What they don't tell you about the Census

Before I started enumerating, people generally had the same set of concerns: Would I get Scary Territory? Would someone attack me? Would people say angry things because I Work for the Government? Did I need a Big, Intimidating, Male Companion to ride with me? Did I need mace?

I've been officially on the job since Thursday, and so far although I have talked with someone who initially did not want to speak with me, people have been cheery, helpful, cooperative and kind, as a rule. Even that person ended up telling me pretty much everything I'm supposed to find out.

Here's the thing, though.

I have been to houses in foreclosure. Houses unoccupied because their owner is in a nursing home. Houses with trees growing through the roof, broken windows, and doors either boarded up or left ajar. Houses which may be abandoned, or may just be teetering on the edge.

I also talked with a guy who has been out of work for six months. He reminds me a lot of someone I know, and I wish I could do something for him, but heck, I can barely find work for myself.

I am seeing edges of poverty and uncertainty and despair, and sometimes it just hurts. I want to hug some of these people and pull them into my group of friends who are looking for work.

Who knew that being a Census enumerator would be so intense?

The Enumeratrix Rides

Yes, today I actually went out to enumerate part of my territory. All the homes are within a few minutes of where I live, so that was very convenient. And, somehow, I managed to encounter just about every situation we learned about in class this week. I think I did fairly well, and I know that my data is accurate, and I enjoyed it.

Next week, they need a temporary crew leader assistant, and I will be doing that, which means I will be putting in a few more hours than most enumerators. Can't complain about that.

Also next week, I have a phone interview for a very interesting job.

Right now, though, it is 8:30 p.m., and I have a ton of stuff to do, and my computer is acting wonky, and tomorrow the entire family is home from work and school EXCEPT for me. I will be putting in a super-long day, between class and enumerating and all that.

The house is a mess; they do not seem to care. I think I need to make sure I get some sleep.

At least in my case it is not that hard to guess

Yesterday was my first day of Census training. Mostly it was filling out employment forms, getting fingerprinted (three times, in my case), and starting to go through the practice workbooks that explain all about what Census forms look like.

Not bad, but boy, is it dull.

Also.

You know those "gender and ethnicity" questionnaires everyone asks you to fill out these days? They are completely voluntary, right? Well, at Census training, they are also completely voluntary. However, if you choose not to self-identify, the crew leader/instructor is required to fill out the form for you, based on her observations.

When she explained that, I had to ask.

"You mean, I can fill out the form, if I want. But if I decide that my ethnic background is not the federal government's business, so I decline to fill out the form, they are going to make you guess?"

"Yes."

Ya just gotta love modern life, man.

Gay wants to know...

Am I working? Am I blogging? Am I still alive, even?

Actually, yeah, mostly. Here's a recap--and so dull you'll understand why I have not bothered to blog, of late.

Friday night I went to the ballet.
Ha!
No, really, Brick and I went, and it was lovely, although I must admit I did not feel like I understood it. Oh, well, one needn't understand to appreciate, I hope.

Saturday was my last day at the newspaper. I drove around the southern half of the county taking photos of Navy people donating their time to Christmas in April, an annual service day. People all over the country help those who cannot afford to maintain their homes. It's a good cause, but of course the motto for the paper is:

We Care About The World, As It Affects Pax River Naval Air Station.

So, ONLY Navy guys. Marines, maybe. Civilians with a tie to the base, OK. Everyone else, well, you will just have to gain satisfaction from some other source, because my photos of you were deleted as soon as I realized I could not use them.

On the cute side, one of the team captains was an older gentleman who said that he could only allow me on the work site if my Mom would sign me in.

Darn. So cute. This is the kind of thing you can say once you are Older. I shall keep that in mind.

Also Saturday was the Celtic Festival. I took Sons #1, 3 and 4. We had a good time, especially as we were making our way there.

Lemme set the scene.

We're walking towards the entrance, and of course my mind is swimming with images of poverty from the photos I'd taken hours earlier. I had also had only a normal person's ration of sleep, since I got home from the ballet at 1 a.m. and was on the road by 7:30.

Coming toward us was a family leaving the Festival. Big, harried mom and 4 or 5 rambunctious kids. They were all but brawling as Mom tried to herd them toward the car.

"Justin, slow down.
Justin, stop that.
Justin, be quiet.
Justin, leave your brother alone.
Justin, put that down."

At this point the child I can only assume was Justin lunged toward his brother, toy sword in hand, and faceplanted in the grass. Mom looked down, and without missing a step, said, "GOOD. I'm GLAD you fell down."

Son #3 looked over at the Mom, and said, "I'm glad you fell down?"

Sons #1 and 4 flipped. "Shut up. Shut UP. Geez, shut UP. Shut UP!"

Me, I just busted a gut laughing, and clearly I needed to. Made my whole day. Granted, I have 4 sons myself. I have had 4 small sons. And one of them is of the rambunctious, hassle-your-brother sort. I know for a fact that there have been times when I have seen Karma befall one or another of the Sons, and I have looked on and thought (and even said), "Yeah, well, you kinda earned that one, kid." It was just funny, though. Trust me. If you're not laughing, well, that's OK, too.

Sunday my parents & sister came down for dinner. Had a lovely time.

Today is Son #4's birthday. He is 14. Holy cow. He is right now calling friends to invite him to his birthday party next weekend, "So we can celebrate the inevitable tightening of the grip of death."

And tomorrow I start my new, part-time job as a Census Enumerator.

See? Lots going on, but not a lot that is really fascinating enough for all 30 of you who read.

Thanks for sticking with me, anyway...

I saw the Green Hornet today

And I am not sure what I think of it, but I also got to shake hands with an honest-to-God-real-live admiral, and I thought that was pretty cool.Although I kinda wish I had not met him on the one day over the past 2 months when I didn't have time to put on makeup or do my hair. Basically, I met the admiral and I looked like hell.

Tomorrow is my last full day. I'll work part of Saturday and that's it, because the woman is certain she is really coming back this Monday. Really.

I've really enjoyed my past 2 months working with the Navy, and hope I'll be back there soon. Either there, or SOMEwhere with a permanent slot. I got a call today from a trade magazine I applied to...we shall see.

But, hey, I am on to my next temp job on Tuesday: I'll be a Census enumerator. Maybe this is it: I'll keep taking temp jobs for 2 months at a time, and blog about them.

Anybody got suggestions on what my next temp stint should be?

Reprieve: I get another week at work

Yeah, yeah, the rest of you think that is crazy, I am sure, but I was thrilled when, about 5 minutes after I posted, the office called to say she's waiting yet another week, and so I get to work for 5 more glorious days.

FUNemployment

Ok, ok, so she did NOT come back on Monday. I worked a full week.

But this Thursday afternoon, she called again, to say that she will be back on this coming Monday, about 75% of the day, which means I am out of a job as of today.

Argh.

I really was starting to like things over there.

I left work for an interview w/the local paper: they do not have an opening, but there is some possibility that they will in September, or thereabouts, and I am a candidate in that case, but I need to come by every 6 weeks or so to remind them of my existence, and if I got the job I would no longer be allowed to do any local freelance work, or keep the political bumper sticker on my car.

Not that I care about the bumper sticker all that much.Trust me, I want a job.

The Census work will start in 11 days, which gives me time to catch up on some freelance stuff I've been kinda ignoring, so that is good timing, anyway. And I can polish up the house to a fine sheen, and all that.

Still and all, I would rather be employed than not. It was pretty sweet, for as long as it lasted, and the prospect of another temporary job is a bit disheartening. What will I have, come July? Maybe I'll be jobless again. Or maybe, by then, I'll be Fully Employed Somewhere on a Basically Permanent Basis.

I could clean stuff, but right now I think I need to work on my manicure. Just for tonight, I don't want to think that I am back to hausfrauing it and squeezing in freelance stuff in fits and starts.

Ugh.

Ah, Crap

Thursday morning I woke up and my newly painted Bordello Red nails had smudged during the night.

I was out of nylons.

I had to run back into the house to get my totebag, with all my work stuff in it.

And then my car stalled out, halfway to the school.

As I dropped the Sons off, #2 leaned in the window and said, "I hope your day improves, Mom."

And then just before lunch, I heard it.

Boss is on the phone, talking all chirpily about how Great I am, and how Artsy my photos are, and how Fast I am, and all that. And the call sounds fine, from my end. It's my ego-stroke of the day, something I hear now and then, as I know he is working hard to find me a permanent position. and then he hangs up.

"Shit. Christine, come here."

