Ring in The New!

I was startled when I saw the first of the "Best of the Decade" lists in some magazine. Really? This is the end of an entire decade? (OK. Not really. I know, I KNOW the decade ends when 2011 begins. But still.)

The new millenium was 10 years ago? I mentioned Y2K to Miriam and she stared at me blankly. "You know, when all the computers were going to crash and it was going to be the end of the world as we knew it?" Still nothing. Oh, yeah. She was only 2 1/2 when that happened.

Time is funny stuff. One day, one moment, can be an eternity. The past 10 years slipped right by. I'm still trying to wrap my head around the fact that someone born in the 1980's is actually a legal adult. How does this happen?

And how will we remember this decade? And what the heck will we call it? The zeroes?

It has been a zero in a way. We've made an intimate acquaintance, as a nation, with terrorism. We're suffering through some low-grade wars. The current economic slowdown has been nothing to sneeze at.

But there's good stuff, too. Facebook, for example. I'm finding people I'd lost track of and it's my lifeline to the world. My girls have gone from little girls to young women. OK. Maybe that was a mixed blessing. But overall good.

But mostly the past 10 years have been planning suppers, getting people to school, running errands, and the various other minutae of daily life. Life is, after all, the stuff that happens while we're busy making other plans. Next year I'll be babysitting and dogsitting. Groceries will be bought, the floors will still need cleaned. The alarm will still be going off too early. I'll be focused on trying to make every deadline that each day presents, and, before I know it, another 10 years will go by.

Happy New Year. I hope twenty-ten brings everyone peace, love, and the perfectly ordinary.

Merry Holly-Daze!! Random Christmas Thoughts

The presents are open, dinner eaten, I've been to church and talked to my distant family. This is my favorite part of the holiday. How rare it is to have moments where literally, except for breathing and such, there is nothing I HAVE to do. Except travel across town to care for a friend's german shepherd mix I affectionately call Cujo. I have a break from babysitting for the holiday, so naturally I'm dog-sitting. Sigh.



Oh my blog, I have missed you. I've composed so much in my head that just stayed there. It's been a combination of a recalcitrant laptop, caring for a toddler, and basic inertia. Good to be back. Again.



I was somewhat unsatisfied with my Christmas letter this year. I wasn't really feeling it. So, hey, what better than to report directly from the trenches?

It's been a lovely Christmas. Perhaps my favorite moment came this morning when my normally sardonic teenager looked up from her stocking, beamed beautifically, and said it was a really nice Christmas. I melted.

Although it was not easy, I wouldn't say Advent was stressful. We took turns with various ailments and I've basically had a sore throat since Thanksgiving. It really put a crimp in my holiday frenzy and I must say that, ultimately, I was OK with that. In my fantasy the house is beautifully, tastefully, and whimsically decorated (and clean, of course). I would host a cozy gathering of my dearest friends complete with wassail and perhaps a cookie exchange. We would have an advent calendar and a richly appointed nativity scene replete with angels in heaven.

In reality, we did manage to get a tree which Miriam decorated on Christmas Eve. And all thanks and credit to Tom who shouldered the burden of Christmas shopping and really pulled the house together. He truly is a helpmate. Amelia nipped at my heels to make cookie dough and she and Miriam worked on (and squabbled about) the baking project. As I look back on it I realize it was a real team effort this year.

I also bet that we only used about 30% of our Christmas stuff. I treasure it all, but for now I'm happy with lights, a tree with selections from our ornament collection, and the stuffed fabric nativity scene my sister made for me some years ago.

One source of joy this year is the fact that the girls seem to value the experience of Christmas as much as, if not more than, the presents. They enjoy the preparation. They had fun planning gifts for each other and the parents. They love the music and TV shows. Amelia worked really hard on a scrapbook she made for her best friend. Some of our worst moments actually came while we were shopping. They both are still teenagers, you know.

Yes, Advent was rough, and there were quite a few moments when I felt run-down and like I was going through the motions. But the motions were not a bad thing. And I am at complete peace at this moment (ouch, now officially the day AFTER Christmas) because even though it wasn't Home and Gardens, it was beautiful. Our Christmas dinner was a little funky (who pairs yorkshire pudding with ham?), I never did see my friends, but my little family was happy. What more could I want?

Tick...Tick...Tick

My baby is thirteen. Very thirteen.

My eldest didn't prepare me for this. My headstrong toddler morphed into a fairly mellow teen. My funny, sunny toddler now stands taller than me, favors lots of dark eyeliner, and colors her hair. I said no to piercing her lip, and she cannot get a tattoo until she is financially independent.

She's a teen, and this is what teens do, isn't it? Why do I worry so?

I have no problem with her playing with her appearance. In fact, I've liked her hair colors and must admit that the eyeliner actually does accentuate her striking blue/green eyes. I'm fine with her attraction to the alternative, "punk light" bands she's digging these days.

I don't like the darkness. She's still funny, but now cloudy with only peeks of sunshine. I honestly can't tell if she's happy or not sometimes. Even more troubling is the fact that she's shut me out. I'm OK (for now) with her not friending me on Facebook. She also Twitters and texts and has always had liberal use of the laptop. All I get is monosyllabic answers and the dreaded deadpan stare. Is everything all right in her world? I don't know, and I don't want to be the last one to know.

She wants to grow up so fast, and it's so useless to tell her to slow down. I had to think hard about why this was bothering me so much. I have to have a certain amount of faith in her values and judgments. I realized, however, that while I trust her I don't trust other people. I don't want guys hitting on her. I don't want people encouraging stupid behaviour. She's smart, but a tad impulsive. And, for heaven's sake, SHE'S ONLY THIRTEEN!!

I feel vaguely helpless. Dealing with a teen is a lot like playing Minesweeper or defusing a bomb. Click the wrong square, pull the wrong wire, and it all blows up. It's a delicate balance. I try to give her reasonable space so she doesn't push away further. I try to keep the communication door open, but I wind-up sounding like the stereotypical dweeby parent and it triggers the blank stare.

I love her independence, but I miss my daughter.

(How can I write about her like this? Because she doesn't follow anything I do.)

The Gift of Time -- Priceless

This past week has taught me that I am in possession of one of the world's most precious resources: unstructured time.

This is how I became caretaker of Brandon. I was between jobs, Carla (his mom)was looking for someone, AND HE'S SO DARN CUTE. I consider myself sort of a "boutique" caregiver, generally taking on one kid at a time who become my own during the day. Maybe this is my penance for not staying home with MY kids while they were babies.

This will be tested in a couple of weeks when I will be adding Max to the mix, who is only 7 months younger than Brandon. It's mind-blowing to see what a difference that makes at this stage.

A couple of days ago another neighbor called wondering if I could hang-out with her 4 year-old for about an hour so she could go to a yoga class. I was ready to do it, but the class wound-up being canceled. So I took Brandon to the library, where the very-expectant librarian looked at me longly and said "You babysit? You know, I'm going to need someone one day a week when I'm ready to go back to work..." AAAH, I'm not looking for these jobs. They keep looking for me!!

So I think it may have even been later that same day that the local elementary school called me as an emergency contact for my across the street neighbor whom they'd been unable to reach. Her son had complained of not feeling well after snack, and there was some concern about a food allergy. I drove around the city parks looking for my neighbor, then picked her son up at school and brought him home. (All was well, he wasn't having an allergic reaction and his mom had gone to the library with her other kids and was home by the time I got there.)

