Riding the Bike with One Pedal.

Category: change (Page 3 of 3)

Wellll, hello Economy….

Nothing like getting fired on a Monday. It’s happened to me once before, ages ago, and as I compare this time to that time, there are significant differences. Back then, I was mobile. I had an apartment, and I had no ties. Here, I’m in a house, married, and love where I live. Back then, you found jobs through newspapers and headhunters.

Now, there’s the internet. And if you noticed your internet service was slower this week, it’s because I was burning up the cable lines with all my networking! Which is the most encouraging thing to be able to do – there are so many people out there who are ready and willing to help, with ideas, and leads, and words of encouragement. Advice and perspective. It’s all so…. oddly good in what is arguably an extremely stressful time.  Oh, there are still spontaneous freak outs, and I don’t expect they’ll end entirely – but as I watched who came forward to reach out, and who walked away, I found myself feeling glad. Shedding dead weight and negative energy you grew so used to it became invisible.

It may not pay the bills, but getting emails from my treasured clients, concerned about my departure, will be one of the treasures I take from this experience.   And I have the confidence that when I look back on this point in my life, it will simply be the point at which the new path was forged, and I will be seeing it from a much better place.  That first dismissal… I still laugh about being let go the week of Thanksgiving….because the turkey business we had fired us.

(and if you know of any marketing/branding/advertising/media/strategic type of jobs, do send me an email at plazajen AT gmail —dot commmmm.)

peace, yo! And oh, yeah, Economy? Turn yer butt around!

Hallo!

Anymore, what with the global village shrinking to the size of a pea, combined with my own personal paranoia, I no longer announce when I’ll be out of town, or say, home alone, because even with my trusty shotgun, three black labs, alarm system and some high-quality knives thrown in for good measure, there’s just something smart about telling folks AFTER the fact that we got out of town.  Which we did,  under the guise of catching a lot of spoonbill, which sadly, did not happen, but for the first time in my life, I did go fishing at 5 a.m. In the rain. I just clutched my fishing pole and hoped my husband’s vision wasn’t allowing him to see me nodding off. (No such luck. I married Mr. Eagle Eye.) I will say this: Never was I happier to have had Lasik.  The next day, we got about a mile out & the engine clunked-kaputt. It seemed to be something gas-liney, so yours truly squished the black gas line bulb pump thingy all the way back, and the next morning, I had a panic that my knitting life would be forever altered, as my left hand wanted only to contract into a claw-like state. The Wo worked hard on fixing the gas line, but it proved to be something beyond just a line, and so there was no more boating for us.

But all was not lost. We ate well, we napped, the dogs had a GRAND time, they made us laugh, and I got some knitting done.  And finally finished “In Cold Blood“, and then re-picked-up “Then We Came To The End“, which is probably a whole lot more entertaining if you don’t work in advertising in the midst of  recession, seeing as how it’s all about agency life and layoffs after the dot-com bust. Don’t get me wrong, it’s still entertaining, but it resonates with that “holy-shit-he-nailed-that” kind of shock, rather than just a chuckle. Plus the doom-and-gloom and paranoia and fear are right on the money, which isn’t necessarily the greatest pick-me-up! But dammit, I’m gonna finish it so I can finally read “The Watchmen“! That also bears a little foreboding for me, as it was recommended to me by a good friend who told me it reminded him of my dad. I bought it, but it’s waited patiently for over two years for me to read it.  I’m not sure where the parallels will be, but I’m at least ready for them. I wasn’t ready on my drive to the lake, as I was having a joyous Jackson Browne sing-along (could I use more hyphens today? I shall try. Post-haste!) and suddenly I saw my dad, reacting to the song lyrics in “Before the Deluge“, telling my mom, “That’s us! You hear that? Journey! Back to nature!”  How he loved Jackson Browne, and felt a kinship from that music, felt so understood in his ideals and desire for a better world. And oh so many times we listened to that song in particular, straining, trying to figure out the word “rouge”….we thought it was “glitter and the glue”, and I thought of how much the internet sure would have helped back then, and through it all I cried, mourning so many losses, including the fact that I had no idea in those moments, how much they would mean to me later.  It’s still a bit boggling, how you can go for days and weeks and feel like there’s so much progress, so much healing, What A Good Job We’ve Done With Grief, and then with just a click of the Viewfinder, you are reduced to a sniveling pouting heap of pulsing raw emotion and pain.

Well, two years ago, I’d have listened to the entire Jackson Browne anthology and cried for hours. Instead, I switched to Weezer and the dogs & I had a new sing-along, and they asked if they were going to get some candy with their pork and beans, and I told them I was the greatest man who’d ever lived, even though I am still a woman.