The sick woman wants to come back, half days, starting Monday. If her physical therapist signs off, that's what she'll do. She was supposed to call back on Friday to confirm, and did not, but that does not necessarily mean she won't be there on Monday when I show up.

Boss offered to take me to lunch--we have been going for a regular Thursday lunch together for the past few weeks. We got to Lone Star and he ordered us each a beer. Which we both kinda needed.

After lunch, I covered the annual Aircraft Washing at the museum next to the base. Fun, and I got some good shots, and the elderly retired guy who promotes all that stuff gave me a big hug, even though he had no idea what a crap morning I'd had.

Then I left for Northern Virginia, which is surprisingly far from Southern Maryland. I was covering a seminar for one of my freelance clients. On the way up, my car stalled out again.

On the way home, my car stalled out twice more, in the dark, in a heavy rainstorm, on the Beltway. The windshield wipers were not functioning at all, so I could not see the lane markings and could not read most street signs. So I was relying on my GPS, but it has 4-year-old maps, so it was worse than useless--it kept telling me to turn into Jersey wall, which I could not usually see until I was within a few inches of it.

I pulled off the Beltway about 75 minutes from home (and 20 minutes from the car dealership where I had already scheduled a service appointment for Friday) at the first hotel I could find. Explained to Hubby on the phone that I was not the least bit confident that my car would keep driving, and that even if I could guarantee it would not stop in the middle of traffic again, I could not see the road to navigate.

Then Son #1 called to tell me that my Dad had emailed him, Hubby, and me to say that Son #1 needs to quit his band. Great. Helicopter Grandparenting, anyone?

I spent the night at a Holiday Inn Express, and although I did not wake able to do brain surgery I did rest well.

Next morning, dropped the Powerful Mom 5 off at the dealership, hung out for a few hours, and then Boss picked me up to visit the printer he uses for his freelance work, which he is starting to teach me. I'm not sure I got all I should have out of it, but it was interesting and a useful trip.

Returned to pick up the car (bad cam sensor, among other things) and drove home. Went to sleep almost immediately. Woke up, went back to work, where the wife of the base CO flagged me down to tell me how Funky and Stylish I always look, compared to everyone else. "They're all so boring. I LOVE your suit!" So, you know, that was fun.

Came home and had to blog about it all.

Tonight, I'll be taking photos of Son #1's band. Should be interesting, and I am looking forward to it.

Fashion Victim?

I've been watching the Vera Bradley craze with something sorta like disgust. They are ugly, OK? They have been ugly ever since the first time I saw them.

I remember that first time, because I was there to interview the shop owner, and she wanted to make sure I promoted her line of Vera Bradley bags and shoes, and I did, but the whole time I thought, "You will drive people out of your store, with these ugly quilted things, but OK, what do I know?"

And they certainly are popular.

Quite a few women at work have them.

Quite a few women everywhere I go have them.

Every time I see one, I think, "My goodness, that is god-awful."

And I just got one for Easter.

So, now, I am looking at this hideous thing on my desk and wondering, can I return it? FOR CASH? Because in no way do I want anything Vera Bradley offers. It is all the same quilted ickiness. Very Grandma Goes to Florida in the 70s.

On the other hand, they ARE exceedingly popular, and my current purse is not in terrific shape. If you choose to use something fashionable simply because you have it, even though you don't like it, is that crazy? Cheap? Spineless? And if someone compliments me on it, will I be able to resist to urge to say, "I HATE THIS PURSE, IT WAS A GIFT" for more than 2 seconds? Probably not.

I think I will just have to return it to Vera Bradley, because if I use this thing I will hate it every day until it falls apart, which could be years from now.

Happy Easter!

Ahhh...dancing

Brick and I went dancing last night. Had a good time, even though we didn't stay out all that late, and saw some dear friends while we were there.

The bar was stocked with couples who REALLY knew how to dance. They had coordinated moves. Clearly they dance together, as couples, all the time. They'd sit down between songs and congratulate each other on their style.

I refused to cede the floor to those couples, though. Brick and I were there to have a good time, and we did. Broke a shoe, even, so midway through one song I danced back to my table, took off my shoes, danced back to Brick, finished the song in my nylons.

As I sat at the table, gulping water and catching my breath, I felt a tap on my shoulder. Turned around, and some guy wanted a high five.

Yeah, I think Brick and I do OK up against the flashy dancers. Man, I want to do that again soon.

Mulch: it smells good

Hubby picked up about half a truck-bed-full of free mulch this afternoon, so I spread it in part of the garden beds. We need tons more, to make the whole yard look Done, but it's a start. The Sons helped me with some of the yard stuff, so it is in much better shape than it would have been had I been out there on my own for two hours.

It's not even 7:30 and I don't really fell like doing much of anything. Maybe I'll just go out there and look at the tulip poplar again, and smell the fresh mulch.

The Tester: Christine Issue

Today's base paper has THREE articles w/my byline, AND a photo spread. I don't think the Pulitzer committee is going to call any time soon, but it is nice to see the stuff I'm working on actually go somewhere. Call me Queen of the Fishwrap if you like, I'm still having fun.

This week I've also been called a "world-class suck-up" by more than one person, but I am ok with that.

I had a meeting out at the airport this afternoon, and one of the men I was supposed to meet was delayed, so the rest of us stood out in the parking lot and soaked up the sun. Wow. Spring is here, the flowers are in bloom, the air is warm and you can forget we ever had snow.

And just so you know, it is officially Frozen Mocha Season. I am sitting here with a mugful and it is fortifying me for a few more hours of productivity (then, of course, I will collapse, sleep the sleep of the dead, and rise at 5:30 to do it all over again).

For those of you who need my services as Social Director, this Saturday I am going to Falls Church to meet some friends and see my buddy Wave perform. Wave and Beach are almost in town, and I try not to miss that if I can avoid it. Anybody wanna join us?

April is gonna be a busy one

Temp job is crankin' along just fine. I will have a 2-page spread of Adorable Easter Photos this week, along with a couple other articles.

My annual Chamber of Commerce thing starts this week. Usually that is my Big Thing, as it means 11 articles in about a month.These days doesn't sound like much, but coordinating a meeting with the Chamber president has been a bear.

I have an article to write for Maryland Life--I have done my research, just need to sit down and write it sometime before early May. No biggie.

And I just got a call from the Census Bureau, offering me a temporary position as an Enumerator, starting on April 27.

The Census job is for 8 weeks or less, and they encourage you to work evenings and weekends since that is when people are home. I only have to put in 20 hours/week there. So, yeah, that kinda books my weekends and CWS Fridays for May and June, I guess.

It is always possible that by the time the Census job opens I will be out of a job at the Navy base, but for now it just looks like I will have 2 months of lonnnnnnnng days, this spring. But, hey, good for the bank account AND the resume.

And since the Sons helped make dinner tonight, and have not really trashed the house so far this Easter break, I have some hope that things will not go to hell in a handbasket during that time.

Another job hunter is working for me

When I first started the temporary job, my boss spoke often about the woman I am covering for. She was "the best," he said, just like everyone else did.

Then I started turning in work and, not to brag, but he shut up about her.

Last week he asked if I would be willing to join him for some freelance work he does, on occasion. Hell, yes, I would.

This past Friday, he said the magic words I knew were coming. "I wish I could keep you here, instead of her. You get stuff done, and you're fun to have around."

But of course she is only gone for her medical leave, and he is only Boss until mid-May anyway. Neither one of us can do a thing to stop this train, or even slow it down. But it felt good to hear.

He keeps repeating that she probably won't return. Or if she does, it will be a lot later than she has said. I don't know why he thinks this, or what he's basing it on, but all in all what it says to me is, he is happy to have me here for as long as that works. That gives me a little breathing room--time to keep looking for a job, slowly, while bringing in a little money and improving my resume.

Every day I am there, I learn something new about how the Navy works, or about publishing, or something else like that, that I never would have learned as a freelancer. Basically, I am floating on a river of gratitude, all day.

Today, he came to work with a classified ad for a job which would suit me. He then called two different public affairs offices, to tell them that if they had a slot open in the near future they should keep me in mind.

"She's here until --- returns, but if she is offered something better, she'll take it," he said. "You should find a spot for her. She does good work, fast, and I don't have to do much to it."

Then he gave me a fruit cup, as it was snack time.

God bless him, you know? May he find a fantastic job, himself.

This bathroom needs a disco ball.

I've been watching something at work, and it is getting weirder.

The ladies' room has a long mirror on one wall, and below it a table. There are hand lotions and hair spray on there. Nice touch. But there is always also something else.