It got me to thinking what a rare commodity I am -- someone who was home and could run to the school. I was also the rare mom who could go on field trips and bake for special events when my kids were in elementary school. (I left the normal workaday world when my kids were in school all day. What planning!!)

You mean, women used to do this stuff all the time?

There is something to be said for having a parent-type at home, and I don't think it has to be the mom. It's not an easy job. I can see how the stereotypical 50's housewife was a secret valium abuser or alcoholic. The boredom can get mind-numbing, and I feel like getting a t-shirt that says "I have a college degree." Yet I certainly feel that I'm filling a critical void.

Perhaps after we reform health care (and recover from the whole process) we'll be ready to take-on child care reform.

Half-Empty or Half-Full?

Contrary to much of what we hear these days, there are some real advantages to being a woman in our society. One true victory of the movement is that we are allowed to define our role.

I feel pretty confident saying that most guys in my position would say that they are unemployed. I, on the other hand, have the option of saying that I am a homemaker, and we can all agree that it's a valuable occupation (if seriously underpaid).

Right after my last job tanked, I thought I was enemployed. I felt unemployed. I was contemplating and mapping my next career move, fighting the inner fear that perhaps I'm just not cut out for the work world (another topic entirely).

There's a narcotic to being at home, though. As the days start to slide by I find that I don't miss the timeclock. I start morphing into the homemaker, which, by the way, is not something I'm particularly good at. If there were real justice in the world I would have the ambition and skills to be the money-maker and Tom could stay home. He's got mad housekeeping skills. Way better than mine.

ANYWAY -- being a homemaker is a lot like being a farmer. NOTE: I agree with the school of thought that "housewife" is a pejorative term. I am not married to my house. "Homemaker" describes the entirety of the role. It's holistic. But back to the point at hand...farmers also do not work by the timeclock (at least not in my romantic fantasy world), rather they work according to the rhythm of life each day and season. I'm always amazed at how much of my day is ruled by meal planning or preparation. And each season brings its demands of school or vacation or holidays...

The problem with such work, however, is that it is not neatly confined to a workday. I, like the farmer, have the luxury of deciding when I want to work, but, also like the farmer, I will get out of it what I put into it. Too much time spent sleeping, playing Freecell, doing crosswords, or blogging makes for a home that I cringe to call my own. I'm really working on this issue. And there's always work to be done. Even on vacation, weekends, and evenings. Sometimes especially then.

And, truth be told, I'm not even completely unemployed. I'm back to tending to Brandon, now 8 months old. Now I'm also following the rhythms of feedings, diapers, and naps. Still trying to find my balance with all this. But it's sort of a "nicotine patch" for paycheck withdrawal, and it fulfills my need for a purpose. Nurturing a human soul is one of the higher callings in life, or so I keep telling myself.

It's all in how you look at it.

OOPS!! Technical Difficulties -- Still in New York

Modern technology is SO not my thing. I accidently published my last entry instead of editing, so pardon my typos and abrupt ending!!

So where were we? Walking. Oh yes. And walking. To Times Square where we saw The Naked Cowboy (as it says on his tidy whities). From Times Square up Park Avenue, just to say we'd been there. The girls popped into the Juicy Couture store and pretended they could afford the stuff. We walked all the way to Central Park, with a quick zig that took us past The Russian Tea Room and Carnegie Hall. In Central Park we had some ice cream and tried to re-group.

My dear friend Marla has often commented that she can understand why some animals eat their young (she's recently had #6). I understood the feeling. For one, Miriam has an amazing ability to be bored. She always looked at me like I was crazy when I suggested taking photos of things like Rockefeller Center. She couldn't believe there wasn't a Hot Topic store (LIKE SHE CAN GO TO AT THE LOCAL MALL!!). Amelia has little to no capacity to handle physical discomfort. She was wearing new shoes and getting blisters. So we're sitting there in Central Park and Miriam turns to me and says "Are we just going to sit here?"

The worst moment came after we took the subway back to Penn Station. Tom had wandered off for a moment and the girls and I came dangerously close to a full melt-down, and I was feeling sorely tempted to just call the whole thing off. We were saved by Macy's and Green Day.

Macy's? It's just a little mind-blowing to be in a department store that big. The Junior's Department itself was the entire 4th floor taking up 2 city blocks. The girls could do some shopping, I had a place to sit down (the Aunt Annie's Pretzels also on the 4th floor), and Tom got the opportunity to wander around the block without any whining ball-and-chains. We were able to get (a surprisingly affordable) dinner at the restaurant in the basement and the girls were even able to get the new Ashley Tisdale CD (a pox on Disney, I say!).

Green Day also happened to be playing that night at Madison Square Garden. This perked Miriam up. We were able to get cool pictures of the tour bus and equipment trailors. Tom actually offered to get tickets for the show if they were still available, and he would take Miriam while Amelia and I would take the train back to LI, an adventure in itself. The only seats left, of course, were obstructed AND, I think, behind the stage, so Miriam passed. But it was neat hanging out by the venue with the fans waiting to go in.

In retrospect, it was a good day in the city. I don't know if it was Michael Bloomberg's efforts to clean up Manhattan or maturity on my part, possibly both, but New York was not nearly as scary as I remember. There were no Jews for Jesus passing out literature on the street corners. I only saw one person doing an anti-government, religious rant, and my kids didn't even notice. They noticed a homeless person although I did not. No drugs, no 3 Card Monty games. Surprisingly few buskers. I also couldn't find any street vendors selling italian ice which really bummed me out. Of course, when Tom was walking around while I was in Macy's he saw both a vendor AND an italian ice vendor. Figures.

Overall New York was surprisingly normal, almost bland. Of course we didn't leave midtown. And, come to think of it, we did pass a guy dressed like a monster walking down Park Avenue. And in Central Park there was a guy who did a very convincing Captain Jack Sparrow imitation. New York, New York...it's a wonderful town...

Next up - Sleeping Bear.

What I Did on my Summer Vacation - Part I

I'll try to keep this from morphing into a pathetically bad school essay. We just returned from our annual summer jaunt. Maybe I'll call this one The Alpha and Omega since it incorporated New York City and Sleeping Bear National Lakeshore in Northern Michigan.

As you, my friends know, it's been a funky summer. A get-away is usually a good tonic for this and this one did not disappoint.

As previously noted, we opted for the urban/rustic experience.

First, New York. I actually have history with the city since for some odd reason I've TWICE had boyfriends from Long Island. Not bad for a Wisconsin girl. Hayseed that I was, NYC always freaked me out. I remember learning in college about a psych experiment in which someone purposely overpopulated a colony of rats and kept them in a confined space and watched their anti-social behavior develop. I always thought that experiment was a little unnecessary since all one would really need to do is study Manhattan. I mean really.

The first time I went to the city my boyfriend's mom told me I'd see a homeless person/bag lady, a television or film crew, and we couldn't quite remember what the third thing was, either a drug deal or a 3 card monty game. The city did not disappoint on any of those. I was also offered drugs for sale (Bryant Park), and had my purse stolen at an Arby's after I set it on the floor next to me like a completely ignorant mid-westerner. Boyfriend's mom grabbed it back for me. She also took me to see The Best Little Whorehouse in Texas on Broadway. She's awesome.

By the time my second New York boyfriend rolled around I had developed something of a phobia of the city. He and his sister laughed that the city must have looked like the view from a fish-eye lens to me. It was a big deal the day I actually walked from his sister's apartment in the West 40's to the McDonald's across the street ALL BY MY SELF.

So I could never say I had a particular fondness for the Big Apple, and I always argued that their pizza was too flat.

