Calling it Quits

I'm currently plodding through the memoir of a local author, "Without a Map" by Meredith Hall. 

Her story is beautifully written and comes very much to life, pulling the reader through her complicated and unconnected life.  The story begins in the mid-60's as a mostly ideal childhood which comes to an abrust halt when she became pregnant at the age of 16.  Forced by her parents, who at this point have divorced, to give her baby up for adoption, then shunned by both parents.

And therein lies the problem, her story is so sad.  Page after page after page of almost, but in the end, uncomprehending sadness.  Becoming a complete shell of herself, in spite of relationships, which leads her to leave a boyfriend in Europe and to literally walk across Europe until she arrives in the Middle East where she spends an unknown amount of time.  I read an interview with the author which ultimately divulged that the son she gave up was raised in an abusive home.

At some point she ultimately married, but she skips over this part and jumps ahead to telling her two young sons that she and their dad are divorcing, then goes out to kill the family chickens, who each have been given a name, in a very descriptively written chapter.  The hens no longer lay eggs and new chicks are arriving the next day.  All this taking place on her 38th birthday.  Did they ever eat the chickens, or did they just remain lifeless on the grass?  Why are they divorcing?

Her story is that sad and I've yet to come across one uplifting moment.  So, with this, I ask myself.  Why continue?   Seriously.  I rarely, if ever don't finish a story, but when there's simply no joy, why bring myself down.  So with that, I'm going to remove this from my kindle and try to focus instead on the quality and fluidity of her writing.

Yes, I'm calling it quits.

A Bird of a Differing Blue

Today I sat in a spot I've never sat at before.

While mowing the yard I kept getting glimpses of bright, blue birds flittering in and out of the brush that lines a corner of our yard.  They were brilliant in color when the sun would land on their tiny bodies of blue, reddish-peach and white.

After putting the lawnmower away I grabbed a chair from the deck, walked to a spot where the sun was shining behind me and just sat still.  The birds returned and seemed to be playfully flitting in and out of trees, bushes, landing on the clothesline, then off again to a new bush to perch for seemingly only seconds.

Having never seen actual bluebirds in this area before, and keeping in mind that it's nearing mid-November, I was convinced I was seeing our year-round residents, the titmouse. I sat a bit longer enjoying their antics, but the low setting sun and the cool breeze chased me inside.  After a quick google search I see that these are indeed bluebirds, or should I say, were bluebirds, as now they're gone.

Snow flakes are expected to arrive tomorrow, so perhaps they felt they best get on their way.  I hope to see you again next year, or if you're here to stay, welcome to the neighborhood!

A Warrior, Not A Worrier, I'll Be

I'm a worrier and it's certainly not a trait that I tend to mask. 

I worry about what's for dinner, about my morning commute, I worry about Roger.  Is he really well, or just bluffing? 

I worry about my mother, is she safe, I worry about my father as he watches his wife decline into the throes of old age.  

I worry that people are upset with me, stemming from over-analyzing most everything. 

And I worry about the future, endlessly.

But when it comes down to it, just by switching out the "o" for the "a", and an "io" for the "e", then I become a warrior when the occasion calls for such a reaction.  I may break down once it's all said and done and the relief has swept over me, but I can rise to the occasion and put fear on the back burner for at least a little while.

Fate

Some people refer to it as fate, others refer to it as "leaving it in God's hands".  Either way, as far as I'm concerned it means having no control over your destiny.  As much as I believe in God, I'm going to be spittin' mad if I find at the end my journey that there is no heaven and that while believing that God has a plan for me, instead I discover that I was sitting around with my thumb up my ass waiting for an answer.

So why the anguish?  The final rejection from a job interview, this time from MIT.  This particular journey involved interviewing with 7 universities; UNH, Saint Anselm, Merrimac College, SNHU, Harvard, MIT and Tufts, (yes, even my current employer turned me down), for a total of 11 positions.  I had 22 interviews with a total of 35 individuals. 

Some I can specifically pinpoint what happened, others, my gut tells me that the reality is that I'm 52-years-old. I hate to think that this could really be happening, but when seeing who they ultimately hired, I believe they see $$$ tied to experience, even when I addressed any and all concerns about pay.  This wasn't the case in every circumstance, but more often than not, the candidate they chose hovered around 30 years of age or so. 

So, with that, I've no more resumes out in the world.  No one can call me, no one.  So how long do I do this not doing anything at all thing?

A Faint Autumn Memory

The air is cool, the leaves are falling, the lawn is large.  As I go up and down the acre on the lawn tractor, inevitably the same memory comes back to me, not just the visual memory, but the sensation of one particular Halloween evening around 1973 or so.

Monica, who I initially met through church, but later became neighbors, lived just across the way from me.  She was so pretty with her Marcia Brady blonde hair, and a huge smile and welcoming blue eyes.  Her parents had converted the attic of their home into a super-cute bedroom for her, so we spent a ton of time hanging out up there.