One week, a pair of baby dolls, dressed in sailor suits. Odd, but, OK, goes with the Navy theme.

For about 2 weeks or so, there have been a stack of inspirational cassette tapes. Joel Osteen. The Power of Positive Thinking. Something with a pyramid on the front of the case. That kind of thing. Odd, and who even has a cassette player anymore, but OK. Maybe all that positive thinking is good for the Navy. Right? We shall become upbeat warfighters.

This week, though: Cheezballs.

There is a giant jar of cheezballs, and another of pretzels, and a pretty decent sized container of salted peanuts, sitting on a table inside the public ladies' restroom.

Have we not heard of atomization, people?

If they had little individual packages of snack foods in there I might be tempted to take one. But the idea of reaching my hand into a giant jar of cheezballs, left in the bathroom...ugh. No.

Do people grab a fistful as they enter the restroom? You know, to kill time while they're in there? Or are they making big cones out of the paper towels and bringing them back to their desk? I just want to look at all the women's fingers, to find the one with orange dust. THAT woman has a cleanliness standard I cannot share.

I think we should hang a disco ball in there, and tell the men they can join us if they bring cold beer.

I asked my boss if the men's room has a similar selection of oddities, and he said, no. He suggests that people are leaving things in the ladies' room as a sort of de facto Freecycle. And that makes sense. And I did see those cheezballs on a shelf in someone's office, before.

I'm still not taking them home.

Educational quote of the day

From Son #3:

"I think my English teacher knows more about football than he does about English."

Bathroom, the second

Ok, so I have half a gallon of Killz and half a gallon of the same shiny white stuff I used on the hall bathroom left over. I also have a master bathroom with peeling paint on the ceiling.

You guessed it, yesterday I scraped and scrubbed and spackled and removed old caulk. This morning I am putting on the primer coat, and recaulking the shower. Should have a fully functional and actually attractive master bathroom by tomorrow, I think.

I also bought some silicone sealant stuff to use around the shower door glass. Have never done that before but hopefully it is not really different from caulking, because caulking I know I can do.

On the work front (because I know you are all curious) things have taken on a bit of a gallows humor vibe. I have a little over a month left there, at best, and my boss will most likely lose his job this spring, too.

He's the "Acting" PAO, and has been running this newspaper since 2006, but his "acting" status will lapse in May, and the Navy has to hire someone on a permanent basis.

Hiring the guy who has been doing the job for the past 3 years would make sense, right? But he has 34 "blocking veterans" ahead of him in line. Two of whom are currently living in the desert. All 34 of them would have to turn down the job, for him to be offered it.

Oh, yeah, and the job ad does not require the person who gets the job to have any experience in photography or layout, so none of those 34 blocking veterans have to be anywhere near as qualified as my boss, to take his job.

And yes, he is also 62.

We have decided that if both of us are employed in that building, come June, we are going out for a beer.

As an aside, last night as I was spackling the bathroom ceiling, Hubby came by to ask me what he should wear for his night out. He showed me several options, and I gave the thumb's up and thumb's down as I kept half an eye on my tub of joint compound.

I think I have become a man.

CWS Friday

Had off today, so I:
Finished painting the bathroom
Hung the new shower curtain rod and towel rack
Did 7 loads of laundry (folded 5)
Cleaned 3 cat boxes
Did 3 loads of dishes and wiped down the kitchen
Took out 3 bags of trash
and snuck in an hour's nap.

The house is not clean, but it doesn't look like I've run off to join the circus, either, and at this point that is good. Got the whole weekend ahead of me and who knows where things will go?

Oh, yeah, you know it. I'll be looking for work.

You know what you can't do at work?

When things get slow because you've finished everything they assigned you, and you've called about 10 people for future stuff and gotten voicemail, so you're just sitting there waiting for the phone to ring like the ugly girl on Prom night, you can't run downstairs and pop in a load of laundry.

This is something of a revelation, to me, as for the past 9 years of working from home I did that all the time----work as long as I can, hit a wall, and fill the time while I wait with other productive stuff.

Today, though, I just kinda fidgeted, and made work for myself. Which is good. Coming up with new stuff to do is good, and studying the style guides (we use 3, they conflict, and I am learning who wins) is good, and trying to understand those numbers and letters and crap tacked on to people's names is good. Because you can't really go through life calling everyone...well, not having any idea what to call anyone.

It's just weird to be desperately trying to come up with useful stuff to do, when I know that at home I could be sanding my bathroom or walking the dog or going through my email to find a Permanent Job That Pays Well. Interesting.

Oh, and today my boss called my blimp photos "artistic". Sounds like he's going to use a bunch of them for the big photo spread on Page 2. Ooooh, yay for me!

The best thing, though, was that it was finally actually kinda warm today. I think it hit 61 degrees.

Awesome sauce.

Did you go on a blimp today?

'Cause I did.
Right after Sheila found my earring.

I'm almost Jared, from the Subway commercials

...because today I realized: McDonald's is walking distance from my office. I can walk over there, have a cheeseburger & a side salad, walk back, all within half an hour. Easy peasy.

Plus, today they were playing funky, bass-heavy, instrumental jazz music in there.

Mostly, though, it's just nice to have the weather warm enough to be able to walk outside without cursing the bitter wind.

My boss keeps asking me pointed questions. Why do I take so many shots? Why am I using the Navy style guide instead of AP? Why do I insist on wearing high heels?

Baby, you can have my stilettos when you pry them off my cold, dead feet.

He's nice about it, though, and a very genial guy, and I think I am going to become a much more disciplined writer because of him. I'm glad.

Sorry about the FOD, Gentlemen

Hubby has warned me about Foreign Object Damage (FOD) on the Navy base's flight line for years. Walk near the airplanes and you are a de facto inspector, looking for small objects which might get sucked into a jet engine and cause a crash.

Today, let me just say I really, really hope I did not create FOD.

I had to interview some Search And Rescue helicopter pilots about their new helicopters. They were fun to talk to, inside the SAR shack, but then of course I needed photos of the helicopters, so we walked out into the wind and mist so they could pose.

My hair whipped around, and a piece wrapped around my earring (an adorable little opal stud I could wear even while talking on the phone) and pulled it out of my ear.

"I've lost an earring!"

And 6 men in uniform dropped to the ground, sweeping the wet concrete with their hands. They didn't find it, I didn't find it, but they assured me that the FOD rules are a lot less strict, that far from the jets.

Mostly, they were looking for my sake, so I could keep my earring. But also, as one said, "We're Search And Rescue! It's what we do!"

They assure me that if they find my earring they'll email me about it.

There's a new sheriff in town, and she says

"These days, hon, I have less time than you."

"We need to be in the car by 7:30. Not 7:34. If we get in the car at 7:34, I am late for work."

"Throwing a towel down on the spot where the cat peed doesn't clean it up. All it does is say, 'Mom, clean that up!'"

I have no idea if any of this is getting through to anyone, but at least I am saying it, as kindly and firmly as I can. To paraphrase Johnny Tremain, a woman can stand up.

Thoughts on the office

Pantyhose is not nearly as heinous as I remember, but you need to have an emergency replacement pair at your desk. Sheila, the housekeeper, suggested I just remove them for the afternoon.

When I told her I couldn't, because all I had on was pantyhose, she smiled and said, "No underwear? You're a baaaaad girl."

I like Sheila.

Every time Sheila walks by to empty a trash can or vacuum something or scrub a bathroom, I think "When I go home, I am doing all that, myself. God, it is nice to have someone else do it for me, here."

I mean, think about it: I put trash in the trash can and it disappears. I am spending my days in a bubble of effortless cleanliness, a place where I can sit and think and write. When I'm in the bathroom, I don't stop to polish the mirror or pick up something someone else dropped. I just reapply my lipstick and stride on back to my desk. It is surreal.

Heck, I think I love Sheila.

Using 2 colors of eyebrow pencil really does give a more realistic effect. Shoot me, I sound like a maniac.

This week, I am interviewing all sorts of interesting people. I am covering a wide range of events. I've written an obituary. I also will visit a blimp and the new search and rescue helicopters. And if I time it just right, they play the national anthem as I walk across the parking lot on my way in to work.

I am having a blast.

And I don't really mind that it's only temporary.

Not yet, anyway.

Sometimes, Son, you just make me wanna cry.

Sons #2, 3, and 4 and I went to lunch at Wendy's today. Son #3 got some ketchup on his chin, and he didn't seem to notice. I mentioned it.

So he dragged a french fry across his chin, and ate it.

Don't Worry, I Won't Be Here Long!