So here we were having a family adventure in the place that never sleeps, which actually led me to a cosmic realization: Tom may have been born and raised in the Wilkes-Barre/Scranton area, but his father grew up in the Whitehall (? I think?) section of the city and his mom is from Lyndhurst, New Jersey. While he was growing up his grandparent lived in Queens and he used to hang out there some, roam the city, and go to lots of Mets games. My cosmic New York connection continues. I swear I didn't plan it this way.

We found a decent hotel for under $100/night (!) on Long Island that was not far from Islip where my friends live. Just getting there was Day 1. Having dealt with Chicago a number of times, the Cross-Bronx and Long Island Expressways weren't unbearable. Day 2, it was decided, I would visit my friends while Tom took the girls to Jones Beach. My friends in Islip are actually the parents of LI boyfriend #1, and our relationship was better and far-outlasted the one I had with their son. My daughters didn't quite get this whole concept so I thought it best that they have an adventure while I caught up on old times. I can only take so much eye-rolling, sighs, and "can we go yet?"

Day 3 was it. Our foray to The City. In typical fashion we really didn't have it planned out. Tom, as mentioned before, has a certain familiarity with the place and felt just exploring would give us the best feel for the place.

Lesson 1 - staying further out on the island may have saved us on room cost, but this was somewhat offset by the train fare. Yow. Lesson 2 - there are no Broadway matinees on Tuesday, and the Long Island Railroad doesn't make it easy to get back in the evening unless you don't mind arriving around 2am. Lesson 3 - if you have a 16 year old daughter that is really freaked out by heights that eliminates climbing the Statue of Liberty, the Empire State Building or the Top of the Rock at Rockefeller Center.

So what do you do? You walk. And walk. Up 8th Avenue to Times Square. After

Yeah, I'm pretty sure I'm having a depressive episode. That's the thing. About 90% of the time I'm fine. All it takes is one good trigger and I fall into the hole, and climbing out again is a process.

Gee, what could have set me off? Could it be the interpersonal psychodrama that managed to tweak several of my issues such as weak bounderies? Shifting hormones? Anne Lamott wrote about the difficulties of having an adolescent son with a menopausal mother. Little did she know that the combination of TWO adolescent daughters and a perimenopausal mother is positively NUCLEAR.

I was trying to imagine how to describe this feeling. The best image I could come up with was that it's like living underwater. Every action and movement feels like it's up against extra resistance. For the most part I feel like I manage OK, and you'd probably have to know me pretty well (like my kids, for instance) to spot that something's wrong. I may look functional on the outside, but it saps all my energy.

On the inside it's a much uglier story. Critical Voice appears to tell me how unaccomplished and messed-up I am, which, of course, I'm probably transmitting to my kids.  The inner child starts howling for love and attention.  The filter in my brain malfunctions and seems to screen out the positive, giving a negative spin to whatever is happening. It ain't pretty in there.

Oh yeah.  I also do things like start new blog postings A MONTH AGO and then leave them to sit.  Unpublished.  After all, what do I have to say of any interest to anybody?

I'm working hard to bounce back.  Softball season just ended and vacation has begun.  A change of scenery may do the trick.  I think the boo-boo has scabbed over, just waiting for the new skin to itch.

Looking Up to Reach Down

When I was in 4th grade, I think, a kid named Peder Lindh (I think that was his name. Definitely was his name, less sure of the spelling) punched me in the stomach after school. We were standing by the coat hooks. No real reason for hitting me, except that I was a kinda snotty kid. Wonder why I've never returned for my school reunions? I also swear that schools are not as brutish as they used to be. I don't remember Peder getting in any particular trouble for punching me. It might have been worth a suspension today.

ANYWAY -- I remember this particular punch because his little fist went up and under my solar plexis leaving me kneeling on the ground, gasping for breath, head spinning.

Recently I got myself into one of those messed-up, relationship-issue situations that I have a real talent for getting myself involved in. I tried to figure out what was going on and then, because I just can't help myself sometimes, I tried to fix it. As a result one of the people involved, whom I really like and has enough on her plate, wound up feeling very angry and betrayed, and I think I made a bad situation somewhat worse, or at least no better. Not to mention the fact that I seemed to have killed a budding friendship.

Her anger was another punch to the gut, and I fell apart in a way I haven't for a long time. I sobbed and literally had to go to bed. At 7pm.

One of my daughters had recently commented that she didn't see why depression is considered a mental illness when her mom seems so OK. I think she got a crash course.

I know I'm way ahead of where I was years ago. I know my issues pretty well, I knew I was having an episode, and I knew I had to lay low and take it easy for awhile. I'm back up and around, and breathing, but still feel echoes of awful.

The worst part? I want to reach-out with an apologetic gesture, let her know I wasn't in it for personal gain, but only to help. But re-visiting the issue may only muddy the water yet again. But I'm having trouble walking away and leaving the situation alone.

While it was all going on I tried so hard to do the right thing. The Quakers have a concept called "leadings." If you're very quiet and allow the Spirit to move you, it will be your guide. (Thus one of my favorite little signs ever that I used to have in my office: I am a Quaker. In case of emergency, please be quiet.) I really tried to do that, but it back-fired. Is the Spirit leading me to reach out? Or my own craven need for approval? I'm not sure I can tell the difference anymore.

I haven't been to the nursing home for a couple of weeks. I also just found out that Brandon's aunt wants to watch him full-time for the summer, so I don't have that exhausting distraction anymore. It's a good thing, but an adjustment. And, of course, the kids are bored. AAAAAAH!

So how are things with you?

It Beats the Alternative

Another birthday.

I'm starting to feel my age. This is sort of a change for me since my actual age, appearance, and behavior generally have not been congruent. At 12 or 13 I could pass for older since, thanks to my elder siblings, I had an old-for-my years mind-set and tastes. I was a Frank Zappa fan in 6th grade for pity's sake!!

By college the young-for-my-age look started to kick in. I once got my hair cut very short and when my boyfriend at the time bought us movie tickets the seller didn't ask, just charged him for one adult, one child. I had to be mistaken for being under 12! And I couldn't venture into an adult establishment without identification.

I think I began to catch up to myself in my mid-thirties. Now I don't remember the last time I got carded. One of the first times I ventured from my home with my new young ward, Brandon, I was asked A COUPLE OF TIMES if he were my grandson. I mean, sure, it's biologically possible, but still.

I'm turning 44. I mean, it's not like it's a milestone year or anything. But 30 and 40 didn't bother me. I think this is bothering me because I FEEL 44 years old. I'm prone to aches and pains, especially after unexpected exertion. I own a minivan.

What's really been stinging me lately is that (in my perception, at least) age has been catching up with my appearance. Mind you, I like to think that I'm not vain nor overly concerned with my appearance. I don't wear make-up or style my hair, and I certainly can't be accused of having a sense of style. Or if I did, it would be the Frumpy Thrift look. Oversized is my size.

The problem is that I could be that way since I was blessed with naturally decent looks. Not drop dead gorgeous, but I didn't have to work hard to cover flaws. I'd like to think I was the girl about whom people said "She's so pretty, if only she'd...(wear some make-up, dress better, etc.). I could turn it on if I wanted to. I like to think I could turn some heads. Couple that with my rapier wit and my sparkling personality and look out!

I'm not so sure that's the case anymore. Time is not gentle, although, again, genetics have been kind. I'm not to prone wrinkles and lines although I don't think all those sunburns as a kid did me any favors. My hair is enough of a dirty blonde that I can call my gray my "highlights." And gravity certainly pulls things southwards.