So! A mini-vacation. I’m back at work, and my non-portable knitting project is almost done – Sheldon the Turtle – ohhh, he is adorable.  And despite the woes,  Hubs’ motor is hopefully being fixed as I type, and he’s enjoying his greenhouse puttering with a bajillion seedlings of peppers and tomatoes and eggplants.  Spring is springing, the daffodils are ready to burst, and everything always, interminably, moves forward, and only once we are there, down the road,  will we know what innocuous  moments from today wait to surprise us.

Bustle, bustle!

Yep, it’s bizzy ’round here. Big client meeting yesterday. Off to NYC tomorrow, back home on Thursday, then keep dog-paddling because there’s a big meeting/presentation next week to boot. woo-hoo! In the midst of all that, got to keep getting the ‘regular’ work done, and then handle the curve balls on top of it all. Because boy howdy, there was a curve ball, and I seriously wanted to remove heads from bodies with a croquet mallet. Yes, I was channeling my inner Red Queen, and all I can say is, good thing I read the emails at  home so I had time to explode and then calm the hell down by the time I could actually address it. GAH! Life is hard enough, when things are going well, it’s in everyone’s interests to make! things! work!

OMG Tripper is going to start marketing his weapons-grade gas to the government. That’ll help pay the dog food bills ’round here. He is seriously, seriously toxic with his farts. I keep a bottle of Febreze ‘Air Effects’ right by my chair, and it’s almost comical – he gets royally offended when I counter-attack with one puff of “Linens-n-Sky”. Sometimes he even gets up and moves. It’s the only weapon I have, and I have to use it!

Speaking of crazy dog stories – last Saturday night I met up with some of the LSG folks on Ravelry, which was great fun – and when James got home from his banquet duties (MWA banquet in Oregon, MO), I headed for bed & left him to take care of the dogs for the night. Good thing. Polly apparently dashed in the door, and he only caught a glimpse out of the corner of his eye, and knew she had something in her mouth. Uh, yeah. “Something” turned out to be an enormous full-grown rabbit that was in dire straits. At least I have a husband who can calmly handle these things, humanely. I’d just shriek and run into doors.  Just a regular Mutual of Omaha around here, I tell ya…..

Speaking of wild kingdoms, the seed-planting is well underway, as the gardener of the house starts getting excited for planting and gardens and spring. Since he’d gotten me a Christmas present when we’d agreed not to exchange gifts, I decided Valentine’s Day would be my turn to surprise-treat. I took the rest of the money I’d left in my PayPal account from my Loopy Ewe DPN holders, and with just a smidge extra, I bought him a set of Texas Tomato Cages. After all, tomatoes are the “Love Apple”….and he grows them so extraordinarily well, with all kinds of fantastic varieties, knowing how much I love love love fresh tomatoes. Apparently these things are THE support system for growing tomatoes, so we’re just going to start investing in them and add to the pile as we go.

Let’s see… working furiously on some more knits, including a couple of fun projects for classes I’ll be teaching, and really, just trying to not let too much slip through the cracks.  It feels kind of crazy that tomorrow is already Ash Wednesday, that next week is -yikes- March! and pretty soon we’ll see Spring really settling in, bursting through the ground and in the trees, welcoming us to a new season and another chapter. Despite being agitated about dunderheads, and feeling like I’m burning the candle at both ends, I’m really excited about what’s on the horizon this year – both with work and my life outside of work. (For instance? The Wo and I are going to take a vacation! YES! Where? Dunno! But it’s going to happen, and that’s all there is to it. The pool will be there for later in the summer, yes, but staycation be damned!)  And yes, eventually I’ll be able to throw all the nice facts up about the zombie, proving once and for all, the dead truly can live comfortably in California.

You Were Right.

You told me it would all be ok. I didn’t believe you. Part of me still didn’t believe you after you died. I wanted to, no doubt about that, but how could ‘ok’ happen when my heart was being pounded through an industrial shredder? Then along came all the people who told me time would help. At six months, I thought they all smoked crack, because life had gone on for everyone else, and I was still hiding in the bathroom late at night, muffling my sobs with a towel. Dark times in a small room, torn between wanting to join you and weariness at trying to walk this path I never asked to visit.

But here we are. Today would have been your 64th birthday. Young by a lot of measures. But you lived your life hard, fully, always pushing the limits, always teaching someone and making people laugh where ever you went. It’s been 2 years & 7 months, and I will always honor this day in my heart, just as I will also honor the day you died, but I’m happy to tell you, a whole lot more of me believes you now, than I did then. Missing you can still feel as fierce and wrenching as it did in the days and months that followed your death, but it no longer feels like it will swallow me whole. You taught me well, Dad. I love you. And today, I miss you to the point of tears. Tomorrow, though, I’ll be ok.