"None taken."

That is the phrase that pays, these days, for me.

A few days ago I got a call from a company that runs several newspapers. Would I be willing to work on a few stories while someone is out sick? Of course, I would.

Yesterday I reported to the office of the paper, where I discovered two things:
First, they don't want just a few stories. They want a full-time person.
Second, the woman I'm substituting for is gone because her brain cancer has returned.

Since I'm still job-hunting, a full-time slot which may last as little as three weeks or as long as two months or more is a perfect thing for me. I can add to my resume, learn a few things, and bring in some cash, all just a few minutes from home, in an interesting environment, without committing to anything permanent.

Because you know I have a few jobs for which I have applied which I would just LOVE to jump to. That one? Or that one? Or this one here? Yeah, I would be on that stuff like white on rice. So I am free to keep those options open, and that is good. It feels like a half-step to the real job I'll have, somewhere not too far down the road.

My office is about 10 minutes from the high school, and my work day starts at the same time as the oldest 3 Sons have to be there, so I can drop them off in the morning, earning them about 15 more minutes at home and a break from the rampant hooliganism of the school bus.

Of course, it is not really my office.

The cubicle is full of little decorative items, spare change, notes from articles she hasn't been able to finish, hand lotion, plaques honoring her efforts in the community, packets of oatmeal (she likes raisin & spice), and photographs of her sons.

I look past my computer monitor at those three boys and I say a quiet prayer for their mother, and for them. "Please, let her come back here. Let her heal. Let her have this job back, this life back, exactly the way she thought it would be. Those boys need their mom."

The work itself is fun. I'm already learning a lot of new stuff, and of course I am writing, which always makes me happy.

Everyone is pleasant, but about half the people I have met have wanted me, my boss, SOMEONE to reassure them that I am only temporary, that their friend will be fine soon and will be back in the office.

My cubicle shares a partial wall with the man in charge. When he gets a call about the woman whose desk I am using, I hear his side of it. Apparently when she had her brain surgery earlier this week, she had a stroke. I have never met her, and her rapid recovery puts me back outside the office, but...I can't help but wish she could catch a damn break.

My boss keeps mentioning that her health has been poor for quite some time, and of course he wants her back, and of course she needs to take care of herself, but if she decides not to return (nice sugar-coating, that) it would be good if I were available to stay on longer, or, you know, well, maybe permanently.

All I can think to say is, I'm happy to stay here until she is well, and then I will gladly give her back her office and move on to something else.

You can tell which people really love this woman, because they refuse to say she'll be gone 6 to 8 weeks. Three weeks, maybe. A month, at the most.

"No offense! No offense!" they say.

None taken. Really.

Just when you thought it was safe to get back in the water

Shamu's wilding at Sea World, sharks are breaking out of the tanks at the mall.

I think I am sticking with spongebaths for a while.

I'm not suicidal, I just want my phone

Hubby, Son #1 and I all have Verizon phones. We have 2 wall chargers and a car charger, all interchangeable.

Son #1 tends to move the chargers around when he uses them. It is annoying, but doesn't always affect me -- I plug my phone in to the car whenever I drive around, and if the phone dies between trips I find a charger and plug it in at home.

Not today.

My phone has nothing left on it, and both chargers are missing. So I am sitting in the car, with my laptop, so I can apply for jobs while my phone charges. The heated seat is pretty awesome, and I have remembered to back my car halfway out of the garage, so that I don't asphyxiate myself, but I still feel a bit ridiculous.

If you need a lighter you can find it, don't set the house on fire.

My "office" is the corner of the living room. That means I have had 9 years to learn to tune out most activities not directed at me, so I can focus on whatever I'm doing, at least for a little while. I don't always succeed, and I regularly fantasize about having a Real Office with a Door on It, but it's what I have and it usually works.

This morning I was reading my traditional online stuff--keeping up with a lot of you is part of it. And out of the corner of my eye I saw Son #3 run to the kitchen, come back with a glass of water, and toss the water out the window.

Apparently he had set a piece of paper towel on fire, in the dining room not 10 feet from me. He threw the paper towel out into the snow, but it missed the snow (hard to believe this is possible) and landed on a pile of dry leaves. He saw the fire growing and put it out with the glass of water.

I am a bit mortified that all this could happen and I would notice only the splash at the end. He, however, is glad that rather than having a conniption like a decent mother, I just asked him to refrain from setting our house on fire, in future, as we still need it.

Wakey Wakey, Eggs & Bakey!

Saw this in the grocery store today. Not some fancy store, either. Clearly, if there are people out there convinced that their dog needs gourmet food intended only for morning consumption, our economy is in much better shape than I realized.

It's hard to be a guy

February 13th is The Girl's birthday.

She's been dating Son #1 for a couple of weeks.

Pressure's on.

Son #1 woke me up, on the 13th, desperate for advice. As he was explaining that he needed to come up with a birthday gift AND a valentine's gift for the most amazing girl in the world, and it had to show that he cared about her and not look like some generic bullshit last minute gift (and it wasn't, he had been stewing and polling friends and generally freaking out), The Girl's friend texted him a reminder that Feb 14th was also their TWO WEEK ANNIVERSARY.

The pressure was ON, OK? "I'm not gonna give her some dumb teddy bear holding a heart, OK? I want her to know I really LIKE her."

We went to the bank and then shopping, where he bought her a big heart of chocolates for V-day (easy) and 3 CDs for her birthday--all carefully chosen to match up with her likes, her whims, the things she's said over the past couple of weeks. I showed him the magic of the Gift Bag And Tissue, so he didn't have to kill himself wrapping stuff. (Teach a boy to use a gift bag, and he'll give pretty presents the rest of his life).

He wanted to take her out after her birthday party, but her father doesn't trust guys, so instead he spent both days with her family, including her grandmother, who has no teeth but talks anyway, so he had no idea what she was saying most of the time.

He totally went the extra mile, as far as I could tell.

He came home with a teddy bear. I am assuming that was her gift to him. It is sitting on the pile of musical gear in the living room.

Yeah, guys, we suck. Sorry.

Burlap Power

Son #4 got braces today. He quickly discovered that he can't pronounce most words. He can say his first name. And Burlap. And Power. And that is it, so far.


Burlap Power, baby, it's the wave of the future.

The indignity of a wrist brace

My wrists have hurt ever since I helped the Sons shovel ice & snow off the driveway the other day. Finally decided to try bracing them, to see if it made a difference. Since I have 4 sons, I also have medical equipment for a variety of uses. I found a brace that fits my right wrist, and have been wearing it. It does help, but only because I'm willing to ignore the comments from the peanut gallery.

Son #1: "Your arm still hurts? Really? Wow."

Son #3: "You're not old. You're just not young. VERY not young."

The snow is getting to all of us, I think.

You Disgust Meme!

Thanks, Rol. This gives me something to think about beyond the unbearable whiteness of the local landscape.

Foods which disgust me: Oysters. Most other things I can choke down.

TV shows I loathe: When you turn on the TV and there's a show on? Most of the time, I am going to hate that. Just, you know, assume.

Movie I loathe: Modern chick flicks. They bring out my inner snarkiness to a socially unacceptable degree.

Music genres I loathe: Anything that is mostly yelling and screaming.

Magazine which annoys me: Eh, the ones I read don't annoy me. But only Popular Mechanics makes me head directly to the couch to read it.

Makes me cranky at a restaurant: People who can't just order, eat, converse and pay. God, it's a meal you did not have to shop for, cook, or clean up after. Cut them a little slack for not making you feel like you're in Paradise for the entire experience.

Makes me cranky in public: Boorishness. Yes, Rol, you got that one.

Makes me cranky in general: Anything that wastes my time.

Pisses me off at home: Cleaning messes I did not create.

Pisses me off at work: Yeah, that would be the not having a job thing. I'm not pissed off so much as teetering on the edge of panicky despair.

Pisses me off in general: "Have you found a job yet?"

Celebrity I hate: Can I just not pay attention to them? I'm so out of touch w/celebrity culture I don't have a horse in that race. All the "celebrities" I have an opinion on are political figures.

Music artist I hate: Bono. Love "One", hate his self-righteous insistence that the middle class should pay for the charitable causes he values from the heights of wealth. Yeah, I've seen his hotel suite. The guy should shut up and be thankful.

I couldn't care less about: Most people's opinions on what the Sons should do with their lives. Their lives, their choices.

Movie star you despise: Steven Seagal. Cannot watch that man.

Politician you hate: All of the entrenched, government-expanding, tax-loving, self-serving, condescending left. See Bono.