To quote Lou Berryman in "Classified Rag" -- "I'm a gal, 44, doesn't have it anymore..." The actual lyric says 34, but that's in my rear-view mirror. I feel like I've lost It. I'm feeling past my prime.

On the up side I'm married to someone who will forever find me beautiful, for which I thank the heavens. So it really shouldn't bother me, right? But it does. Beauty is a sort of power. Without it I find I'm fading further into the background, and I'm a hog-the-spotlight kind of person.

The recent haircut has helped a lot. (No artificial colors or weird cosmetic procedures for me.) And anytime I'm tempted to bemoan the march of time I just remind myself...it beats the alternative.

Tales From the Domestic Front

Whatever I do, I want to do it well. Maybe that's why I never really made it as a stay-at-home mom.

It is a high calling, an art, even. I am in awe when I see an expert. I used to have an across-the-street neighbor who had 4 children of her own and did in-home daycare at her house. Granted her 3 sons were older kids when I came into the picture, but she could still take 4 children under the age of 4 to the mall - CALMLY!! Her house was always presentable and the kitchen always clean, floor mopped. She cooked and baked from scratch, even made her own noodles for pete's sake! She even had pretty, well-kept flowerbeds.

I've thought of her often lately as I've been venturing back into the child-care world with a four month old. It's wearing me out! I use it as my excuse for why my lawn needs mowing, my laundry needs putting away, and my house is an explosion of stuff covering every horizontal surface. But truth be told it was that way before Brandon came along. It's just more so now. Just how do other women (and men) do this?

I think it has a lot to do with how much one values the role of homemaker and thus how much effort one is willing to invest. I'll do my post-feminist commentary on this later. The native (Brandon) is restless and I think I've exhausted my supply of personal time for the day. At least the dishes are caught up and the chocolate chip cookie bars are in the oven.

Ta-ta for now!!

Enter Brandon

I just finished reading my last post and I must question its accuracy since it makes me sound much more purposeful than I really am. Have you ever watched a butterfly or moth fly? They loop and wander but overall move forward towards their goal. They are probably more direct than I am.

Which is to say, Carla, if you happen to read this it's not like I was charging along towards a brighter future and I hit a wall. More like I had a vague concept and then availability coincided with need.

I said last post that it all came down to money. Alas, isn't it always at the root? I've never been entirely comfortable without an income of my own, and that has kept me in a few jobs I really shouldn't have stayed in. I don't even need to earn a lot of money, but something of my own I can spend or have to assist with the next car repair/household need which is always lurking just around the corner. Facing the prospect of no more regular paychecks, I put out the word that I was at a loose end.

That is how Brandon entered the picture. My bowling buddy Carla had a beautiful baby boy, her husband was struggling with the after effects of back surgery, and she had to return to work. She needed a sitter and I needed a purpose.

And I thought doing dishes was hard work! It occurs to me now that I was not home with my own children full-time when they were this age (3 1/2 months when we started, now he's 4 months old). I was the working mom. I feel this may be a bit of a Karmic payback.

I had forgotten how all-consuming they are at this age. At times it feels like an endless cycle of feedings, burpings, and diapers. LOTS of walking and bouncing. He's still learning to use his hands so even playing with a toy by himself is a struggle, although improving every day. It's been difficult to keep up with the ol' blog since babies have radar that tell them when their caregiver is paying attention to something else, even if they've been content up to that point. In the evening I'M JUST TOO DARNED TIRED. I feel old.

Oh yeah. Did I mention that he arrives at 7:30 in the morning and stays till 5:30 at night?

On the plus side, he is really cute. Especially in the morning when he looks up at me with his little round face and big bright eyes and has one of his happiness spasms. He doesn't just smile, he glows. I've had the pleasure of taking his to the nursing home a few times, and discussed with my neighbor how he should be licensed as a therapy baby.

Am I making a u-turn? I don't know. I tell myself I'm still going to pursue the school route - don't lots of single moms with little babies do that?

Talk to you next naptime!

The Best Laid Plans

An update. I probably flatter myself to think that people are wondering why I haven't been writing as much and really miss the fascinating things I have to say.

Well.

I had a transition point where I had come to think of myself as homemaker rather than unemployed. I have a whole lot I could say on that subject, but I'll save it for another post and hopefully soon. I had detached with love from my kitchen job while still maintaining a decent connection with the nursing home. Some Fridays I provide entertainment during happy hour by singing karaoke. Oh, yeah. That'll be another post.

ANYWAY - we hadn't experienced financial armegeddon with the loss of my paycheck and I was gettin' in a groove around the house. Mind you my homemaking skills are somewhat questionable, or at the least uneven. I think I can manage keeping things to a dull roar but am in no danger of being featured in Better Homes and Gardens, ya know? I tend to go for lived-in and functional. OK. Yet another post on that one.

But I was getting some stuff done, getting on Facebook, starting this blog looking forward to what lay ahead. I'd pretty much decided on going back to school and eventually working towards the masters, probably social work with a geriatric specialty (predicated on my conquering my phobia of statistics). Anyway. We all know what happens when we think we have a plan.

I guess it all came down to money.

T.S. Eliot Had it Right

Oh man. Blogging is like exercise. Take a break from it and time gets away from you! I didn't mean to take so much time off. Life just catches up and gets in the way sometimes.

So how is everyone doing? Wanna give a big shout out to all my fans - all two of you - you know who you are.

Here we are. Springtime, which really, if you think about it, is sort of a wretched season. I mean first all the snow melts which is great in a way. But what are you left with? Looking at the brown grass, leafless trees, accumulated litter and dog droppings, and piles of leaves that I never quite got around to raking up last autumn.

Then there's the weather. Oh sure, it gets beautiful and sunny, but it's been staying about 10 degrees too cool to be truly comfortable. Or if it's warm it's probably raining. If it happens to be warm and sunny it's probably too muddy to do anything outside, anyway, or else it snows the next day. April is the cruelest month because it's really all about being teased.

I love the liturgical calendar like I love the seasons, and to me they are well suited to each other. (Whoa! Whiplash! Where did that come from?) Time for a little theology. As you probably know I'm Episco-tarian. The drama queen in me loves all the fancy high church stuff, but I'm really open to the many paths, one journey idea. It was just that at some point I had to be honest and admit that Christianity is my heritage, it's the language I know, so it's the one I use to express my spirituality and I can accept that we are all different. Are we clear on that point? Good.

Lent and Easter are alot like spring. Ash Wednesday is not a lovely day. We are reminded of our mortality, and that we are but dust. We are invited to contemplate our own inner accumulated trash and unraked leaves. It's not pretty. And it's followed by 40 more days of the same.

But just as Lent gives rise to Easter, April melts into May. Easter is like the days in spring when the ground is dry and the lilacs are in bloom. We celebrate life both new and eternal. We bask in the glow of joy like we do in the sun.

As usual, I'm puzzled by how the church calendar can possibly translate to the southern hemisphere. I think it no accident that the major church holidays coincide so well with ancient occurences like the solstice and equinox. It makes perfect sense that Christmas is the arrival of the light in the darkness and Easter is life returning. But that's a very northern hemisphere, temperate climate point of view. How does this work when the seasons are reversed? Do you suppose missionaries considered this?

Happy Easter. Happy Spring. I don't think I have the tolerance for chocolate that I used to.

And Now Back to ME

I got a letter yesterday from my therapist saying that she's retiring as of the end of May.