Her mother was an administrator in the school district, while her father worked at Sears.  Her grandmother, whom I rarely saw, shared the home with them.  Monica also had an older sister who turned me on to the now iconic "Tapestry" album, by Carole King, as well the now very famous "All My Children".

In 1973 we were in Jr. High and Monica had an admirer.  Brad, who's parents were teachers in the school district.  He was tall, lanky, blonde and had braces.  He hung out with Jeffrey, who's dad was the principal of the elementary school we all previously attended.  Jeffrey was a larger guy, with dark, coppery red hair and dark freckles to match.

Halloween evening we made it a foursome, too "old" for costumes, and certainly too young to actually date, so we started at Monica's house where her mom made cocoa for us, then over to my house where we hung out on the front porch (still visible from Monica's house).  The air was cool, the chatter fun.  I had hopes of Jeffrey being interested in me, but alas, and thankfully, it didn't come to pass.  Two vibrant red heads would only be capable of producing Bozo-like children. 

Monica and I drifted apart in high school.  And as with all young romances, Monica and Brad's was short lived, but the coziness and the expectancy of the evening, and a warm friendship that lasted much longer, has remained with me for a lifetime.

An Even Keel

While driving home from work this late afternoon, I thought, "You know, I should be happier.  It is Friday after all.  The work week is done and a good weekend up ahead.  There's lots to be happy about." 

 

But then I realized that while I wasn't overly happy, I wasn't down in the dumps either.  Hey, that's not a bad place to be at the moment.  If life was a constant of immeasurable joys, then the real watershed moments in life may be overlooked, or at the very least, unappreciated.  Not exactly a lightening bolt revelation, but one that needs to be remembered now and again. 

 

Keep it easy, keep it simple, just keep life at an even keel and enjoy the smooth sailing!

Just. Be. Still

“Gloom, despair, and agony on me

Deep, dark depression, excessive misery”

This infamous song from the TV show Hee-Haw comes to mind as I think back on the past two years, but only in terms of my “career”. Family and friends are great, but I think everyone has at least one part of their life that just isn’t firing on all pistons.

I’ve always been the little engine that could, never accepting the status quo when it comes to finding opportunities to advance my career.  I’m not talking about smashing through any glass ceilings or sticking my stiletto heels (should I ever wear them) into someone’s forehead behind me on the corporate ladder.  I am talking about completing my undergraduate degree (3.86 GPA – thank you very much) and also keeping my eyes and ears open for opportunities to present themselves. Because of this my career has taken some crazy turns, all for the better.  But alas, my little choo-choo train of momentum has pulled into the station with no signs of leaving any time soon which is very difficult for me to accept.

Unless it’s an all-out party, I don’t like surprises.  Instead I live the Boy Scouts motto of “Be Prepared”. What am I preparing for?  Illness, plain and simple.  Not mine, but Roger’s, so that I know that I did absolutely everything possible to make sure that he has the best care available, as well as money in the bank to fall back on.  And, to still have lots of fun in the meantime. 

So now comes the hard part. 

Being still, in my heart, this is the easiest as my heart knows its time to take a break. Being still in my mind however is the most difficult as it's not in my nature to sit back and let que sera sera rule the day, without feeling like I’ve thrown in the towel and given up. 

 

Of late, life is squarely showing me that it's time to take a moment and look at everything around me right here, right now, and stop trying to incessantly peer around corners and into the future.  No more looking at job boards, masters programs, even housing and medical reports in various parts of the country.  Now is the time to let life happen in whatever form that God has intended.

Just. Be. Still.

 

GLOOM, DESPAIR AND AGONY ON ME

From the TV Show "Hee-Haw" (1969 -1992) 

Buck Owens & Roy Clark

You're a Time Suck

It's time.  It's way past time and as disconcerting as it is, I have to break off our relationship.  You're a time suck, and I am no longer finding any real enjoyment from our interactions, no real sense of accomplishment.  You're there morning, noon and night, yet I feel empty.

We broke up once before, but for some inexplicable reason I let you back in.

I love how I've justified my involvement with you, even the occasional money leaving my bank account in total support of our relationship.  You see, my friends and family, their relationships of folly seem down right silly, and completely inane to me.  After all, they're playing for candy, but me, no, I'm playing to form "words".  Climbing level after level in "Words of Wonder".  No multi-colored tiles for me!  Oh no, just forming words, brilliant 3 - 6 letter words in order to "clear the ink", "clear the tiles" or "drop 7 feathers", all before a bomb bursts, or the time runs out.

But alas, time has run out on us for good.  The dishwasher needs to be emptied, dinner needs to be made, words need to be written.  And I mean words that link together to form actual sentences and thoughts.

So with this, I'm going to my Facebook account and removing you from my profile.  For good this time!  Just you wait and see, really, I mean it this time, after one more round, you're a goner!