Beverage you hate: Tequila. Sweet tea.

It's (un)official

The snow stopped yesterday evening, and this morning I measured 17 inches on the deck. So, yeah, we got a lot of snow. We never lost power, though, and the 2 trees that went down under the weight of the snow didn't take anything with them. They kind of slumped along the side of the house, as if someone was pushing down on their shoulders.

Today is also the Superbowl, and we have friends coming over. Chili is in the crock pot, and they are bringing something, and I am sure we will all be glad just to see new faces. But of course that means we need to shovel the driveway, or at least part of it, so they can reach our house without snowshoes.

Come to think of it, they probably have snowshoes.

God Bless Sam Walton

We are expecting 16-24 inches of snow tonight, followed by heavy ice and high winds, and more snow on Tuesday. In other words, we are expecting to be snowed in for the next week. The storm has not even started, and school is canceled for the day. People are calling it "snowpocalypse".

Just, you know, shoot me now.

I just went to Wal-Mart (which was amazingly well-stocked, and packed at 6:30 am as if it were mid-day).

I bought snack foods, for people who are going to be cranky.
I bought soft foods, for Son #2 who still can't quite chew.
I bought healthy foods, so we don't all turn into Violet Beauregard.
I bought bottled water, should we lose use of the well.
I bought things that do not require cooking, should we lose electricity.

Basically, I bought everything. Want proof? Here ya go.

"Ah fee supraseelee nah wha ou." *

Those were Son #2's first words upon leaving the oral surgeon's today. He had his wisdom teeth removed. He's now resting relatively comfortably, and eating mushy food. But not watching TV. Because,

"Ah dethpy telebisa." And I could not agree with him more.

*"I feel surprisingly not whacked out." He was slightly disappointed, as a girl in the waiting room told him she'd hallucinated rabbits inside her car on the ride home.

I love Turbo Tax

Took a day away from job hunty stuff, and prepared our tax return. It was a lot quicker this year, almost creepily so, so we are going to let it marinate a day before we e-file. But, yay, I think I am done with the taxes for the year.

Onward & upward, eh?

Job Hunt Emails

I hadn't been saving every last email about job stuff. Some of them, when it became clear I was out of the running, I just deleted from my machine. But here are the emails I have saved, so far, and printed out. The 2-liter bottle of Diet Coke is there for scale as well as caffeine. I feel kinda like Stephen King, when as a young writer he would slap every rejection notice on a nail sticking out of the wall above his desk. Except I am not sure they make nails this thick. I'll go with "stack", instead.

All hail the mighty stack.

6 o'clock and allllll's wellllllllll!

All told, I guess we got about 12 inches of snow. The plow has not yet been through, and we are assuming that the Sons will not have school in the morning.

As you may have noticed from previous snowstorms, I tend to get antsy when I know I can't leave the house. "Snowed In" is about the most terrifying phrase in the language, to me. Combine it with feeling supremely under-the-weather, and I am not at all ready for prime time. I'm glad to just be keeping up with the messes in the house. My big goal for the evening is to dust the den, and take a shower, so I am no longer in the bathrobe I've been wearing for the past 2 days.

THERE IS FROSTING ON THE BATHROBE. THAT IS WHERE I AM, RIGHT NOW. I look homeless.

However.

Today, I moaned on Facebook about being out of printer paper and diet Coke. And a dear friend (dearer by the second) offered to bring me some, if my street was clear enough for a delivery.

I called her, to tell her she didn't need to do that (but of course if she was out, I would gladly hand her some cash for it) and it turned out she was snurfling much worse than I. She is dog-sick. And yet she wanted to give me something simple, just to make me feel good.

Damn, I feel loved right now. Thanks, Brick.

I hate snow Sofa King much

It has been falling since last night, and at this point we have maybe 7 inches or so, and it is still falling as hard as ever. We are snowed in, no question. The Sons are hopeful that there will be no school, come Monday. Me, I am just hoping that at some point Spring will come, and with it the Thaw, and we can put this bull behind us.

If you are reading this from some northern clime, and laughing at my piteous mewling about a lousy 7 inches of fluffy snow, I hear ya. I know. I am pathetic, and you are my hero. What can I say? I was born in DC. We do not do blizzards well at all. The only "snow" I want is a "snow cone", in the dead of summer.

Sick and tired of being sick and tired

I have The Cough. It is lasting forever, just like it does with everyone else, so I have no room to complain. But it is disconcerting that my children and all my friends, upon seeing me, first say, "You look EXHAUSTED." I mean, I am, but that doesn't mean I want to LOOK it.

Yesterday was Hubby's birthday. We celebrated with cake, crab legs, and the memory of throwing huge chunks of money at the plumber so we could have 2 functional bathrooms. Less than festive, but he is loved, even in a low-key manner, and even though he has a wife whose idea of a great afternoon is running all the errands and catching a quick catnap in the Giant parking lot so she can drive home without causing a major traffic accident. Yes, I napped 10 minutes from home. I was between stops, and could barely lift my head. "Ah, now I can go grocery shopping!" --how the mighty have fallen.

On a slightly odd note: Jake's skin rash remains, and the vet is sure it is an allergic reaction of some sort, and although it is highly possible he is allergic to the dog, he may also need high-protein, low-allergen food. So I bought some. The label reads, "With Chicken/Avec Poulet"...and I just wonder, do ALL cats speak French? Is that for their benefit? Would not surprise me all that much.

The Smart Alternative!

Energy Club: The Smart Alternative, w/ Zero Trans Fats!
Yeah, that would be the giant bag of gumballs, or the candy orange slices, or the cream-centered caramels. Why anyone would choose oatmeal for breakfast instead of that, I have no idea. Lack of commitment to a healthy lifestyle, I guess.

Unexpected Proof that I Am Old

"What time are you picking me up for the orthodontist?"

"A quarter to 9. Your appointment's at 9."

"Does anyone SAY that? 'A quarter to'? What is that, like 8:45? Why don't you just say '8:45'?"

Fiddlin' Writer confirms that her sons also ride her about "a quarter to" and "a quarter after". Apparently you have to have a mental visual of an analog clock to have that make sense.

Sonny, bring me my pills. And hush, I don't want to miss my stories.

Never thought I'd say this, but

Yes We Can!

Winter is for the birds

And yet, here it is, and we deal with it. How do we deal with it? We crank the tuneage. Like so:

We're such good parents

...because we've never even considered giving the Sons jailhouse tattoos. Thank you, PattyJo Marsh, for setting the bar delightfully low.

Do I smell "blog"?

Son #3, our chattiest Son, has started to attend an Assemblies of God church. If the weather is horrid and he will accept it, I give him a ride.

No one in our family is all that familiar w/AoG, so it is a bit of a mystery. But Son #3 is slowly explaining it all.

"Dad thinks they speak in tongues, but no one has done that. And what is speaking in tongues, anyway? Do they just say stuff? I say stuff all the time. What's so special about that?"

He waited a few seconds, let that soak in. Because, yeah, he talks pretty much. And then he leaned forward and asked.

"Do I smell Blog?"

Yeah, that one just might stick

Son #1 has a nickname. The other three don't, really. Today, though, I think that may have changed.

Son #4, at 13, still loves long soaks in the tub. Really long. He often will bring a big bowl of ravioli in there with him, and basically make an evening of it. TMI, I know, but it's part of the story, so bear with me.

We're on Christmas break, which in our house means we are living in a chaotic, timeless sea. Bedtime is a distant memory. They wake when they wake, sleep when they sleep. And last night, that meant that Son #4 was, presumably, unable to sleep in the middle of the night, and decided to take a bath.

5:30 this morning, Son #1 needs the bathroom but can't get in there, because Son #4 is asleep, in the tub. He bangs on the door, no luck. Son #4 is actually snoring.

He kept knocking and shouting, to no avail. And the majority of the family is taking this in stride. Son #4 has a reputation. We've seen it.

But Hubby is usually not home for this, so to him it is new, and terrifying. He started thinking Son #4 was drowning, in the tub.

Though a sleeping bather no longer will rouse me at 5:30 am, a panicking husband generally will, so I threw on my bathrobe and knocked on the door. That special Mom knock which is, apparently, a lot more rousing than one from your oldest brother. Son #4 stirred, spoke, reassured his father that he was still breathing. And that's when it happened: Son #1 called through the door,

"RISE AND SHINE, AQUAMAN!"

He's been Aquaman all day. It's taking all my strength not to join in, myself. Yeah, I think we have a winner.