Now this is not someone I've seen for at least a year, maybe even two. But I remember learning about a psychology study in which it was shown that subjects could withstand an unpleasant stimulus longer and with less stress if they had a button they could push to end the stimulus. Even if the button didn't actually work and even if they didn't use it. Just knowing it was there helped.

I have two trains of thought here.

One: I'm coming clean. Yup, as Miriam chirped to me one day, "Mom, you have a mental illness." The official diagnosis is major depression, recurrent. I do take a selective seratonin reuptake inhibitor daily. You know, it's really not such a big deal. My kids know that I take happy pills and that no one wants to be around me if I don't. I kinda fold back into myself and am not alot of fun to be around, but that doesn't happen all that often. Otherwise it doesn't really register on my radar except for my tendency to question whether I'm being rational or not.

The second is that God certainly does work in funny ways. First I get this job and I think I'm all set. Then I lose said job. So I decide it must be time to get that Masters in Social Work I've considered for awhile. Only I find the program just as the application deadline is passing. I recently found out that I've apparently gone through a complete and very early menopause (sorry, TMI) so solving my life's purpose by having another baby isn't an option. (Not that it ever was, and I mean that. I have, however, known women who have exercised that option.)

I'm in the midst of figuring out what to do with the next chapter in my life, I'm not certain I'm thinking straight, I've recently experienced a massive hormonal upheaval, and I'd been thinking maybe it was time for me to check back in with the therapist for a little mental health tune-up. ONLY TO FIND OUT THAT SHE'S RETIRING.

Is there some message I should be getting from all this? Heavy sigh. Maybe it's time for me to grow up and take control of my life? And not settle for kitchen work? And that I can plow through this on my own?

Maybe I should just get a referral.

And how are you?

Creepiness

When Miriam has an anecdote to share it always starts with "Oh my gosh, it was so funny..." (One thing I am very proud of is the fact that my children have well-developed senses of humor.)

Oh my gosh, it was so funny. We had this lockdown drill today during orchestra, right? And so, you know, Ms. Thomas is turning off the lights and we're all in the closet and Billy (I can't actually remember the name she said) kept just randomly saying "spaghetti"...

Maybe it's because I recently finished reading the book "The Hour I First Believed" by Wally Lamb (awesome and haunting), but I experienced a vague sense of horror.

My daughter, her whole school, were practicing what to do in the event a person with a gun enters the school and starts shooting. During the drill the teacher is supposed to turn off the lights and lock the door. The students practice hiding and being quiet.

I grew up with fire and tornado drills. We didn't prepare for someone trying to kill us, although I guess it's comparable to the "duck and cover" of a generation previous.

Even more startling, to me, was the fact that my children are of the post-Columbine, post 9/11 world. Oh yeah, we have these drills. No big deal. They really don't know any different.

It's not that I think the world has gotten worse because I really don't think that it has. People are nasty, brutish creatures capable of great cruelty and, unfortunately, probably always will be. The instruments and methods change but the song remains the same. The best we can do, I guess, is be aware of the dangers around us, try not to be part of it, create good Karma where we can...

...and have a lockdown drill.

Walking the Fine Line

Sorry to be so about me. I'm prone to introspection. This is a very "me"-oriented post, but I would love feedback on this. (Slow conversation, remember?)

If I had to pick one adjective for myself, I think it would be "ambivalent." I honestly don't know how I feel about certain things, even though I have very strong opinions in general. Don't get me started on Chris Brown and Rhianna, for example, or gay rights, or even where the best place to grocery shop is. I wouldn't hesitate to give you advice about your life (if you asked). The problem is I don't even know where to begin in advising me about mine.

Let's take the Home Sweet Home experience as an example (since, hey, it's only pretty much all I've been writing about, right?). On one hand I re-read that stuff and think "Hey, I'm really a brave person of ethics and principle." Just when I'm ready to don my blue tights and paint the red S on my chest I think "Or maybe I just have a horrible personality disorder that makes me unable to deal with authority." It is a very fine line between genius and madness, after all.

I have a voice in my head (not literally) that tells me that I'm really a smart person who is wasting her talents. I'm capable of so much more than what I'm doing, and I want to leave my mark on the world. I should at LEAST be pursuing a Master's in Social Work, perhaps establishing myself as an authority on geriatric quality of life issues.

On the other hand I've been told I have my own singular definition of success. It's always been important for me to feel good about what I do, and letters after my name and money shouldn't matter. I can minister to my own little corner of the world and that's just as worthwhile. I am not defined by whatever job I have (or don't have), and I shouldn't tie my sense of self-worth to visible accomplishments. Plus the fact that accomplishing stuff takes a lot of energy, and while I seem to have ambition I also lack drive.

Is it an oxymoron to be an ambitious slacker?

I'm also conflicted about my relationship with Home Sweet Home. I'd been dropping by a couple of times a week to visit my residents and pitch in around the dining room for various reasons. One was to show the head administrator, Jackie, that she wasn't rid of me yet. It also helped me keep abreast of what was going on in the kitchen and how procedures were changing just in case I did get called in to work. But I also felt I owed it to the residents. As I mentioned much earlier, this is a population that is easy to please. Just smiling at them and talking with them goes a long way. I know it's hard for them when staff people pop in and out of their lives.

The last time I was there was a week and a half ago. I hated seeing how the dining program has deteriorated from what I think it should be. The staff person is, in one case, too disorganized to get things set up so the residents are lined up in the hallway waiting to get in. The tables are sloppy and they don't get their water, or coffee, or tea in a timely fashion if at all. Or if it's an efficient hostess things will be set up, but the hostess is too busy to really pay attention to the residents' wants. It's very depersonalizing.

When I showed up it was generally at meal time. I figured I could hang out in the dining room and make certain that people got their clothing protectors, their coffee, or anything else they requested. The last time I did that the staff person, Ethel, was having great difficulty getting things ready. I tried to jump in and get people settled. One resident, Gloria, really wanted her coffee so I grabbed her cup to get her some. Ethel snapped at me that it was rude to do that for one person and not offer it to everybody. I calmly asked for the coffee pot and proceded to do just that. But Ethel had been so hostile that even Gloria commented on it. I also had gotten into the habit of adding people's sugar and creamer for them since some people have difficulty due to confusion or hand tremor. Ethel then snapped at me for not encouraging the residents to do for themselves what they could.

Ethel's comments shouldn't have hurt as much as they did. For one thing, I know that's just the way she is, especially when she's feeling threatened. In fact, I used to tell new hires to expect Ethel to yell at them. It's just what she does. But it crystallized for me my status as interloper. This was no longer my job, these people were no longer my responsibility. My being there made the hostess' job harder because I was constantly pointing out what needed done or relaying requests from the residents. I'm not so sure I'd want me there, either.

I also grew afraid that I was seriously over-estimating my own importance. The residents had a life before I was there and life goes on now that I'm gone. Maybe they don't need me as much as I thought they did.

Being away has been helpful for me. It's made it much clearer to me that I don't wish to return to that job. I've noticed that if I need things to do there are PLENTY of things to do around the house! Perhaps it's time to move on, start a new chapter.

But how is hanging out on Facebook and blogging going to help the world? Am I just being lazy?

"Darling you've got to let me know...should I stay or should I go?"

Am I living a bold, alternative life of being contented with what I have and what I'm doing or is that just an excuse for underachieving?

The world may never know. I just wish that I did.

And Now the Rest of the Story - Speaking Truth to Power

I guess I'll finish off the Home Sweet Home saga since I've found writing about it very theraputic. Plus the fact that I did a radical thing this past week and DIDN'T visit Home Sweet Home...the first time I've gone that long without visiting since I worked there. It's given me a nice sense of distance.