O Happy Day

When I was a very young child – 3 or so – I would stand in front of my father’s speakers (big, boxy speakers) in the living room of our home in Knoxville Iowa. He would crank up the volume to the Edwin Hawkins Singers, specifically on the song,  “Oh Happy Day” and I would get up close to the speaker while my sternum vibrated from the bass, and dance.

While I was getting ready this morning, I broke into song, that song, and while I lacked a choir behind me, I felt the song swell in my heart as I experienced a wonderful rich moment of connection to my father, on this day he would have loved to live to see.  My tears have many sentiments today, but the overwhelming one is joy.

And I couldn’t help but obamacize my photo. :) It’s been a long 8 years and I deserve one day of dancing while my sternum vibrates.

ohappyday

Meet The New Year….

….Same As The Old Year….to paraphrase The Who, singing about something we ALL wish for ourselves, not to be fooled (again).

I rang in the new year by calming down three extremely pissed-off, barking black labs, who were certain we were under siege from The Enemy, as fireworks and god-knows-what-else exploded near and far from our house. I also was tending to the largest batch of crack Chex Mix I’ve ever made. Actually, the only batch I’ve ever made, but since the Wo was eating it for breakfast this morning when I stumbled out, and immediately asked me what in the hell I put in it to make it so full of WIN, I can only say, hey, I rocked in the New Year’s Chex Mix, baby. (The “secret”? Uh, half-again as much Worcestershire sauce as the traditional recipe calls for. We love us the nummeh brown winegar sauce.)

I followed up that winning first act with a breakfast of homemade Prune Cake from the Pioneer Woman, and do not let the name fool you. You will get on your knees and pray you’ll get another piece after you try the first one.  I served it with a tall glass o’ milk, and a shot of Reddi-whip on the side. Startin’ the New Year off RIGHT!

Then I threw together a batch of slow-cooker black-eyed peas, and that recipe lied to me about using dried beans. I thought I was in good shape, but 13 hours later, those suckers still have some crunch to ’em, so that’s going to be dinner tomorrow. Fortunately, we weren’t particularly hungry, because we got together with the Wo’s immediate family & ate at Ted’s Montana Grill. Deeeelish.  My brother-in-law got the Kitchen Sink Bison Burger, and good lord, that was the craziest damn sammich I’ve ever seen. It had ..well, yeah, everything on it, including a slice of ham and a fried egg! He loved it.

Before the Wo crashed last night, we spent some time playing our newest Wii game, Lego Indiana Jones and the something or other. Oh mah god, it’s pretty damned fun for a two-person game. We have to work co-operatively, though initial observations showed we were utterly incapable of it, as he would whip me into pieces, and I, once rebuilt, would attack him with my shovel. I noticed, playing the role of sidekick, that I got stuck with a lot more grunt work. Mostly because I had the shovel. Which is quite effective on enormous spiders, too. Anyway, we laughed our heads off, which was the goal.

End the year laughing, begin the next one with Chex Mix and Prune Cake.

We rock.

Happy New Year. Actually, I’m pretty sure this one will be a lot better than the last one.

Two Hours.

It took me two hours, but I was finally able to cast my ballot. There were easily 100+ people in front of me when I arrived at my local polling location.  I had my coffee, then my knitting, and eventually we all were stretching and shifting our weight from foot to foot as we stood in bright sunlight, all of us with last names in the L-S pool. (For whatever reason, there were WAY fewer A-K people, and they kept shouting at them, to shoot to the front of their line. The S-Z people got to advance a few times as well.)

Thank goodness the weather is cooperating. I would think it could have been discouraging to many, to wait that long in bad weather. As I felt my feet tingle, I just reminded myself that two hours is a small price to pay to change the future of our country. And I kept seeing these shoes in my head:

shoes

It’s no secret where my allegiances lie. I voted for change. Every minute I waited was worth it, and I was really amazed at the tenacity of everyone in line with me. I’ve never seen so many people (easily 120+ people in front of me), and I felt heartened that democracy can work. Participate – no matter where you fall politically. The only way to have representation is to show up, yourself! And no matter how much time it takes, remember that it pales by comparison to the battles our predecessors fought to gain freedom and the right to vote.

The ol’ Pushme-Pullme.

I’m enclosing today’s Hazelden email below. Sometimes, I get these and they’re – meh. Too much God, too much 12-step, too much addiction, and yet I still stay subscribed, because there are days when they resonate like a clear bell above still water. I’ve grappled off and on internally with some things I don’t feel I can write about so publicly, partly because some people will think it’s about them, others won’t realize it IS about them – ha – and who needs that pressure when you’re already grappling?!  I started subscribing to these about 8 years ago, when my mother nearly died from alcohol poisoning (0.48 is a rather high number, eh?) and my efforts to get her into treatment at Hazelden failed. Wow, just typing that I saw the parallels to when I got my father into Mayo before he died. Sometimes I’m astonished by how much I grew up when I wasn’t paying attention.

