I'm not on the table, I'm in the sack. Well, the sack is on the table............but, I'm not really on the table.
Saturday, January 17, 2009
Friday, January 16, 2009
MIRACLES
As someone said yesterday afternoon, first there was the Miracle on 34th street and yesterday there was a miracle on the Hudson.
I want to pay tribute to a remarkable set of circumstances. If someone had written a film about what happened on the Hudson River yesterday, they’d catch hell for all the fortunate “coincidences” that led to a damn near perfect outcome.
Mom suddenly decided we needed to watch the news yesterday afternoon. There in the middle of the screen, in the middle of the water was the tail fin of a plane surrounded by boats of all sizes. WTF is a mild version of what ran through my mind. As the story unfolded that afternoon and this morning, “damn, you have got to be kidding” was the refrain.
But, think about all the things that had to come together. The size of the plane: I don’t think you could land a 747 on the Hudson River. Of course a 747 might have made it to the field at Teterboro, thank heaven we’ll probably never have to find out. The destination; the plane was going to Charlotte before heading to Seattle. The fuel tanks in the wings weren’t full helping to keep the plane from sinking. And the engine mounts are designed to shear away if necessary; leaving the wings intact. The passengers and fight attendants; yeah they were scared but they kept their heads and they helped each other. All those boats; ferries, tugs and I don’t know what all homed in on that plane like iron filings to a magnet. I saw shot today of the first boat heading towards the plane. Somehow I don’t think river ferries normally go quite that fast.
And finally the pilot. And this is the part that would have most of us going, “ah come on,” if it was fiction. He got his pilot’s license before he learned to drive, flew fighter planes, and has been a commercial pilot for nearly thirty years. The thing is he flies gliders as a hobby. He knew his ship, and I suspect he knew the Hudson well enough to know the best section of the river to try for; the one with docks and boats on both sides, and he trusted himself to bring it off.
Following a tradition that goes back to the old sailing ships, passengers and crew on planes are often referred to as “souls on board.” And like those captains of centuries past this captain brought all the souls in his care to a safe harbor.
We’ve heard the word hero tossed round a lot over the past few years. This is one time one the title is well earned.
I want to pay tribute to a remarkable set of circumstances. If someone had written a film about what happened on the Hudson River yesterday, they’d catch hell for all the fortunate “coincidences” that led to a damn near perfect outcome.
Mom suddenly decided we needed to watch the news yesterday afternoon. There in the middle of the screen, in the middle of the water was the tail fin of a plane surrounded by boats of all sizes. WTF is a mild version of what ran through my mind. As the story unfolded that afternoon and this morning, “damn, you have got to be kidding” was the refrain.
But, think about all the things that had to come together. The size of the plane: I don’t think you could land a 747 on the Hudson River. Of course a 747 might have made it to the field at Teterboro, thank heaven we’ll probably never have to find out. The destination; the plane was going to Charlotte before heading to Seattle. The fuel tanks in the wings weren’t full helping to keep the plane from sinking. And the engine mounts are designed to shear away if necessary; leaving the wings intact. The passengers and fight attendants; yeah they were scared but they kept their heads and they helped each other. All those boats; ferries, tugs and I don’t know what all homed in on that plane like iron filings to a magnet. I saw shot today of the first boat heading towards the plane. Somehow I don’t think river ferries normally go quite that fast.
And finally the pilot. And this is the part that would have most of us going, “ah come on,” if it was fiction. He got his pilot’s license before he learned to drive, flew fighter planes, and has been a commercial pilot for nearly thirty years. The thing is he flies gliders as a hobby. He knew his ship, and I suspect he knew the Hudson well enough to know the best section of the river to try for; the one with docks and boats on both sides, and he trusted himself to bring it off.
Following a tradition that goes back to the old sailing ships, passengers and crew on planes are often referred to as “souls on board.” And like those captains of centuries past this captain brought all the souls in his care to a safe harbor.
We’ve heard the word hero tossed round a lot over the past few years. This is one time one the title is well earned.
Thursday, January 15, 2009
A Million Dollars
I was walking out of the hotel struggling under the weight of two heavy bags and an overloaded purse. Wondering why there is never a bellman when you need one, I plunged into the frigid air bracing myself against the blast of wind that immediately engulfed me. A man was walking towards me and I briefly thought, "Maybe he will offer to help me!!" but no, he smiled and said, "Cold isn't it?".
I responded instead of just smiling back and nodding, "Freeze your lungs".
He stopped and turned around towards me and began to speak, "The strangest thing happened.." he began. To not be rude, I stopped and gave him my attention, thinking this couldn't take long and I mercifully put down the baggage...."I was hit by a Transylvania college student while traveling with my family. He had no insurance and my car is wrecked. We spent the night in the emergency room at the hospital...." Yes, there is a hospital directly across the intersection from the hotel...."because my insurance does not have rental. I am walking around trying to find some help."
I offered some "help", "Go into the hotel and find the number for Southland Christian Church, they are the largest church in the area and I think they might be able to help some way".
"You go to that church?"
"I use to, when I lived here."
"Where do you live now?"
"Louisville."
He began to walk towards the doors, "I only need eight more dollars to get a room at the Quality Inn."
Oh.
I picked up my bags and began to walk away, but something in my heart gave a tug and I reached into my purse and pulled out a five dollar bill and offered it to him. "It's not $8 but it's all I have." (why did I lie?)
He took it and said, "It's like a million dollars to me."
We parted and he went into the hotel and I made the final 30 yards to the car mentally kicking myself in the butt for once again handing money over to a panhandler.
But was he?
It was most certainly one of the better stories I've heard. And truth be told, I've given money to a lot less creative solicitations. Still, it was awfully cold outside!
I remember the first time I was hit up for "change". I was in the drive thru off Interstate 75. I was so startled that I remember letting out a scream when a man leaned into my window and requested money to eat. I rolled my window up and drove away. I immediately felt bad and the horribleness of it stayed with me all day.
When I see them standing close to the highways with their signs, "Unemployed Vet' or "Lost Job" and just the other day, "Traveling through and hungry" I think how unbelievably sad it is. How they stand there with that vacant look, not making any eye contact. In rags.