OK. I left off in December and we'd just been outsourced and were awaiting the axe to fall.

Well.

Here is where it seems a pseudointellectual like me really doesn't belong in the blue-collar world. Have you ever seen the bumper sticker that says "Mean People Suck"? That's my philosophy. And I don't suffer jerks kindly. I've been through multiple bad job situations (I REALLY need to write about that sometime) and I've lost the ability to keep my mouth shut.

You see, the major way that The Healthy Foods Group keeps their costs down is through what one Home Sweet Home administrator called "pretty strict time management." As in, you're in trouble if you punch out past your scheduled time.

One problem that I know I have is my work pace. I have this bizarre perfectionistic streak so any job I do I want to do well. Really well. And I'll take time to do it. This first became apparent in college when my future brother-in-law hired me to clean his house prior to his wedding. He was flabbergasted by how long it took, but I bet his baseboards have never been cleaner! Tell me to wipe out a tray cart and I will crawl inside to clean it. I actually got reported to my supervisor for taking too long on this!! If I'm on dishwashing detail I want those dishes to come out clean the first time, so I really take the time to rinse. (Except at home [poor Tom!], but that's another story.) If I'm in the dining room being a hostess I will take the time to ensure that everyone has something they want to eat, and since it is their home I never felt it was appropriate to rush them out so that I could clear the tables. I got better and better at managing my time for the kitchen duties, but I was almost always late (by about 15 minutes) everytime I worked in the dining room.

So the first order from the new company was basically punch out on time or else. I noticed that we almost never saw Rat Bastard at Home Sweet Home in the kitchen, and he certainly never spent time in the dining room. Therefore it appeared that they were going to decide which staff to keep, probably, based on time records alone, not whether the job was being done well or not. And there were people who did not do the job well at all, but always punched out on time.

One bad day at work, and they were all becoming bad days, Rat Bastard DID happen to wander into the kitchen. My opening gambit to him was "And when are you going to become a company we would WANT to work for?" Needless to say the rest of the conversation did not go well. I pointed out to him that he had no idea what I did and I didn't think it was right to be judged by the time clock alone. At some point he said that if this were a Ford plant and people weren't getting their work done there was a problem. He tried to back-peddle quickly be saying "This isn't a Ford plant, of course...", but the damage was already done. I got his point of view. Loud and clear.

At some point a co-worker came up to ask a question, and I'd had it with Rat Bastard. Later on, the co-worker, Chantay, commented "Please don't act like that while I'm standing next to you." I guess I had started yelling and pointing and making something of a spectacle. I had reached the point where continued conversation with RB seemed pointless, so I told him (none too politely, I'm sure) to stop talking to me and answer Chantay's questions. His lips just kept flapping so I told him to shut up, and I walked away.

The funny thing? The few other people who were in the kitchen LOVED it.

I did not get fired, but I did get to have a meeting with RB and one of the secondary administrators, Greta. I had prepared myself. I wrote down my talking points. All I really wanted to say was that I wasn't happy with the way they were treating us, and since they clearly were intent on running the kitchen differently could they PLEASE give us a hint as to what the new schedule was going to look like and if they wanted things done differently would they help us?

Only it didn't go that smoothly at first. I noted that RB had a tendency to talk over me, which lead to me raising my voice until I told him to please LET ME FINISH. Greta sat back and pretty much watched the whole exchange. When RB left to take a phone call, I told Greta that I was pretty certain that I would be fired, and I requested permission to volunteer at Home Sweet Home when that time came. She said of course I could.

Overall the rest of the conversation didn't go too badly. RB assured me that they would help with the transition, they had plans to make the dining room program better than ever, blah, blah, blah...

As I'd mentioned in an earlier post, the kitchen was not a happy place to be. The holidays were coming and no one's job was secure. The amount of back-biting that started was pretty intense as people tried to establish themselves before the anticipated staff cuts. If someone called off we weren't allowed to call anyone in so we often wound up working short, which didn't help the stress level.

Neither my husband nor I are from Oberlin, so we usually have to travel on holidays to see family. Mine was not a good job to have for such a person since weekend and holiday times were necessary work days. In November I had switched working Thanksgiving for Christmas Day with a co-worker so that we could travel for Thanksgiving. I assured myself that working on Christmas day wasn't going to be that bad. I didn't have to work until the afternoon, and it would be time and a half pay. The young woman I switched with also thought she could New Year's Day for me so I figured we could travel again after Christmas. All was well.

Except that nothing ever works out that easily. My co-worker changed her plans so I worked both Christmas Day and New Year's Day which put a monkey wrench in the plan to visit my family after Christmas. But I just changed my plans and shortened the visit (no small feat when it's a 9 hour drive) because I NEVER called off. I simply do not believe in calling off unless I am genuinely ill (which oddly enough I never was). It's not fair to my co-workers or the residents. I worked on my daughter's birthday. I worked on Father's Day even though we already had tickets for all 4 of us to go to a baseball game. I worked on New Year's Day, again soothing myself with the thought that at least I'd get time and a half.

I remember quite clearly the day I found out that since we were probationary employees we were not entitled to holiday pay. I called Tom at home and asked him to give me a reason why I shouldn't just walk off the job right then. I didn't, although I can't remember him giving me a good reason not to. I was doing dishes that day, and I remember slamming two saucers together so hard that one broke. It felt kinda good. When a coffee cup came out of the machine still dirty I smashed it on the floor. Oops. I think I'd heard that the Healthy Foods Group would be responsible for the dishes.

At this point I was angry. Another problem I have is that I will take a lot before I blow my stack, but once I do I'm the Incredible Hulk minus the green skin and ripped clothes. ("Don't make me angry. You wouldn't like me when I'm angry.")

A word here about impotent rage. It's a very dangerous emotion and I can see how it pushes people to do outrageous things. I mean, you can rage against the machine all you want to, but the bottom line is THE UNIVERSE DOESN'T REALLY CARE. So what? People get outsourced every day and what I was experiencing was normal business practice. That only makes a person (me) want to lash out all the harder. It's like the Whos in Whoville screaming "We're here, we're here, we're here!" I just wanted it known that an injustice was being done AND IT'S NOT RIGHT!!

I had to put a little thought into this, however. Breaking things would not help my cause, and I'd only wind-up looking a little imbalanced if I did something like writing "Rat Bastard" with soap in his car windows. I needed to hit them where it would hurt without actually hurting anybody.

I came up with the perfect solution. On my break I found a blank piece of paper and wrote: "Did you know that the dietary department isn't getting holiday pay for Christmas or New Years? YOU'RE DEPARTMENT COULD BE NEXT. Organize, or start looking." I taped this on the back of the staff-room door and got back to work.

My immediate supervisor was upset, but I didn't deny making the sign. She pointed out that the new company wasn't REQUIRED to pay holiday pay anyway and probably told me not to do it again. At the very least it was clear she expected me not to do such a thing again.

But she left before I did and it was a Friday evening. One thing the new company had done for her was give her weekends off. (They also put her on a salary and THEN told her that 60 hour weeks were to be expected.) ANYWAY...on my next break, after she left, I borrowed some paper and tape from the nursing station and made 3 signs: one pointing out the absence of holiday pay, one pointing out that all dietary staff had lost their seniority and wouldn't get vacation time for a year, and another pointing out that the dietary staff had to pay the full COBRA for their health benefits for the 90 day probationary period. All three signs said "You're department could be next, organize or start looking." I drew little googly eyes in the o's of "looking" for emphasis. One sign went on the inside of the break room door and two by the time clock. I made sure they were where residents would not see them and I was very careful (unlike some staff) about not discussing any of our difficulties in their presence. I figured that it would be Monday before anybody of authority would notice the signs.