Anyway, her birthday was Friday, and a co-worker was puzzled when I was getting advice on a birthday gift – “You haven’t seen her, you don’t talk, but you still send her gifts for Mother’s Day and her birthday? I don’t get it.”

I do it for me. There will always be part of me that loves her and wishes things were different. Instead of trying to change it, I’m letting it be. I take the actions that I want to take, send gifts because it’s what I want to do. Cutting someone out of your life is much easier in its definitive-ness; it’s a black & white world, much like rehab. You drink or you don’t, you have a relationship or you don’t. For me, that choice doesn’t work. Unfortunately, that gray area bears a lot of parallels to other friendships – things have changed enormously in two years. People I fought for and defended have turned their backs on me. Others who feel they gave me everything think I turned my back on them.  Because whenever there’s another person involved? Your ability to influence, work on or control things still only equals half.  And when the proportion of effort is out of whack, resentment builds. It gets easier to retreat, draw the line, say fuck-off, go away.  As someone who chooses not to live in a black & white world, I still do love labels and resolution.  But I’ve learned, unlike a moth to the flame, that seeking it doesn’t always work. So I am letting it all just be. It’s awkward and uncomfortable, yet I’m finding there’s peace in letting go. Not seeking.  Not tugging. In standing still, we can actually find and create direction. Peace.

Today’s thought from Hazelden is:

Stop playing tug-of-war.

Letting go can be like a tug-of-war with God.

Have you ever played tug-of-war with a puppy and an old sock or a toy? He pulls. You pull it out of his mouth. He grabs hold again and shakes and shakes and says grrrrrr. The harder you tug, the harder the puppy tugs. Finally, you just let go. Then he comes right back again, for more.

I have never successfully treated or solved one problem in my life by obsessing or controlling. I’ve yet to accomplish anything by worrying. And manipulation has not wrought one successful outcome. But I forget that from time to time.

The best possible outcomes happen when I let go. That doesn’t mean I always get my way. But things work out and, ultimately, the lesson becomes clear. If we want to play tug-of-war, we can, but it’s not an efficient problem-solving skill.

Spring Cleaning….

Well, if you read my blog via Bloglines, you might be wondering what in HELL this girl’s a-doin’. I’ve been doing a little brushing, scrubbing & cleaning up of the ol’ blog, because there’s the possibility I’m going to be included in an upcoming article on local bloggers. And there haven’t been a ton of adjustments/edits/removal of posts – I’m happy with where I work, and most of the negative stuff I say about other people seems to involve bad drivers or customer service issues. I just want to make sure I’m not unintentionally pissing anyone off. Good thing I’m pretty much what-you-see-is-what-you-get! What I write and put out on the internets is 99% what you’d get if you started talking to me on that day. Bottom line, everyone who DOES know me, knows I’m smart, crazy, and looking for humor at every turn. I like to think so, anyway. :)

However, I seem to have a blind spot still, and going back through the past year’s worth of posts (and pictures) was a bit daunting. I watched the transformation of posts go from squirrelly, ranting goofball to the insanity and grief with my dad’s cancer & death. Kudos to you for continuing to read.

Speaking of humor, you know that feeling inside, when you have to pretend you like this person who has power (like a hated boss, or your father-in-law or someone who can give you something you need but may decide on a whim not to?), and you feel your face move into a smile that isn’t genuine from the inside, but still appears like a smile on the surface? Sometimes that’s what laughing has felt like since he died. It hasn’t been that the emotion itself was false, and I’ve had some crazy times where my stomach ached from laughing, but there was this other piece inside me that frowned, that stood to the side and shook it’s head, making the other part (the part laughing) feel false, awkward, uncomfortable. I assume it’s all part & parcel of this process. People ask, “So! What’s going on?! What’s the latest & greatest?” And I feel this dead flatness inside as I force myself to smile and say, “Oh, you know! Spring’s coming!” (What the hell kind of answer is that, anyway?) Because we can’t spend the rest of our lives weeping and not laughing and instead answering, “Death! That’s what happened! My dad’s dead and all of this post-death stuff SUCKS! I got the short end of the stick and I’m angry!” I mean, you could? But it would REALLY bring down the mood, and it’d probably keep you stuck in that bad place for a really long time.

Fortunately or unfortunately, I’m not an adept liar, and I’m not terribly great at forced joviality. So that’s been my challenge. My dear friend & I decided we would both “fake-it-’til-we-make-it” in respect to our individual situations. It’s sort of working, and right now? It’s all I’ve got.

The day before my dad died, I posted these words. They are still gorgeous, and continue to be true.

Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul
And sings the tune without the words
And never stops at all.
— Emily Dickinson

Spring’s coming.
Bring on the perching songbirds.

Newer posts »

© 2024 PlazaJen: The Blog

Theme by Anders NorenUp ↑