And I wonder if they are professional panhandlers.
And when I meet someone as I did today, someone who may be in real need, I do not like the fact that I am cynical and jaded.
A million dollars. It makes me smile.
I responded instead of just smiling back and nodding, "Freeze your lungs".
He stopped and turned around towards me and began to speak, "The strangest thing happened.." he began. To not be rude, I stopped and gave him my attention, thinking this couldn't take long and I mercifully put down the baggage...."I was hit by a Transylvania college student while traveling with my family. He had no insurance and my car is wrecked. We spent the night in the emergency room at the hospital...." Yes, there is a hospital directly across the intersection from the hotel...."because my insurance does not have rental. I am walking around trying to find some help."
I offered some "help", "Go into the hotel and find the number for Southland Christian Church, they are the largest church in the area and I think they might be able to help some way".
"You go to that church?"
"I use to, when I lived here."
"Where do you live now?"
"Louisville."
He began to walk towards the doors, "I only need eight more dollars to get a room at the Quality Inn."
Oh.
I picked up my bags and began to walk away, but something in my heart gave a tug and I reached into my purse and pulled out a five dollar bill and offered it to him. "It's not $8 but it's all I have." (why did I lie?)
He took it and said, "It's like a million dollars to me."
We parted and he went into the hotel and I made the final 30 yards to the car mentally kicking myself in the butt for once again handing money over to a panhandler.
But was he?
It was most certainly one of the better stories I've heard. And truth be told, I've given money to a lot less creative solicitations. Still, it was awfully cold outside!
I remember the first time I was hit up for "change". I was in the drive thru off Interstate 75. I was so startled that I remember letting out a scream when a man leaned into my window and requested money to eat. I rolled my window up and drove away. I immediately felt bad and the horribleness of it stayed with me all day.
When I see them standing close to the highways with their signs, "Unemployed Vet' or "Lost Job" and just the other day, "Traveling through and hungry" I think how unbelievably sad it is. How they stand there with that vacant look, not making any eye contact. In rags.
And I wonder if they are professional panhandlers.
And when I meet someone as I did today, someone who may be in real need, I do not like the fact that I am cynical and jaded.
A million dollars. It makes me smile.
Sunday, January 11, 2009
In Search Of Owls
I posted these images on one of my blogs, so I apologize if I'm a little redundant here. But, they represents one of the most exciting experiences I've had in quite awhile. I've started to try to follow the birdwatcher's buzz out here on Long Island. There is a very active board where bird enthusiasts post what they've sited and where. Well...the word was out (and there were images to prove it) that there are snowy owls on Long Island this winter. Apparently, there have not been snowy owl sitings here in the last six years. This was an irresistible challenge. I contacted my photo friend Lori (YES! I have made a friend) and we decided to try and find a snowy owl. The boards were pretty specific where to go and look. We headed out to Jones Beach with high anticipation but minimal expectation of seeing one of these birds. Surprisingly, we found one rather quickly, perched conspicuously on a dune. This owl was quite tolerant and essentially posed for us as long as we were interested. It was a pleasure just to stand and gaze at this magnificent bird...much less, capture an image.
Once is not enough...
I went out a second time alone, leaving my house before dawn. Jones Beach is about an hour from where I live and I arrived just as the sun was starting to rise. I started down the path toward where we'd seen the owl before. As I walked along, I saw a dark bird and a white bird in a mid air confrontation. I initially thought the light bird was a gull but as I watched, I knew the flight was not right. At that point, I knew it must be an owl. I quickly looked through my camera and sure enough....it wasl ( I later learned it was being harassed by a peregrine falcon). I had started out with my camera set for what I anticipated I might find...a motionless owl in low light. So, even through I fired off a number of shots, I had nothing of value. This was all taking place in a matter of seconds. I knew I was losing the opportunity and was able to get my shutter speed and ISO adjusted quickly enough to catch one worthwhile image. While it's a little noisy not as sharp as I'd like, I'm thrilled with this capture.
Once is not enough...
I went out a second time alone, leaving my house before dawn. Jones Beach is about an hour from where I live and I arrived just as the sun was starting to rise. I started down the path toward where we'd seen the owl before. As I walked along, I saw a dark bird and a white bird in a mid air confrontation. I initially thought the light bird was a gull but as I watched, I knew the flight was not right. At that point, I knew it must be an owl. I quickly looked through my camera and sure enough....it wasl ( I later learned it was being harassed by a peregrine falcon). I had started out with my camera set for what I anticipated I might find...a motionless owl in low light. So, even through I fired off a number of shots, I had nothing of value. This was all taking place in a matter of seconds. I knew I was losing the opportunity and was able to get my shutter speed and ISO adjusted quickly enough to catch one worthwhile image. While it's a little noisy not as sharp as I'd like, I'm thrilled with this capture.
Snowbird?
It has stopped snowing (thank god) and the more Oregon-like rain and balmy (50 degrees) temps have obliterated almost all vestiges of the disaster, save the remains of the extra-large mounds created by the few pitiful attempts to plow.
But I took this photo on the first snow-day, when the snow was still pretty. It's a starling. Happy but grungy birds. His background in this pic makes him look like a million bucks.
a different drummer...
If a man does not keep pace with his companions,
Perhaps it is because he hears a different drummer.
Let him step to the music which he hears,
However measured or far away...
Henry David Thoreau
I didn't give my Christmas party this year, but if I had, there was a guy that I see sometimes at Starbuck's whom I might have invited. He's a tall, slim (but there's a reason for that, which I'll get to), good looking guy who usually reads the NY Times. I first noticed him because of the way he dresses: in winter, he wears loafers with socks, worn, comfortable looking khakis, a polo shirt and a navy blue blazer; in summer he wears loafers with no socks, worn, comfortable looking khaki shorts, a polo shirt and a navy blue blazer. It's the summer garb that I noticed first, of course. An interesting, if rather eccentric, look, but I'm not at all put off by eccentricity; in fact, for the most part, I value it. I commented on the look to A right away (this was a couple of years ago): "Have you seen that guy who wears a blazer with shorts?"