Also...what did I do that was so bad? Was this really worse than gossiping about what was going on in the break room? We'd heard rumors that two other departments were slated to be out-sourced and I was already telling those staffs to get out their jars of vaseline and bend over. Sorry. That was crude. But metaphorically very true.

LONG STORY SHORTER: The signs were discovered Saturday morning and someone told. My supervisor asked me on the phone, very wearily (the poor thing had a stomach virus) "Did you put up more signs?" I confirmed that I had, but also verified with her that I hadn't said anything that wasn't true. She thought I had finally done it this time. I told her I wouldn't hold it against her if she had to fire me. She didn't, but warned me that the chief administrator, Jackie, was very upset.

I was in an interesting place at this point. This job, for me, was never really meant to be permanent. I wanted a paycheck and practice getting out of the house regularly. But I wasn't supporting anyone and figured I was the person who could best survive being fired of all my co-workers. In a way I had nothing to lose so I delighted in yanking managment's chain. And the feedback I got from my co-workers was overwhelmingly positive.

The Quakers have a great expression for this - speaking truth to power.

Monday morning I called Jackie's office to say that I would come in early because I thought she'd want to talk to me. I didn't want to waste worktime on the matter. I came in an hour or so early and hung out in the break room reading so I'd be there in case she wanted to talk. I had no sooner punched in and headed to my dishwashing post when Helen, the supervisor, came up and said Jackie wanted to talk to me.

It's a bit of a walk from the kitchen to the administrative offices. I could almost hear Darth Vader's theme from Star Wars as we walked down the hall, up the ramp, and up the narrow stairs. Helen and I didn't even look at each other.

One thing I remember from the meeting was how beige it all was. Jackie was at a big wooden desk with a beige leather chair with her rather beige hair and hazel eyes and may have even been wearing light brown. It was all very beige.

Boy was she angry. The funny thing was that I at this point was rather calm and I still didn't really think I had done anything particularly wrong. She asked me how I could do such a thing and I calmly replied because I was angry. She thought that what I had done was poisonous for staff morale and she couldn't have anyone pouring vinegar in the pudding. I politely pointed out that I'd been working in that pudding and it sucked. I believe those were my exact words.

Turns out that my signs were not entirely accurate. At some point The Healthy Foods Group had decided to pay holiday pay for one holiday, but not both. I was glad to hear that. Jackie had also negotiated with them that Home Sweet Home would pay 25% of the COBRA and Healthy Food Group 25%, so covered employees were really only paying 50% of the cost of continuing their insurance. I thanked her for that, but pointed out that I knew of one cook who was going without insurance because she couldn't afford it. Home Sweet Home also decided to pay so that employees who'd been eligible for at least 2 weeks of vacation time would get one week paid, and people who'd been eligible for one week would get two days. I told her I didn't know that and thanked her for her caring. I still didn't apologize, however.

I also found out that I had actually violated one of the rules in the Healthy Food Group's employee handbook by posting my signs. I looked it up later and, sure enough, they have a rule against posting any handbills or notices while on work time. Although technically I was on my break. ANYWAY - Rat Bastard had offered to fire me and, interestingly, Jackie had said no. I wasn't going to quit, either. I pointed out (and this was when I started choking up, darn it) that I'd never called off, never been late, and had been nothing but a resident advocate.

Her phone kept ringing, and I was aware that my work was backing-up downstairs, so I mentioned that perhaps she had better things to do with her time. She reluctantly agreed, but not after warning me that my signs were going in my personnel file and and that such action again would certainly cause me to be terminated. She mentioned that if a union ever came in the "For Sale" sign would be going on Home Sweet Home, and, hey, it's called work and it's SUPPOSED to be hard. I had the presence of mind to let that comment go.

It was a lot like being chewed out by the school principal (I think. That never actually happened to me), and as I walked back to the kitchen I was strangely elated. I hadn't apologized, I still had a job, and I'd just been paid to be yelled at!!

As mentioned before, however, I was aware that I was probably in the most financially stable position of any of my co-workers. I was contemplating quitting, and had even told my supervisor as much (she was thinking of quitting, too), but I just couldn't. I couldn't give The Healthy Foods Group that satisfaction. I also was addicted to the paycheck. It comes in handy, ya know? So I told my supervisor that I wanted to be a PRN (as needed) worker only. I figured if they were really going to cut the staff to the bone they would need SOMEONE to cover absences. But this way the people who really needed hours would get them.

That was towards the end of January. The funny thing is, I haven't been called yet! I had my suspicions about that since call-offs were a pretty common occurrence. And I've since heard, from a very reputable source, that the supervisor has been told not to call me in to work. This was verified for me when another part-timer quit, and my poor supervisor came in on her weekend to do dishes. Hey, at least they don't need to pay her overtime, right? And I'm SUCH a troublemaker...

I've still been stopping by once or twice a week to visit some of my favorite residents, and when Home Sweet Home staffers ask me if I'm still working there I tell them that I don't know how to answer that question. I recently verified that I'm still considered a PRN employee, but I think it's going to have to be an awfully cold day before they call me. I'm still not giving them the satisfaction of quitting, but I've decided I can't go back. I can't work for those people. I just don't want them to know that...yet.

So here I sit blogging away.

I miss the paycheck and the sense of purpose.

And Now for Something Completely Different

NOTE: This blog is somewhat sequential, so if it's not making sense just go back an entry or two.

I need to take a break from the Home Sweet Home employment saga. In case you've been following it I have been keeping in touch with some residents and co-workers. There have not been big lay-offs but everyone is pretty miserable.

And now to change the subject. NOTE: IF YOU HAVE A MORAL OBJECTION TO HOMOSEXUALITY DO NOT READ THIS POSTING. I respect your opinion so please be respectful of mine.

I almost called this entry "Personal Jesus" but was afraid an evangelical would find it and would think I was witnessing and I shuddered to think the response I would get.

I got to thinking one night (I'm prone to random thoughts) about how people personify God in order to feel closer to him/her. Take, for example, the hymn "I Walk in the Garden" (And he walks with me and he talks with me and he tells me I am his own...).  I'm also a huge fan of Anne Lamott who, in her book Traveling Mercies (I think), wrote about how she would clutch a tissue during church so it would feel like God was holding her hand. In the Christian tradition God took human form, and I think we need to put God in a form we can love and understand. It got me to thinking...how would I personify God? What would my Personal Jesus be like? In the interest of full disclosure you should know that I'm a baptized Catholic raised in the hippie Quaker tradition who is currently Episcopalian.

I'M LAYING THIS OUT AS A THOUGHT, NOT TO OFFEND ANYBODY: A gay man. My Jesus is a gay man.

Not just any gay man. Not someone who is repressed, hostile towards women, or would dismiss me as a "breeder." I like comfortable, flamboyant, funny gay men. I could talk to him like I do my women friends because we have the same emotionality and empathy, and enjoy the same eye candy. Yet he is still a man who has that certain male energy. If a gay man tells me I'm beautiful or clever I take it as the highest compliment because not only do they tend to have exquisite taste, there's no hidden agenda. He may have sexual appetites, but they sure the heck aren't directed towards me!! Admiration from a heterosexual male simply comes from a much more complicated place. (Sorry, Tom. I love your admiration, too.) I don't know why (although my therapist had a few good guesses), but male approval devoid of sexual interest is a drug for me. Nothing else makes me feel as good about myself. I can feel loved, and safe, and there's no competition.

