, I was a pretty good little pianist for a five-year-old, and when all the adults exploded in applause and yelled "Bravo!" I thought they were booing and screaming at me, so I bolted from the stage in tears. No matter, Mom explained they were saying I was good, so I was mollified.

And then we landed in San Francisco, and my wonderful grandparents were there to throw their arms around us, to welcome us home, to press us into their cigarette-smelling bosoms, and it was a very special occasion. A few days later we boarded a train which took us all the way to Washington, D.C.

Island Dreaming

I've been surfing the federal jobs site since the Indian Preference decision came down, and last Friday I discovered that a paralegal job has been posted for the U.S. Attorney's Office - at St. Thomas, Virgin Islands. I mean, really. The federal courthouse, a two-story affair with arches and breezeways, is on the beach in the town of Charlotte Amalie, which is the main happening spot of the island. Gotta say, I spent a heavenly weekend just imagining a life for myself there, mostly splish splashing around in 80-degree water and chowing down on lobsters and mangos. Even went to caribbean.craigslist.org and scoped out apartments. It's too fun. Ahhhh. But I don't really think it's a likely scenario. After all, Alex and Chrisanne need a place to park their RV on their cross-country journey, so until that happens, I ain't going nowhere. I'm just saying.

An Award - and a Reality Check

Last week I won an award for Federal Employee of the Year in Albuquerque. It was a great surprise, there was a luncheon banquet complete with a six-member color guard and a tape-recorded National Anthem, etc. All very patriotic and meaningful. And I thought, "How far I have come from my desperate job search a year and a half ago." But the sad subtext in my head was something I've been grappling with for the last month: a recent court decision regarding the Department of the Interior's Indian Preference hiring policy.

In case you didn't know, Indian Preference (IP) is a policy established in the 1930's that says if an Indian person is minimally qualified for a federal job within certain agencies in the Department of the Interior, such as the Bureau of Indian Affairs, then that person will be considered for the position to the exclusion of anyone else. It effectively populates all affected positions with Indian People, rightly or wrongly. The original legislation was written by a congressman who determined that only Indian People are able to provide good service to Indian People because of their inherent understanding of the issues and experience of their constituency. In the years since, IP has been consistently upheld, despite numerous claims that it preempts civil rights for non-Indians within the Department. The policy has been implemented primarily for the Bureau of Indian Affairs, where virtually every employee is directly serving the interests of Indian People. But implementation of the policy at other DOI agencies, such as my own, has been made on a job-by-job basis by the hiring authority. In my case, obviously, my position was non-IP, otherwise I simply would not have been considered for the position.

Last month, a federal judge issued a decision that stated, "Any position within the Department of the Interior which primarily serves Indian People shall be an IP position." Although no final decision has been made by DOI as to exactly which positions fit this description, it is commonly believed that every position within my own agency, which provides trust services to Indian People and tribal governments, will become IP.

Now, it's unlikely I would be asked to vacate my position, although some of my Indian co-workers have joked that I might be getting a "Honky buyout." The more likely scenario is that, as non-IP positions are vacated, they will become IP positions and, little by little, all non-Indians will be replaced by Indian People at my agency.

I could go into a long discussion here about the relative benefits of the policy - do I think that Indian People, by virtue of being Indian, are more capable of and vested in doing a great job for my agency than non-Indian People? In a word, no. But that's for another post.

What does this new court decision mean for me? Well, it effectively shuts the door to any possibility of promotion or advancement within my agency. And this is not a comfortable situation. I accepted a secretarial position here (and was damned happy to be offered it) because I wanted to get my foot back in the pond of federal service after a 10-year sabbatical, and I thought it would be an opportunity to reestablish myself as a high-functioning, contributing member of the federal family - and in so doing, have opportunity to advance.

Well, that is no longer a possibility for me.

It's an odd feeling. Everywhere I've worked, particularly at the Department of Justice, the mucky-mucks saw my potential and pretty much fell over themselves opening doors for me. And I climbed the ladder - dramatically. I started as a clerk-typist, and in less than 10 years I moved up - to legal clerk, secretary, paralegal specialist, victim-witness assistant, executive assistant, and finally manager of high-profile community programs. In federalese, I moved from a GS-3 to a GS-13, an unlikely achievement. When I took my present job, I "down-graded" (more federalese) to a GS-8, but figured it was only a matter of time before I had a chance to move up.

So if that isn't a possibility now, what do I do? Can I sit in my current position, effectively dead-ended, for another 10 years (which is when I'm eligible to retire), and not become filled with frustration and resentment? Granted, I'm the recipient of much praise and appreciation - even great big awards, fergawdsake - but is that enough to mollify and comfort me sufficient to settle? Or will I need to jump back into the job search pool and start looking for another position at a federal agency that will afford me the opportunity to advance?

That's what was swirling in my head all the while I ate grilled salmon, recited the Pledge of Allegiance, and experienced a Mark Spitz moment when a medal on a red, white and blue ribbon was placed around my neck.