A had, of course, as he's at that Starbucks more often than I am. He assured me this was simply a Northeastern look. Uh-huh. A spent all his formative years, from the time he was 12 until he graduated from college, attending school in the northeast (yeah, A's a preppie and a Harvard man), whereas I've only visited the northeast a few times, so although I'd never seen another guy in shorts and a blazer, I figured, what do I know?
On weekend mornings, my neighborhood Starbucks is heavily populated by various people from the neighborhood, including a number of people in their 50's and 60's. Having lived in my house since 1984, I know a lot of these people because our children went to school together. This guy is not part of that group, though. He does have two grown children, but they're older than my oldest, so I hadn't met him as a fellow parent. Still, there are plenty of people in that group who are new to me for various reasons. A knows more of these people than I do, and accordingly, when I meet A there for coffee, he's sometimes talking with some of these people whom I don't know, with the result that I've been introduced and have ended up making new friends. There are people who take the position that they have enough friends, but I'm not one of them. I'm always up for making new friends, and I've welcomed the opportunity to get to know some of these people. I've expanded my Christmas party invitation list accordingly, with excellent results. Everyone I've met and ended up inviting to my Christmas party has been interesting and a welcome addition.
Eventually, I made the acquaintance of M. It turns out that he's a retired accountant. We've talked a few times about the things that people our age talk about: politics, books, our children. In November, when Mike was in town, we went to Starbucks on the Saturday after Thanksgiving. Kath met us there with Xander, who ended crawling all over Mike, whom he adores. M came over and said hello and asked how old Xander was. He mentioned that he was writing a woman who has a six-year-old, and said he wondered what that was like. I thought then that if I gave my Christmas party, I might invite him. He seemed interesting to me.
But I didn't get around to giving the party this year. It's a lot of work, and I had plenty of family activities planned without adding the work of doing that party. And I didn't give another thought to M until A came over one day between Christmas and New Year's and said, "Wanna know something interesting about M?"
"Sure!" I said, thinking maybe A would tell me he was an avid kayaker or some such thing.
"He's living in his car," A said.
"What?!?!? He is not!"
"Yes he is!"
"How do you know that?"
"Because I asked him."
Whoa. In a million years I wouldn't have been able to ask M if he were living in his car. It seems the question came about because A saw his car, and noticed that the passenger seat was reclined, with a sleeping bag in it, and there were all these clothes stuffed in the back...so he simply asked M if he were living in his car, and M said yes. Apparently, he's been living in his car for quite a while, i.e., maybe a year or two. A immediately said that if he wanted to, M could shower or do laundry at his place, but M said no, he uses the neighborhood recreation center. I didn't know we had one, and I'm not even sure where it is, but apparently he uses it because he's always clean as well as clean shaven.
I'm bothered by this. I know that M cannot be rescued. I don't even know if he wants to be rescued. But it poses a million questions. How could this happen? This is someone who is educated, and was probably licensed. At one time he had a job and a family and a house. He worked for a couple of big companies, so he must have had some sort of retirement plan, as well as social security. That doesn't all just disappear, no matter what bad luck you may have, so did M make a conscious decision one day that he was going to punt it all to live in his car? I'm sufficiently practical that I could understand someone doing this for a month or so, between places, to save money. But I can't actually imagine even doing that myself, and to decide to live in your car indefinitely, in your sixties? Never a good night's sleep, never a decent meal (of course he's slim!)...I can't really comprehend that. One of his adult children lives here, but M has said he does not get along with that child, who has not taken him in, so that hardly seems a reason to stay.
How does one decide to live in a car? And why stay here, in this solidly middle class neighborhood? It's hardly the most economical place to live, even in a car, and he must have to find side streets to park on at night, to avoid the police, because I'm pretty sure they would not be sympathetic to anyone sleeping in their car. And why spend your time in Starbucks, drinking overpriced coffee with no free refills? Why not LaMadeleine, where it's air conditioned in the summer and there's a fireplace blazing in cold weather, and where, for $2.50, you can have endless free refills of coffee as well as some free bread, butter and jam, all day long if you like. Why isn't he working somewhere? He's attractive, articulate, educated...surely someone would hire him to do something. I'm pretty sure this is not just my way of reassuring myself that this could never happen to me. And why the blazer?
I don't begin to understand...
This entry is cross posted at Talking to Myself.
Perhaps it is because he hears a different drummer.
Let him step to the music which he hears,
However measured or far away...
Henry David Thoreau
I didn't give my Christmas party this year, but if I had, there was a guy that I see sometimes at Starbuck's whom I might have invited. He's a tall, slim (but there's a reason for that, which I'll get to), good looking guy who usually reads the NY Times. I first noticed him because of the way he dresses: in winter, he wears loafers with socks, worn, comfortable looking khakis, a polo shirt and a navy blue blazer; in summer he wears loafers with no socks, worn, comfortable looking khaki shorts, a polo shirt and a navy blue blazer. It's the summer garb that I noticed first, of course. An interesting, if rather eccentric, look, but I'm not at all put off by eccentricity; in fact, for the most part, I value it. I commented on the look to A right away (this was a couple of years ago): "Have you seen that guy who wears a blazer with shorts?"
A had, of course, as he's at that Starbucks more often than I am. He assured me this was simply a Northeastern look. Uh-huh. A spent all his formative years, from the time he was 12 until he graduated from college, attending school in the northeast (yeah, A's a preppie and a Harvard man), whereas I've only visited the northeast a few times, so although I'd never seen another guy in shorts and a blazer, I figured, what do I know?
On weekend mornings, my neighborhood Starbucks is heavily populated by various people from the neighborhood, including a number of people in their 50's and 60's. Having lived in my house since 1984, I know a lot of these people because our children went to school together. This guy is not part of that group, though. He does have two grown children, but they're older than my oldest, so I hadn't met him as a fellow parent. Still, there are plenty of people in that group who are new to me for various reasons. A knows more of these people than I do, and accordingly, when I meet A there for coffee, he's sometimes talking with some of these people whom I don't know, with the result that I've been introduced and have ended up making new friends. There are people who take the position that they have enough friends, but I'm not one of them. I'm always up for making new friends, and I've welcomed the opportunity to get to know some of these people. I've expanded my Christmas party invitation list accordingly, with excellent results. Everyone I've met and ended up inviting to my Christmas party has been interesting and a welcome addition.