I'm at sort of a cross-roads in my life right now and searching for Mr. Fabulous.

Now Where Was I?

Ok. This may not be the most exciting story you've ever read, but humor me because this has all been buzzing around my brain and I got to get it out!!

So in early November we have the all staff meeting at Home Sweet Home to find out that they are in a bit of a pickle because their "bond mortgage" has been cancelled. I don't know what a bond mortgage is, but I know that sounds bad. Suddenly Home Sweet Home is without credit and in some trouble because our population had been low for the entire year as well.

They had my sympathy. The staff meals were cancelled, no turkeys for Thanksgiving, wage freezes...I was OK with that. We even expected a reduction in staff or hours.

One Monday in early December we have our dietary staff meeting and the Home Sweet Home director was there (which was unusual) and two guys we didn't recognize. This was the first time that any of us heard that we were being outsourced to a new company, and the changeover was happening the following Monday.

Our collective jaw needed to be scraped off the floor.

Then the two guys took over. The smaller, younger looking one I nicknamed "Suit" and I don't think he said anything the whole time. The older, bigger guy who earned the nickname "Hatchet" (which later morphed into Rat Bastard, but I don't want to offend anyone with my language) made a point of introducing himself and finding out who we were and encouraging us to ask questions and assuring us that they would try to make the transition as easy as possible although it may be difficult at first. Everything was OK -- even though we were now considered new, 90 day probationary employees for this new company so forget any seniority you may have had, as well as vacation time for the coming year, and you will have to COBRA your current insurance because, of course, 90 day employees aren't entitled to benefits.

I was in a really weird place. I was part-time, benefits were not an issue, and I wasn't trying to support anyone with my income. But I was surrounded by people who had years in at this place, many in fragile economic conditions, oh yeah, and did I mention that Christmas was only weeks away? And that the economy was tanking so jobs were getting scarcer? It was like being in a herd of panicking cattle. Stressful wasn't the word for it.

Even worse, we were effectively given the boot from the Home Sweet Home family. Not that they darkened our door often, but it sure seemed like we were seeing the upstairs management even less. "Fed to the wolves" was the phrase that kept bouncing around. Ironically, it was around this time that Home Sweet Home held its staff-appreciation in-service. Oddly enough, this also wound up being the day that the Healthy Food Group Company (yes, a pseudonym, from what I can tell they do have lawyers and know how to use them) needed all the full time staff to meet with them to make sure they understood the insurance situation, I think (as in, you ain't getting any for 90 days). This left us laughably short-staffed in the kitchen (I was working that day), so attending the staff-appreciation was largely impossible, although I was still inclined not to go on general principle. Worse yet, the kitchen had to make the food for the staff in-service. I told my immediate supervisor, Helen (not her name), that she should sneeze on the snacks (she's also a former Home Sweet Home staff person and thus in the same boat as everyone else).

In case any of you were at the in-service, she didn't.

Oh my, how can someone write so much about what is essentially a non-story? OK. I lost my part-time job. Bigger things happen all the time. But for me it was a rude awakening to the reality of the current economic fiasco, and the uglier side of unfettered capitalism.

OOPS! Time to pick up someone up from school!! More when I can get near the computer again!

Nolite Illegitimos Conterere Vos

That's what it said on a sweatshirt from Nashota House, a very high church Anglican seminary my mother attended (which would be a whole other posting in itself). I'm not sure the spelling is correct, but I'm clinging to the meaning.

This is the story of what happens to a person who takes a job that they probably are not suited for. It's not a happy story.

I have a bachelor's degree from Oberlin College that I really haven't parlayed into anything of substance. There was an intense social work stint (yet another entry someday), and an almost 10 year run as a paralegal in Social Security disability law. But what I think I really took away from Oberlin was the knowledge that I can work in a kitchen. I somewhat jokingly like to tell people I was a food service major. I know my way around a Hobart.

Thus almost 2 years ago, when I was ready for a regular paycheck again (my tortured work history is yet another posting someday), I had the good luck to have the manager of a nursing home kitchen in my bowling league, and I found out they were hiring. They needed part-time, I wanted part-time, so I applied.

It was a dream situation in so many ways. First of all, I was looking for a job, not a career. Second, I wanted something that was mindless and not likely to come home with me. The nursing home in question is only a 3 block walk from my house. It was perfect.

Let me qualify that. The situation was perfect. Working anywhere never is. Oh, yeah. There were bad days. As I used to like to tell people, food service is not a field that attracts the best and brightest. I would need 2 hands to count the number of people who came and went over my year and 1/2. And the ones who last are an interesting lot. Also, the work was physically hard, and there was a lot of it. An advantage was that time never dragged because I would be hoping the clock would slow down so I could accomplish everything I was supposed to. When I came home after work my daughters wouldn't hug me until I'd changed out of my nasty scrubs and washed up a bit.

What I did not expect was that it was an interesting place to work. To avoid any possibility of a lawsuit I will refer to it as Home Sweet Home. It's a private nursing home with only about 100 beds. I liked it because I noticed that the staff and residents knew each other. Residents could knock on the kitchen door to ask for things. One of the administrators was really trying to push for resident centered care, and it was impressed on us that this was their home.

They also tried to create a family atmosphere for the staff. They fed us meals. It was the same stuff the residents were having so if a resident complained I could say I was eating the same thing. I got a turkey my first Thanksgiving there even though I was just a part-time dietary aide. A couple of times a year they had staff-appreciation days. As a result there are some outstanding, caring staff there, as well as a few who really should pick a better profession. But it was a decent place.

I also found that I loved the residents. I was fortunate enough to be one of the dining room hostesses for the 40 or so residents who had lunch and dinner communally instead of in their rooms. They were real people to me, and I didn't have the disadvantage of knowing them before their health issues flaired. I liked them just the way they were, lucid or not. I also found them easy to minister to since they appreciated little more than being looked in the eye, smiled at, and called by name. Oops, I'm heading into another post territory.

PAINFULLY LONG STORY SOMEWHAT SHORTER: I thought I had picked a recession-proof job, but I didn't. We walked into a meeting one day only to find out that Home Sweet Home had outsourced us to a corporation (of bottom feeders) who walk in and promise they can run the kitchen better and for less money. Guess how they control costs?

This is where it became painfully obvious I was somewhere I shouldn't be.

To be continued.

How you doing?

If you are reading this you probably know me so I'm not going to take a lot of time to introduce myself. But why become a blogger? Because through the magic of Facebook I've realized that there are so many of you out there that I want to sit down and have a cup of coffee with, and discuss life, the universe, and everything with. It's the e-quivalence of the Christmas letter only now I can do updates!

I named the site "breitsprecher" for obvious reasons. I shouldn't forget it, but I wouldn't put it past me. Plus the fact that it translates as "broad speaker" and that's what I intend to do here. I'll write about whatever comes my way and what is on my mind and that could be just about anything. I named the blog "And How Are You?" because that is the question at the end of every entry. Think of this as a very slow conversation. Kinda like the way my dad saw libraries as being very slow computers.

I'm sorry that I can be hard to stay in touch with. I'm not much of a phoner because I fear not really having anything to say, I guess. This way I can be thought-full, and I LOVE having the opportunity to edit.

I hope this finds everybody I know and love in a good place.