Odd thoughts

I went looking for razor blades today, for one of those scraper-dealies. You know, snap an old-fashioned razor blade into the plastic handle. Useful.

The KMart only had safety blades, though: the kind that come in a plastic frame. I looked in the shaving department, I looked in housewares, I looked in auto gear, all over.

I came reeeeally close to just flagging down some staff member and asking for "Razor blades. You know, the kind you slit your wrists with."

I decided that was only hilarious if I asked the right person. Ask the wrong person, and I'd be stuck sitting in KMart until the ambulance arrived to have me committed.

I left for the Food Lion, instead, where I found my razor blades and this fabulous cake wreck: Soul-Searching Santa. I guess he saw some stuff that he's not going to forget right away.

Janet Napolitano, Woman of Faith

Now I get it. Her "system" for preventing terror attacks is to assume that people who say they are part of al Qaeda are not, and that people whose own parents report them to MI6 are not worth keeping on a no-fly list, and then, basically, to hope for the best. Ms. Napolitano got her Christmas Miracle, I guess, and we can all thank God for that.

But the next Nigerian to email me is gonna get a piece of my mind.

UPDATE: Apparently Napolitano has decided that maybe it didn't work all that well after all.

What a Christmas!

We have seen all the relatives, opened the presents, eaten ourselves into a satiny stupor and generally enjoyed the living crud out of Christmas.

I think the green sportscoat won the Horrific Gift of 2009 award. Last night, one of the Sons cocked his head and said, "Remember that weird little guy who always showed up to watch tae kwon do class, even though he had no kids in tae kwon do? The one we thought was maybe there just because he liked to watch young boys exercising? That looks just like the kind of thing he would wear." And he was right. Definitely has that "could be a pedophile" vibe to it.

NO idea what we're going to do with it. Can't imagine anyone would want it, except maybe for that guy who looks like a pedophile, but I think it is too large for him anyway.

(To be fair, guy was NOT a pedophile. Just a hard-core tkd fan, for reasons of his own. And a sweet person, if you took the time to talk to him.)

I have quite the stack of stuff I need to return or exchange, but that should be no big deal, especially since I am putting that whole jaunt off for a few days in favor of housecleaning (I basically have a new carpet made of candy wrappers, scotch tape and popcorn) and job applications.

Every few months I see a job which really stands out. Sure, I'm applying for a lot of other things which "may pan out, might be interesting, could be a good career move," but then there are the ones that just seem to sparkle. Found one of those today, in my inbox, and am feeling pretty good just about having applied for it. We'll see.

In the meantime, I need to go load more music onto my shiny new iPod Nano. I may be the last person on the planet to own one, and I do not care. It is hot.

May the Worst Present WIN!

First, let me just announce to those of you who do not know me personally that I am not really all that materialistic. If Christmas included no presents it would still be Christmasy enough, to me. And I am quick to remind the Sons to thank the person for the thought, no matter what the gift is. Being rememebered by your extended family is sweet, even if that means they sometimes give you gifts you can't really see yourself using.

But. It is only Christmas Eve, and competition for Worst Christmas Present of the Year is already particularly fierce.

Top contenders so far:
Kelly green microfibre sports coat, given to one of the Sons.

Gift with the giver's company logo on them (we always get a few, they never win, but they have to make the finals, don't you think?)

An Executive Desk Puzzle-type thing, given to another one of the Sons. Uhh...they're teenagers. Are you trying to prepare them for the endless disappointment which is Father's Day?

Nothing else really stands out, at this point, but voting is welcome. Just keep in mind, past winners included:

Stuffed Teletubbies for each Son (they were 12, 10, 9 and 8 at the time)
Etiquette for Dummies (Yeah, insult my boy TWICE, why don'tcha!")

And the all-time most spectacular win ever. God, it is something. I wish I could post a photo of it, but photos do not do it justice (and the giver might see it online)...a lucite cube containing a holographic image of my mother-in-law. Given to Hubby and each of his brothers, by her, a few years ago. Just breathtaking. I keep it behind my desk.

Let it melt, let it melt, let it melt...

We got about 18 inches of snow, I think, over the course of about 30 hours. It is very pretty, as I have decided I have no need to leave the house.

And a good thing, too, as it's not like I can get my car out of the driveway.

I've been napping, wrapping presents, futzing online, reading Orient Express, and doing the houseworky stuff that is always there anyway. Yes, I am bored silly. I know I should either polish every damn surface of the house to a fine gleam, or dig into one of my larger writing projects, but mostly I'm just wandering the house doing small things, here and there.

My avocado plant has gotten spindly, so in a desperate bid for bushy growth I pruned it. I then put the pruned-off bit in rooting hormone and shoved it back in the pot. At this point, I have a fairly dense avocado community in my kitchen, but it is quite possible they are all about to die. This is the kind of situation that earns gods a reputation for caprice.

Interview view

Had a job interview today. I think I came across well, but who can tell from this side? I am, at this point, one of 3 candidates. Callbacks are after the first of the year.

Getting ready this morning, I caught sight of myself in the mirror: charcoal grey pinstripe pantsuit, understated jewelry, and the stack of writing samples they requested, and I thought, "Holy COW. I remember that woman."

It was interesting.

Also today: an old friend from childhood, whom I had not spoken to since I treated her rather shabbily in college, friended me on Facebook.

Thank God for forgiveness, second chances, and the passage of time.

And Macy's.

The "So This Is It, We're Going to Die" Calendar

We live within 10 miles of a nuclear power plant. That is not really important, most of the time, excepting the following occasions:

Noon, the first Monday of the month: the holycrap alarm sounds. Don't worry, they're just messin' with ya.

Since 9/11, about every 4 years (I think) we get iodine pills to protect our thyroid, should the holycrap alarm sound when it is NOT the first Monday of the month, at noon.

And just before Christmas, we get the Public Emergency Response Information Calendar. It's full of helpful hints for what to do in the case of a nuclear power plant-related emergency.

I just call it, "So this is it, we're going to die."

Because not only do we live within 10 miles of a nuclear power plant, we also live on a peninsula with one main road in and out. Should things go to crap, our Calendar suggests we get on the road and head south. But you know what? Everyone else got the Calendar, too. They'll ALL be going south. On the same road. At the same time. With, presumably, iodide pills in their system.

Mom says we should head north, instead, towards her. Every once in a while I explain to her that that would require we drive TOWARDS and PAST the nuclear power plant. And ain't no way I am doing that. Can't blame Mom for thinking even a major nuclear event is reason for us to bring the Grandkids up, I guess.

Eh, in the words of my grandfather, when you're number's up, you're number's up.

On the up side, now I don't need to buy a 2010 calendar.

I'm pretty sure they're the same guy...

Charles Krauthammer. He is great. Reasoned, reasonable, witty, way smarter than I. But every time I see him, I am reminded of a beloved icon of my childhood.

Yeah, you know it. Count Chocula.

A Meme Stolen From Rol

Thanks, Rol, for giving me something interesting to do before soaking up the floodwaters I just discovered have returned to my basement.

List 10 musical artists (or bands) you like, in no specific order (do this before reading the questions below). Really, don’t read the questions below until you pick your ten artists!!!

1 SRV
2 Clapton
3 John Prine
4 Pink Floyd
5 Jethro Tull
6 Amy Winehouse
7 Aretha
8 Allman Brothers
9 Sinatra
10 Little Feat

What was the first song you ever heard by 6?
Rehab. Lynette, who does my hair, sang it to me. I've been hooked ever since (probably not the best word to use around Amy but oh, well)...

What is your favorite song of 8?
Sweet Melissa. But really I would probably just keep their Greatest Hits CD running on a continuous loop. Can I call that entire album one song?

What kind of impact has 1 left on your life?
No impact. He's a musician. But I have enjoyed his music for decades and that is good enough for me.

What is your favorite lyric of 5?
And as you cross the circle line, the ice-wall creaks behind ---
you're a rabbit on the run.
And the silver splinters fly in the corner of your eye ---
shining in the setting sun.
Well, do you ever get the feeling that the story's
too damn real and in the present tense?
Or that everybody's on the stage, and it seems like
you're the only person sitting in the audience?

How many times have you seen 4 live?
Once. With Wayne, I think. Hi, Wayne!

What is your favorite song by 7?
RESPECT

Is there any song by 3 that makes you sad?
Most of them.

What is your favorite song by 9?
The Best Is Yet To Come (I picked that one but really I love a lot of his swingin' stuff)

When did you first get into 2?
I would guess my dad had it on the radio. No idea.