Eventually, I made the acquaintance of M. It turns out that he's a retired accountant. We've talked a few times about the things that people our age talk about: politics, books, our children. In November, when Mike was in town, we went to Starbucks on the Saturday after Thanksgiving. Kath met us there with Xander, who ended crawling all over Mike, whom he adores. M came over and said hello and asked how old Xander was. He mentioned that he was writing a woman who has a six-year-old, and said he wondered what that was like. I thought then that if I gave my Christmas party, I might invite him. He seemed interesting to me.
But I didn't get around to giving the party this year. It's a lot of work, and I had plenty of family activities planned without adding the work of doing that party. And I didn't give another thought to M until A came over one day between Christmas and New Year's and said, "Wanna know something interesting about M?"
"Sure!" I said, thinking maybe A would tell me he was an avid kayaker or some such thing.
"He's living in his car," A said.
"What?!?!? He is not!"
"Yes he is!"
"How do you know that?"
"Because I asked him."
Whoa. In a million years I wouldn't have been able to ask M if he were living in his car. It seems the question came about because A saw his car, and noticed that the passenger seat was reclined, with a sleeping bag in it, and there were all these clothes stuffed in the back...so he simply asked M if he were living in his car, and M said yes. Apparently, he's been living in his car for quite a while, i.e., maybe a year or two. A immediately said that if he wanted to, M could shower or do laundry at his place, but M said no, he uses the neighborhood recreation center. I didn't know we had one, and I'm not even sure where it is, but apparently he uses it because he's always clean as well as clean shaven.
I'm bothered by this. I know that M cannot be rescued. I don't even know if he wants to be rescued. But it poses a million questions. How could this happen? This is someone who is educated, and was probably licensed. At one time he had a job and a family and a house. He worked for a couple of big companies, so he must have had some sort of retirement plan, as well as social security. That doesn't all just disappear, no matter what bad luck you may have, so did M make a conscious decision one day that he was going to punt it all to live in his car? I'm sufficiently practical that I could understand someone doing this for a month or so, between places, to save money. But I can't actually imagine even doing that myself, and to decide to live in your car indefinitely, in your sixties? Never a good night's sleep, never a decent meal (of course he's slim!)...I can't really comprehend that. One of his adult children lives here, but M has said he does not get along with that child, who has not taken him in, so that hardly seems a reason to stay.
How does one decide to live in a car? And why stay here, in this solidly middle class neighborhood? It's hardly the most economical place to live, even in a car, and he must have to find side streets to park on at night, to avoid the police, because I'm pretty sure they would not be sympathetic to anyone sleeping in their car. And why spend your time in Starbucks, drinking overpriced coffee with no free refills? Why not LaMadeleine, where it's air conditioned in the summer and there's a fireplace blazing in cold weather, and where, for $2.50, you can have endless free refills of coffee as well as some free bread, butter and jam, all day long if you like. Why isn't he working somewhere? He's attractive, articulate, educated...surely someone would hire him to do something. I'm pretty sure this is not just my way of reassuring myself that this could never happen to me. And why the blazer?
I don't begin to understand...
This entry is cross posted at Talking to Myself.
Saturday, January 10, 2009
I'm still here....going around in circles
Today is the first day in over a week that I've sat down to read any blogs. I decided to start here because participating in this group is important to me. I so admire all the women here. The first thing I read was Lisa's request that we all try and post more frequently. I know I am the worst offender so I've made a cup of tea and will now try and summarize what's going on in my head since I don't have anything particularly profound to discuss.
In the last few years, I have felt more and more like I just don't have a clue what to do with myself. It's not for lack of ideas...I could easily fill a page with things I want to do. I think it's about settling on one thing at the expense of everything else, because there are only 24 hours in a day.
Of course, the things that "must be done" come first, even though they're often the least interesting or fun. Then, there's a LONG list of what could be happening in my "spare time". Is anyone else drowning in prospective projects? I am, and it's paralyzing. I can't figure it out.
When you have a dozen things you WANT to do, why is it so hard to just pick one and do it?
Excuse me while a do a little brain barf here...because I don't know how to verbalize this eloquently.
Here's a (very) abreviated list...I want to:
get my hard drives cleaned up and organized
teach myself some new photoshop techniques
get to the gym regularly to swim
work on sewing projects I have started
start new artsy projects using new techniques I've come across
learn about processing raw photos
look for opportunities to teach aqua fitness
go into NY and see a friend
get out regularly for a photoshoot...then process the images in a timely fashion
get some long overdue letters written to old friends
post in my blogs more frequently
stay up to date with blogs I'm interested in
update my website
You get the idea.
So, where do I start? For me, a list like this gets broken up into the things I SHOULD do versus the things I'd simply like to do. But, that still doesn't get me much of anywhere. In the last week, I think I've touched on two. I have gotten to the gym to swim (3 times) and I've been out taking pictures once. Oops, I guess I should give myself credit for blog posting....I am writing this now after all. It should come as no surprise that I still feel overwhelmed. When will I get to all this and what should take priority?
Is anyone else like this? When it comes to allocating time to your true interests, how do you choose what comes first? I've become proficient at procrastinating it ALL, convincing myself that NOW is not the time to start THAT (whatever THAT du jour may be). You know, it feels like one ferocious case of ADD.
I wonder if this is something that comes with midlife. We've spent years working and/or raising our families and not prioritizing ourselves. Now, we have some time to do what we want to do with our lives. I feel the time ticking and I want to make sure it's spent doing something that will be meaningful to me....something I feel I'm "meant" to do. Lisa has done it....she's bought a resteraunt. Robin has gone to seminary. But here's Kat, running around like a chicken without a head, still not knowing what she wants to be when she grows up. Sometimes I think I'll never figure it out. How did you?
In the last few years, I have felt more and more like I just don't have a clue what to do with myself. It's not for lack of ideas...I could easily fill a page with things I want to do. I think it's about settling on one thing at the expense of everything else, because there are only 24 hours in a day.