How did you get into 3?
I was dating a guy--really we were just friends and had very little in common but we sorta dated for a while, until he moved away. And one night as he drove me home he sang Bruised Orange (Chain of Sorrow) and it was the most beautiful song I'd ever heard. I have loved John Prine ever since. Thanks, Bud!

What is your favorite song by 4?
Time

How many times have you seen 9 live?
None, but my mother-in-law has seen him many times. Does that count?

What is a good memory concerning 2?
Saw him in concert about 15 years ago, with Hubby and Dan and Dan's girlfriend at the time. Great show, and good friends, at the old Capitol Center.

Is there a song by 8 that makes you sad?
No, Allman Brothers always make me happy.

What is your favorite song by 1?
I refuse to choose. It is all awesome. Tell me I'm wrong.

How did you become a fan of 10?
I was dating a very religious man, with an extremely rigid roommate. The roommate (who had no car of his own)insisted that my boyfriend leave all his satan-worshipping rock-n-roll at home, and only keep sermon tapes and Christian music in the truck. The boyfriend smuggled in Waiting for Columbus as his only secular music. So every time we went somewhere, we listened to Waiting for Columbus.

Next year, in Jerusalem?

The other day I bought a container of hummus.

I LOVE HUMMUS.

No one in the family will try it and that is FINE even though it is healthy and delicious because that means that no matter what, the entire tub is MINE.

But I had no crackers. I had no celery or string beans or snap peas. I had no pita. I have tried hummus before with tortilla chips, and that does not work. And eating it with a spoon just makes me feel like a total, decadent pig. Then I found: pork rinds.

You know what? Hummus is DELICIOUS on a pork rind.

Sadly, I think 90% of the hummus-buying public is never going to know this, from personal experience. So, Muslim and Jewish hummus fans, trust me. It's good.

It's the little things

Son #4:
"Going to school makes you appreciate the little things, you know? Like, now, I love coming home and eating dinner. Because no one here eats with his mouth open."

I'm...Flattered?

Yesterday I had a job interview. Since part of raising children is talking to them about what the adult world is like, I went over it with Sons #1, 2 and 3, in the car. I explained that I do not yet have an offer, but that I have been told I am in the "top 2"--at this point it is down to me, and a young guy just out of school.

All 3 Sons responded, "CAGE MATCH! To the DEATH! YOU CAN TAKE HIM!"

I am so damn proud.

Why is Santa black?

About a decade ago, Hubby went to the hardware store looking for Christmas stuff. He purchased, among other things, a molded plastic Santa for outside the house.

He called in the car. "There were just a few Caucasian Santas, and a whole bunch of black Santas. I felt bad that no one was buying the black Santas, so that's what I bought." Here he is, with Jake* for scale.


Santa's been a regular part of our holiday decor ever since. Yesterday, I pulled our Christmas boxes out of the attic. Son #1 walked in, saw Santa, and asked, "Why's Santa black? Why am I just noticing this NOW?"

I gave him the whole story.

A few minutes later, son #2 walked in, saw Santa, asked, "Why is Santa black?"

Gave him the story.

Half an hour later, Son #3 walked in, saw Santa, asked, "Why is Santa black?"

Story.

The next morning, Son #4 woke up, walked into the dining room, noticed Santa, and asked, "Why is Santa black?"

Because you go to public school, Son. He was just Santa, until the public schools taught you to be racist.

*I realize Jake should not be walking on the dining room table. He is 14 and hasn't been feeling well. I'm cutting him some slack.

Chad Spicknall Art Sale

Less than a month before Christmas, and everybody's having their post-Thanksgiving sales.

Even interesting people who create art.

I have several of Chad's paintings. Because, holy cow, I asked for them and he gave them to me. He is that kind of cool.

He is also a human being with bills and expenses and a studio to run, so believe it or not he does not ONLY give his stuff away. He sells it. People buy it. YOU could buy it. And for today and tomorrow he is offering a discount.

Ya oughtta go look. Because, honest, most of the stuff under the Christmas tree is going to be forgotten by Valentine's Day. But I still see something new, every time I look at Chad's seascapes hanging over the bedroom TV :) Isn't that what you want to give, something that seems new and interesting every time they see it?

That, and Post-It notes. Those things are great.

A Thanksgiving not of sight and sound, but of the mind?

Weird.

Yesterday, a little before 9, I put the largest turkey I have ever prepared into my oven. I followed the Liturgy of the Joy of Cooking, which said in that case I should turn the oven down lower than usual. I calculated how long it should take to roast. I inserted my meat thermometer. I figured it would be ready in about 6 hours or so, giving it time to "rest" out of oven with just enough time to carve it before the guests arrived.

An hour later, the meat thermometer said the bird was done.

This makes no sense. A 23-lb turkey does not cook in an hour. Not at 325 degrees (Shut up, Rol & Penelope, I'm talking Fahrenheit, and you know it), it doesn't. I opened the oven and touched the foil I had tented over the breast--cold. So I moved the thermometer and closed the oven.

In another half hour or so, the turkey registered "done", again. Still not possible. After some fiddling I decided to ignore the thermometer and just go by the time-in-oven, which is the way I used to do it anyway.

Then I could not find my good china, except for the turkey-serving platter and 2 small pieces.

I have service for a dozen people, ok? I have had it since I was 13. I use it twice a year, and I do not move it from its storage area at any other time. But it was gone. Hubby, Son #4 and I looked all over. Poof. We went with the Christmas plates, instead.

At 2, I pulled my turkey out of the oven. It looked good, although it was sitting in a massive pool of its own juices. Nothing like I have seen before. And when I lifted it out of the pan, it broke in two. Fortunately, it was only kinda dry. But odd, ok?

I put in the usual little bit of cinnamon, the same way I have made my apple pie since high school, and the entire pie came out a deep, mahogany brown. No one could choke it down. Normally my apple pie rocks.

On the other hand, my mother and uncle were here for hours, discussing politics, religion, child rearing, health issues, marriage and divorce, interracial relations, my sons' career and college plans, and everything under the sun, and no one yelled at anyone. No one dropped the F-bomb. No one burst into tears and left, or insisted anyone else leave. We had a lovely evening.

Clearly, we have a poultrygeist.

My own mother warned me not to cook so much

But did I listen? No.
Tomorrow, we shall be having:
Turkey with tons of sage (duh)
turnips from beyond the grave
Richard's carrots
sweet potatoes with the marshmallows
mashed potatoes (Mashed by Hubby)
broccoli in some sort of not-overcooked form
the green bean casserole everyone in America is having
a green salad
mac & cheese (thanks mom!)
asparagus (thanks again!)
stuffing (mom! I thought you said "not too much food!")
acorn squash
olives
pickles
artichoke hearts
cheese & crackers & hummus
roasted chestnuts
two kinds of cranberry sauce
stir-fried mustard greens
baked brie
dates
cupcakes (thanks mom!)
chocolate chiffon pie
apple pie

And I actually am sitting here thinking maybe something is missing. That is crazy. Because, you know, it is only going to be 11 people.

Something between a brain game, and dating

The Job Hunt continues. As I approach Month 8, I am starting to feel differently about the whole process: Much to my surprise, I'm starting to enjoy it.

Somehow, carving out the latest, greatest cover letter, learning about the different companies out there, and imagining myself in each of them (wearing this awesome skirt from J.Crew and the equally fabulous blouse from Lord & Taylor, of course) has gotten really interesting. And, when I can keep my mind off the fact that we have real, non-imaginary bills to pay, fun.

Yesterday, I heard from a government agency that I have met their minimum requirements and they will get back to me "in the near future". I asked a bureaucrat friend what "near future" is, in FedLand, and she said about 3 months. So, hmmmm....love the sound of that particular agency, though. Oh, yeah. Love just about everything about that particular agency.

Also yesterday, my 3rd and 4th recommendation letters arrived in the mail for That Mysterious Entrepreneurial Guy on Craigslist. So, I have to finalize my package preparations and send those off.

As an aside, I highly recommend asking for recommendation letters. I feel all sniffly and loved. I think I will xerox a couple of these, to keep for when I am feeling crap. Because, darn.

And today I am taking a-friend-of-a-friend out to lunch, so I can pick her brain. I heard a rumor that I may be called, in the next week or two, for an interview with a highly respected company with a local branch. The idea of a job 10 minutes from the house does have its charms, and the company sounds like a good one. So I am glad that I can shovel Mexican food at a fun woman who works there, and find out some details before the call comes, if it is actually coming.

It's all smoke & fairy dust at this point, but I do kinda feel like something good will come together, and soon. It's exciting.