Of course, the things that "must be done" come first, even though they're often the least interesting or fun. Then, there's a LONG list of what could be happening in my "spare time". Is anyone else drowning in prospective projects? I am, and it's paralyzing. I can't figure it out.
When you have a dozen things you WANT to do, why is it so hard to just pick one and do it?
Excuse me while a do a little brain barf here...because I don't know how to verbalize this eloquently.
Here's a (very) abreviated list...I want to:
get my hard drives cleaned up and organized
teach myself some new photoshop techniques
get to the gym regularly to swim
work on sewing projects I have started
start new artsy projects using new techniques I've come across
learn about processing raw photos
look for opportunities to teach aqua fitness
go into NY and see a friend
get out regularly for a photoshoot...then process the images in a timely fashion
get some long overdue letters written to old friends
post in my blogs more frequently
stay up to date with blogs I'm interested in
update my website
You get the idea.
So, where do I start? For me, a list like this gets broken up into the things I SHOULD do versus the things I'd simply like to do. But, that still doesn't get me much of anywhere. In the last week, I think I've touched on two. I have gotten to the gym to swim (3 times) and I've been out taking pictures once. Oops, I guess I should give myself credit for blog posting....I am writing this now after all. It should come as no surprise that I still feel overwhelmed. When will I get to all this and what should take priority?
Is anyone else like this? When it comes to allocating time to your true interests, how do you choose what comes first? I've become proficient at procrastinating it ALL, convincing myself that NOW is not the time to start THAT (whatever THAT du jour may be). You know, it feels like one ferocious case of ADD.
I wonder if this is something that comes with midlife. We've spent years working and/or raising our families and not prioritizing ourselves. Now, we have some time to do what we want to do with our lives. I feel the time ticking and I want to make sure it's spent doing something that will be meaningful to me....something I feel I'm "meant" to do. Lisa has done it....she's bought a resteraunt. Robin has gone to seminary. But here's Kat, running around like a chicken without a head, still not knowing what she wants to be when she grows up. Sometimes I think I'll never figure it out. How did you?
An observation in the dark
3:00 a.m. If it's possible to truly dislike an hour of the day, this one gets my vote. I'm awake far too often at this hour. Is it my changing middle aged body clock? Is it habit? Is it just the delusion that I'm still young and can go without sleep without paying for it? I don't know.
I do know that this is a still and silent hour. Those are states that I normally embrace, but lately I've been running from them. I've always loved silence because in its emptiness, I heard what I needed to hear. Silence provided the conduit to creativity, to recharging my batteries, to connection with God/dess. Now, in the silence, I hear nothing but a squeaking treadmill of old, destructive thoughts. I'm convinced that escaping the contents of our minds is why we so often turn on the noise.
That distraction isn't working for me, and neither is silence. The challenge then is to find a new way to find what silence once gave me. I'm a creature of routine, an if-it-ain't-broke-don't-fix-it kind of girl, and I don't want to admit that my silent ways of reaching my better self and my Creator are broken. I also wonder if even though I'm not turning on the noise, I'm still holding back from entering the silence.
One of my favorite meditation images has been floating in a beautiful pool of water. It's outdoors and surrounded by trees and other greenery. The temperature of both the air and the water are perfect, cool enough to be refreshing, warm enough to be soothing. There's a soft breeze, and it's blowing leaves onto the pool. Those leaves are my thoughts, and as they get closer to me, I gently blow them away until the water and I am still again. I think I've reversed the process. I'm inhaling, taking in and holding every thought, letting them choke me.
Through difficult times, I often have to remind myself to take a deep breath. Filling my lungs with fresh air gives my body part of its essential survival fuel. It's time to remember to exhale. Anything you hold onto either too long for the wrong reasons eventually turns stale and rots.
3:00 a.m. It's quiet and still, and I've been reminded to empty myself to renew myself. There has to be room for the silence to enter me. This night, this morning, this is an hour to enjoy.
This entry is cross posted at Sorting The Pieces.
I do know that this is a still and silent hour. Those are states that I normally embrace, but lately I've been running from them. I've always loved silence because in its emptiness, I heard what I needed to hear. Silence provided the conduit to creativity, to recharging my batteries, to connection with God/dess. Now, in the silence, I hear nothing but a squeaking treadmill of old, destructive thoughts. I'm convinced that escaping the contents of our minds is why we so often turn on the noise.
That distraction isn't working for me, and neither is silence. The challenge then is to find a new way to find what silence once gave me. I'm a creature of routine, an if-it-ain't-broke-don't-fix-it kind of girl, and I don't want to admit that my silent ways of reaching my better self and my Creator are broken. I also wonder if even though I'm not turning on the noise, I'm still holding back from entering the silence.
One of my favorite meditation images has been floating in a beautiful pool of water. It's outdoors and surrounded by trees and other greenery. The temperature of both the air and the water are perfect, cool enough to be refreshing, warm enough to be soothing. There's a soft breeze, and it's blowing leaves onto the pool. Those leaves are my thoughts, and as they get closer to me, I gently blow them away until the water and I am still again. I think I've reversed the process. I'm inhaling, taking in and holding every thought, letting them choke me.
Through difficult times, I often have to remind myself to take a deep breath. Filling my lungs with fresh air gives my body part of its essential survival fuel. It's time to remember to exhale. Anything you hold onto either too long for the wrong reasons eventually turns stale and rots.
3:00 a.m. It's quiet and still, and I've been reminded to empty myself to renew myself. There has to be room for the silence to enter me. This night, this morning, this is an hour to enjoy.
This entry is cross posted at Sorting The Pieces.
Wednesday, January 7, 2009
Alphawoman's Do's and Don'ts for the Job Interview Process
Since I am earnestly in the job hunt mode I have learned a few things the past couple of months that I will share with ya'll.
1) Do not be over 50. If you are over fifty, try to not look it. Do remember botox or collagen treatments. Never underestimate the effect of teeth whitening and hair dying.
2) Do have something that fits. Never wait until the last moment (that morning) to pull out your best suit only to find that you can not button it. And if you somehow are able to button it (by laying on bed and sucking in your gut) that the button does not pop off when you breath.
3) Be sure to begin your job search BEFORE the ECONOMY tanks.
4) Prepare for questions that may be asked during the interview process. Such as, "Who was your best boss and why?" that you do not launch into a three minute ramble about Duffy and how he motivated the cocktail waitress to work harder with a $100 bonus to the one that pushes the most alcohol beverages during a week's time. Once you are in the middle of it you are realize you do not know if your interviewer is a teetotaler whose father died of liver failure plus you have just revealed you were once a cocktail waitress!! When the slight panic settles in you once again begin to ramble about your worst boss being a woman and how you just can't work for a woman! Because at the conclusion of the interview you are informed that you (if you get the job...fat chance) will direct report to a woman.
5) Be prepared to answer the most inane questions. For example, "Where did you go to High School?" ...(WTF??)...and you supply the answer with the name of a Central Kentucky Catholic High School. "What was your primary area of study?"...(WTF? 35 years ago?) so that you do not blurt out some smart ass answer such as "Well, religion naturally!". Also be prepared to list your extracurricular activities, which when I was asked (I swear to God) all I could think of was us driving down those small back roads hurling empty Little King bottles at road signs. Do not snicker or snort when watching the long ago movie play in your head.
6) Try not to be older than the kid interviewing you. (hard to do at my age).
7) Never ever under any circumstances either by body language or facial expression that you consider your interviewer to be of inferior intelligence.
8) Never ever say, "Where are the women around here??"
9) Do have a joke prepared just in case you are asked to tell one! A good one is this..."Two guys are drinking in a bar..." (refer to #4)
10) Do change your shoes before going in for the interview to avoid looking down at your feet and seeing your muddy snow boots and blurting out, "Oh My God" and startling the interviewer.
I have encounter and committed every single one of these do's and don'ts.
That is why I am still unemployed.
1) Do not be over 50. If you are over fifty, try to not look it. Do remember botox or collagen treatments. Never underestimate the effect of teeth whitening and hair dying.
2) Do have something that fits. Never wait until the last moment (that morning) to pull out your best suit only to find that you can not button it. And if you somehow are able to button it (by laying on bed and sucking in your gut) that the button does not pop off when you breath.
3) Be sure to begin your job search BEFORE the ECONOMY tanks.
4) Prepare for questions that may be asked during the interview process. Such as, "Who was your best boss and why?" that you do not launch into a three minute ramble about Duffy and how he motivated the cocktail waitress to work harder with a $100 bonus to the one that pushes the most alcohol beverages during a week's time. Once you are in the middle of it you are realize you do not know if your interviewer is a teetotaler whose father died of liver failure plus you have just revealed you were once a cocktail waitress!! When the slight panic settles in you once again begin to ramble about your worst boss being a woman and how you just can't work for a woman! Because at the conclusion of the interview you are informed that you (if you get the job...fat chance) will direct report to a woman.
5) Be prepared to answer the most inane questions. For example, "Where did you go to High School?" ...(WTF??)...and you supply the answer with the name of a Central Kentucky Catholic High School. "What was your primary area of study?"...(WTF? 35 years ago?) so that you do not blurt out some smart ass answer such as "Well, religion naturally!". Also be prepared to list your extracurricular activities, which when I was asked (I swear to God) all I could think of was us driving down those small back roads hurling empty Little King bottles at road signs. Do not snicker or snort when watching the long ago movie play in your head.
6) Try not to be older than the kid interviewing you. (hard to do at my age).
7) Never ever under any circumstances either by body language or facial expression that you consider your interviewer to be of inferior intelligence.
8) Never ever say, "Where are the women around here??"
9) Do have a joke prepared just in case you are asked to tell one! A good one is this..."Two guys are drinking in a bar..." (refer to #4)
10) Do change your shoes before going in for the interview to avoid looking down at your feet and seeing your muddy snow boots and blurting out, "Oh My God" and startling the interviewer.
I have encounter and committed every single one of these do's and don'ts.
That is why I am still unemployed.
Tuesday, January 6, 2009
THE GREEN MIDWINTER
Nothing really profound tonight. I guess I’m still suffering from holiday let down. Anyway, the Christmas decorations are down for the year and the weeds; well the weeds are doing very nicely thank you. Alive and well, perky and very, very green. They're doing fine while the rest of us are singing "mud, mud, glorius mud" to whatever tune is running through your head at the time.
Here it is January 6 and we’re just past mid winter. There’s still snow on the ground up and north and more predicted for tonight. And here? It was almost sixty degrees today and I spent almost an hour chasing weeds this morning.
Funny, all it takes is a little mild weather, a little sunshine and those little suckers grow like gangbusters. Mostly chickweed and baby dandelions. I suppose if I told them I was really happy to see them and had a use for them they’d pack their bags and head for the hills. Is it my imagination or do the plants you don’t want grow better than the ones you do want sometimes?
It’s easy to work right now; the ground is nice and damp and easy to work. Well, fairly easy. Have trowel, will dig. I found one viola blooming, a yellow primrose trying to set a bud, the winter heather is blooming, disposed a bunch of slugs and snails, and noticed that a lot of the bulbs are sending little green emissaries to check out the possibilities upstairs. Be careful guys, life does not come with a rewind button. And it is only January 6.
Anyway, the birds were singing their little feathered heads off. We have three kinds of chickadees, juncos, bushtits, and the odd finch of siskin making pretty regular stops at the feeders. It’s a kick to watch them. The juncos are mostly ground feeders, but they’ll use the hanging tray feeder. I guess it’s because they can stand in it pick through the seeds. The ones on the ground look like tiny chickens as they basically check out the north end of the yard. The squirrels are really messy, big news, when they do their standing their heads act at the critter seed feeder. So these little guys are basically the clean up crew.
We finally moved everything so it’s either hanging from the dogwood or between it and the white andromeda shrub. And the bushtits are a riot. They are so tiny. It’s hard to imagine how something so small manages during the winter weather. I think I’ve seen snowflakes almost as big as they are. Anyway, the little guys basically bounce between tree, shepherd’s crook, feeders and shrub. They’re right side up, upside down and sideways while they wait their turn at the suet stations.
This morning was a nice change from the free weights, the treadmill and the resumes. I’ll have to hang onto that for awhile. It’s supposed to start raining again tonight. The forecast is for rain, and a lot of it further north. Warm temperatures, rain and lots of snow are not a good mix. Here’s hoping it’s not as bad as they’re predicting. ‘Cause if it is, what was frozen will be floating out to sea.
Here it is January 6 and we’re just past mid winter. There’s still snow on the ground up and north and more predicted for tonight. And here? It was almost sixty degrees today and I spent almost an hour chasing weeds this morning.
Funny, all it takes is a little mild weather, a little sunshine and those little suckers grow like gangbusters. Mostly chickweed and baby dandelions. I suppose if I told them I was really happy to see them and had a use for them they’d pack their bags and head for the hills. Is it my imagination or do the plants you don’t want grow better than the ones you do want sometimes?
It’s easy to work right now; the ground is nice and damp and easy to work. Well, fairly easy. Have trowel, will dig. I found one viola blooming, a yellow primrose trying to set a bud, the winter heather is blooming, disposed a bunch of slugs and snails, and noticed that a lot of the bulbs are sending little green emissaries to check out the possibilities upstairs. Be careful guys, life does not come with a rewind button. And it is only January 6.
Anyway, the birds were singing their little feathered heads off. We have three kinds of chickadees, juncos, bushtits, and the odd finch of siskin making pretty regular stops at the feeders. It’s a kick to watch them. The juncos are mostly ground feeders, but they’ll use the hanging tray feeder. I guess it’s because they can stand in it pick through the seeds. The ones on the ground look like tiny chickens as they basically check out the north end of the yard. The squirrels are really messy, big news, when they do their standing their heads act at the critter seed feeder. So these little guys are basically the clean up crew.
We finally moved everything so it’s either hanging from the dogwood or between it and the white andromeda shrub. And the bushtits are a riot. They are so tiny. It’s hard to imagine how something so small manages during the winter weather. I think I’ve seen snowflakes almost as big as they are. Anyway, the little guys basically bounce between tree, shepherd’s crook, feeders and shrub. They’re right side up, upside down and sideways while they wait their turn at the suet stations.
This morning was a nice change from the free weights, the treadmill and the resumes. I’ll have to hang onto that for awhile. It’s supposed to start raining again tonight. The forecast is for rain, and a lot of it further north. Warm temperatures, rain and lots of snow are not a good mix. Here’s hoping it’s not as bad as they’re predicting. ‘Cause if it is, what was frozen will be floating out to sea.
A Very Rich Life...
Sunday night Mike and Chris were in the living room with their girlfriends, playing Scattergories and drinking a little wine in front of the fireplace. I removed the garlands from the stairs on Saturday, and Mike and A took the tree down Sunday afternoon, bagged it and put it into the garage. Now the couches are back facing each other in front of the fireplace, and with the velvet slipcovers, a red amaryllis on the front hall table and a trio of big ivory candles on the piano, the house looks like winter, but not like Christmas.
Taking down and putting away the decorations is always bittersweet for me. Putting them up, I find myself buoyed by the happy anticipation of the holiday ahead, but taking them down…there’s a bit of sadness in that, always. When I was a young mother this was no time for contemplation. There was barely time to catch my breath. There was a whirlwind of activity year round when my kids were young. Taking down and putting away Christmas decorations was simply something that had to be done because at the end of the month, Ali would have her birthday, and we’d be getting ready for that; then February brought Valentine’s Day; spring break came in March followed by Easter in late March or early April; A’s birthday in early April; the end of school in May; beginning of summer vacation in June; fireworks, picnics and perhaps a family trip to South Padre Island or Colorado in July; Mike and Chris' birthday and the start of school again in August; Labor Day and my birthday in September; Halloween in October; Kath’s birthday and Thanksgiving in November and voila…back to December and another Christmas. In addition, there were school open houses, music lessons, swimming lessons, band concerts, science fair projects, book fairs, volunteering, scouts, pets to care for, dinners with friends and family, rooms to paint, grass to cut, leaves to rake, grad school classes, papers to write…”A very rich life”, Aunt Mimi once said to me, and it turns out that she was quite right, although I barely had time to reflect on that comment when she made it.
Now I'm an empty nester, a thing that I’ve joked about, and yet in many ways it's no joke. Everyone who has children must eventually deal with having an empty nest. There's loneliness in having them gone, of course, but I think that one of the hardest things about being parents of young adults is that it forces us to redefine ourselves, yet again, just when we thought we had it figured out.
Because if I simply look at my calendar now, it’s not all that different from when I was a young mother. It’s true that it’s no longer filled with reminders of scout meetings and music lessons, but many of the events remain the same: Ali’s birthday will always be at the end of January; February 14th will continue to be Valentine’s Day, etc. It's not that the events themselves have changed, but my role in these events has changed considerably. And yet, to add to the confusion, in some ways my role is the same as ever. I'll always send Ali a gift for her birthday, because I'm her mother. But now that she's grown and not a child living under my roof, I don't spend January 29th scrambling to bake a cake for her, or making a late night run to the grocery store for flowers and croissants so she can have breakfast in bed on her birthday on the 30th.
When our children are young, our role as parents is clearly defined: we're simply counted on to take care of everything, in all situations. Hungry? Cold? Scared? Kid down the block bothering you? Want new skates? Who do you turn to? But as our children grow up that changes. We're still Mom and Dad, but we're no longer primary, and although that may be a bitter pill to swallow at times, it's absolutely essential to accept it. It's the goal of having children, after all, or should be: to raise them to the point that they are able to be successful in making their way in the world without us.
I was reminded how my role has changed on Saturday, when six of us were going to the DMA to see the Tut exhibit. I’d planned and organized that outing the same way that I’ve planned activities for my family my entire life, including going online and buying and printing out the tickets. But when it came time to drive to the exhibit, I was reminded that things have changed: it's no longer essential that I, as their mother, drive them anywhere. There were six of us going to the DMA, but my car seats just five, so we had to take two cars. Mike and Chris immediately opted to drive together with Brooke and Stephanie, leaving A and me to drive together in my car. There is some grace to be had in having a partner with whom to share this transition, and, happily for me, that applies even though we’re divorced. I looked at A and smiled in amusement: “You realize, we’re now officially The Old People,” I said, and I added, “How did that happen?” I remember, like it was yesterday, when we were The Young People, and like Mike and Chris, there was absolutely no question that we’d have preferred to drive with our friends rather than with our parents. Ah, well, the more things change, and all that.
There are people who aren't able to make this transition, who become bitter. I don’t want to be one of them. I want to grow old gracefully, and to move on with a sense of adventure, and my sense of humor intact, into the new roles that await me as time goes by.
Longfellow described it eloquently, in one of my favorite poems (Morituri Salutamus):
Shall we sit idly down and say
The night hath come; it is no longer day?
The night hath not yet come; we are not quite
Cut off from labor by failing light;
For age is opportunity no less
Than youth itself, though in another dress,
And as the evening twilight fades away
The sky is filled with stars, invisible by day.
Taking down and putting away the decorations is always bittersweet for me. Putting them up, I find myself buoyed by the happy anticipation of the holiday ahead, but taking them down…there’s a bit of sadness in that, always. When I was a young mother this was no time for contemplation. There was barely time to catch my breath. There was a whirlwind of activity year round when my kids were young. Taking down and putting away Christmas decorations was simply something that had to be done because at the end of the month, Ali would have her birthday, and we’d be getting ready for that; then February brought Valentine’s Day; spring break came in March followed by Easter in late March or early April; A’s birthday in early April; the end of school in May; beginning of summer vacation in June; fireworks, picnics and perhaps a family trip to South Padre Island or Colorado in July; Mike and Chris' birthday and the start of school again in August; Labor Day and my birthday in September; Halloween in October; Kath’s birthday and Thanksgiving in November and voila…back to December and another Christmas. In addition, there were school open houses, music lessons, swimming lessons, band concerts, science fair projects, book fairs, volunteering, scouts, pets to care for, dinners with friends and family, rooms to paint, grass to cut, leaves to rake, grad school classes, papers to write…”A very rich life”, Aunt Mimi once said to me, and it turns out that she was quite right, although I barely had time to reflect on that comment when she made it.
Now I'm an empty nester, a thing that I’ve joked about, and yet in many ways it's no joke. Everyone who has children must eventually deal with having an empty nest. There's loneliness in having them gone, of course, but I think that one of the hardest things about being parents of young adults is that it forces us to redefine ourselves, yet again, just when we thought we had it figured out.
Because if I simply look at my calendar now, it’s not all that different from when I was a young mother. It’s true that it’s no longer filled with reminders of scout meetings and music lessons, but many of the events remain the same: Ali’s birthday will always be at the end of January; February 14th will continue to be Valentine’s Day, etc. It's not that the events themselves have changed, but my role in these events has changed considerably. And yet, to add to the confusion, in some ways my role is the same as ever. I'll always send Ali a gift for her birthday, because I'm her mother. But now that she's grown and not a child living under my roof, I don't spend January 29th scrambling to bake a cake for her, or making a late night run to the grocery store for flowers and croissants so she can have breakfast in bed on her birthday on the 30th.
When our children are young, our role as parents is clearly defined: we're simply counted on to take care of everything, in all situations. Hungry? Cold? Scared? Kid down the block bothering you? Want new skates? Who do you turn to? But as our children grow up that changes. We're still Mom and Dad, but we're no longer primary, and although that may be a bitter pill to swallow at times, it's absolutely essential to accept it. It's the goal of having children, after all, or should be: to raise them to the point that they are able to be successful in making their way in the world without us.
I was reminded how my role has changed on Saturday, when six of us were going to the DMA to see the Tut exhibit. I’d planned and organized that outing the same way that I’ve planned activities for my family my entire life, including going online and buying and printing out the tickets. But when it came time to drive to the exhibit, I was reminded that things have changed: it's no longer essential that I, as their mother, drive them anywhere. There were six of us going to the DMA, but my car seats just five, so we had to take two cars. Mike and Chris immediately opted to drive together with Brooke and Stephanie, leaving A and me to drive together in my car. There is some grace to be had in having a partner with whom to share this transition, and, happily for me, that applies even though we’re divorced. I looked at A and smiled in amusement: “You realize, we’re now officially The Old People,” I said, and I added, “How did that happen?” I remember, like it was yesterday, when we were The Young People, and like Mike and Chris, there was absolutely no question that we’d have preferred to drive with our friends rather than with our parents. Ah, well, the more things change, and all that.
There are people who aren't able to make this transition, who become bitter. I don’t want to be one of them. I want to grow old gracefully, and to move on with a sense of adventure, and my sense of humor intact, into the new roles that await me as time goes by.
Longfellow described it eloquently, in one of my favorite poems (Morituri Salutamus):
Shall we sit idly down and say
The night hath come; it is no longer day?
The night hath not yet come; we are not quite
Cut off from labor by failing light;
For age is opportunity no less
Than youth itself, though in another dress,
And as the evening twilight fades away
The sky is filled with stars, invisible by day.
Monday, January 5, 2009
Can We Talk?
Hi Ladies...
I can't help but notice that "Women On" has been languishing a bit, lately.
I know everyone has been busy with the holidays and other personal crises, but now that the holidays are over, I wonder if we could each commit to posting something here a minimum of once a week. A picture or a short blurb about how things are going in your world would be plenty!
I would really like our blog to be interesting and vital, and I'm just not all that interesting and vital by myself...LOL!
Thanks...
Lisa :-]
I can't help but notice that "Women On" has been languishing a bit, lately.
I know everyone has been busy with the holidays and other personal crises, but now that the holidays are over, I wonder if we could each commit to posting something here a minimum of once a week. A picture or a short blurb about how things are going in your world would be plenty!
I would really like our blog to be interesting and vital, and I'm just not all that interesting and vital by myself...LOL!
Thanks...
Lisa :-]
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