Zombie Sign Language

Because even I take a break from job applications...

I don't know if I can even blog it

Race-tinged violence at the Sons' school yesterday. Horrible. I am considering blogging about it but, ugh. Maybe when I am not so tired.

Hey, baby...whoa.

Last night when I got ready for bed, Son #1 was asleep in my bed, with Hubby. I guess they'd been watching a show together. Son #1 is a very sound sleeper, so I thought, "If I wake him up, by the time he's out of my bed I'll be wide awake again."

So, I just left them both to their snoring, and hit the couch.

I woke up this morning when Hubby laughed.

Apparently he wrapped himself around his wife and then they both realized Things Were Not Right.

I have been chuckling all morning, but I think Hubby and Son #1 need to bleach their brains.

Too funny.

Write me a Recommendation Letter?

Ok, the job hunt gets quirkier. I saw an ad on Craigslist which has me intrigued. Long and the short of it: they want recommendation letters from people OTHER than current and former employers. And they want creativity.

I figure, calling out to all my bloggy people and then sending a stack of letters from y'all in addition to my more traditional stuff might count toward that.

So, hey, if you want to write me a letter of recommendation, comment and I'll send you my address :)

No Pressure, as they say. Just, you know, if ya wanna.

Thank you, veterans and all who currently serve

I wasn't able to fly our flag today, as it's been raining pretty steadily. I like this web site, though, and thought some of you might want to poke around a bit. We can't all serve, but we can support.

A day for mourning, but also for justice

The Ft Hood memorial is today,


and the chief DC Sniper will be executed tonight.

Yes, there is a connection. God help us all.

It's crap like this that makes me glad I named my blog as I did

The job interview yesterday? A Total Waste of Time. Oy. Good God. Hard even to describe. The interviewer and I basically agree on one thing, and one thing only: Career Builder can suck cheese, in some cases.

On the bright side, today is a new day and I can figure out my next plan of attack, career-wise, while taking our friend's advice and being thankful that for now, at least, I can devote the lion's share of my time to caring for my family and the house.

Also, I spent a few minutes fantasyshopping at The Galleria--and saw this skirt, at J.Crew, that will.be.mine. Oh yes, it will be mine. You know, eventually, when I'm gainfully employed.

Also good: Sons #1 and 2 tore down the old, busted shed in our back yard. Chez Waste of Time is starting to shape up. And at some point the trees will run out of leaves and we can stop collecting them. I may spend some time on that project today. No guarantees.

It's gonna be a bumpy ride

I have a job interview, today. I am not 100% sure I want this particular job, but I am curious enough to make the drive and learn about it, you know?

Since I got the call to come interview (I won't call it Being Interviewed, as I have plenty of information to gather, myself) I have been thinking more than ever about how things are going to change--how they will have to change--once I am employed, and most likely commuting a far piece every day.

Yesterday, a friend stopped by. He saw me folding laundry and commented, "Be thankful. I have to go home and do that, too! I am so busy, now that I have a job again."

He'd been unemployed for several months. It's great to see him getting back on his feet.

"You're right," I said. "It's good I can do these things for the family, now, because when I get a job they'll have to fold their own laundry."

And that is the truth. If I am gone longer than the rest of the family, it is only logical that they will see that the hours I used to spend cooking and cleaning for them just are gone. They'll have to cut into their leisure time, a little, to care for themselves.

It's not like they don't know how. All of the Sons can do laundry, follow a recipe, run the vacuum, take out the trash, walk the dog, load the dishwasher: stuff like that. It's a natural progression, and will serve them all well when they move out on their own, which isn't all that far from now, either.

Hubby whipped his head around to stare at me, open-mouthed. "What? We'll have to WHAT, now?"

Hooo, boy.

Also, Son #4 is home sick, today. I kinda feel like my job interviews are little miniature chances to see what the New Boondocks are going to be.

The mysteries of being part of a largish family

Last night, son #4 was putting the OJ back in the fridge and talking to his brother. "I'm putting this away because I like OJ and I don't want it to go bad...does OJ go bad?"

Yep, put 6 people in a house and you will never have the opportunity to know if orange juice can go bad. It just goes away.

Actually, I feel pretty good about not doing that.

Today Career Builder sent me a list of job matches for which they thought I was qualified to apply. I get these lists from a wide range of job sites every day. Sometimes the matches they give me send me straight to the pits, thinking, "I only WISH I were qualified to do that job! But nooooo, I have a B.A. in English!"

Today, one of my matches was "gastroenterologist". And I thought, "Well, you know, I am not at all qualified for that one. But I think that is A-OK by me."

So, hey, all you gastro guys out there, enjoy your job. I am not about to compete with you for it.

Stuff you learn in public school, these days

Son #1's history teacher: North Korea is not a nuclear power and we have no reason to be concerned about their nuclear weapons program.

Son #2's history teacher: Ronald Reagan was beloved by the American people because he was so liberal.

Son #3's class: Boys are not allowed to express pro-life opinions, because they will never give birth.

Son #4's class: getting pregnant in 7th grade is "awesome," because it means you have already had sex. And using words like "essentially" means your vocabulary is unnecessarily large.

Also: when you tell your parents this stuff? They basically have a stroke.

I should be in North Carolina

Yesterday Son #1 was invited to visit a university, go to a football game there, check out the campus. I drove him: up on the far side of Baltimore.

I got halfway home, when he called to say he'd left his wallet in my car. Because I am a mom (we spell that S.A.P.) I turned around and drove back. Then I drove home.

I drove 305 miles, yesterday. I should be someplace balmy.

But, hey, I get to go pick him up, today.

If I were smart, I would be exercising, this morning, to make up for all the time in the car. As it is, I am eating leftover Halloween candy.

A Personal Day, and some recommendations for your leisure time

I was discussing, yesterday, with 2 friends who are also looking for work, how the search can become all-consuming.

You find yourself thinking, "I can't take a shower, I need to apply for this job!"

"I don't have time to go to the gym, I need to revamp my resume!"

It is crazy-making, but feels totally logical from the inside, even though in your mind you know the problem is that you have no job.

No job, right? That should mean you have MORE time, not less. But as it is, ya don't.

So, today, I took a Personal Day.

I did not clean up anyone else's messes (although I did put my OWN stuff away). I applied for a few jobs, and then I did the only thing that will keep me from completely losing myself in job hunting and scut: I left the house.

Thomas Sowell's Basic Economics and I spent a big chunk of the day in front of a fireplace at a local restaurant. It's a great book, by the way, if you haven't read it yet.

I came home, did a little more job hunty stuff, and then took a walk around the neighborhood. Here are a few shots of the current state of Fall Color in the Happy Boondocks.

In other news: Hubby is at a band audition, and Son #1 is at band practice: he is now the single white member of a 16-member Christian Go-Go band. The music itself is not exactly his thing, but he's happy to be playing, and to be wanted. He just finished reading the graphic novel version of I Am Legend. He loved it and recommended it to me.

Son #2 has to have his wisdom teeth removed. He is reading Desperation, and so fits "I am going to kill you" into most everyday conversations. Between that and his eternal trench coat, the boy is bucking to get expelled. But he's a sweetheart.

Son #3 is still fascinated by mythology. "You know, Mom, you might have liked Odysseus. He was kind of an engineer. Or, at least, he knew how to build ships." This is the kind of thing he says, while eating dinner. He just finished Of Mice & Men, and I think he loved it almost as much as I do.

And Son #4 came home happy, for once: his Suspense Story was applauded by his entire English class. Hubby and I enjoyed it, too. He recommended The Skin I'm In, by Sharon Flake, and I agree: the dialog is well written.

On the cinematic front, Hubby and I finally got around to watching The Kite Runner. Enjoyed it, although I chose not to watch one particular scene. And Son #2 encourages all to see Paranormal Activities. So, you know, go do that.

Lotsa hunty, not so much gathery

Yes, I am still devoting my every waking moment (and plenty of my sleep time) to the job hunt. It is humbling.

On the bright side, several of my friends have been very reassuring--they remind me that LOTS of people are looking for work, and that I live in a kind of one-industry town at the end of a quiet peninsula, and that I have spent the past 18 years raising children instead of fostering business contacts, and that my part-time, freelance experiences really DO have some value outside of my own head, and that I will not be looking for work forEVER--my job is out there, I just need to find it, or create it. And I will.

Friends are telling me about jobs they think I might be well-suited for. They're handing out my resume. They're encouraging me to keep writing. One even put out a call on Facebook last night, so HER friends are contacting me with questions and advice.

It's not a job, but it is support from a broad and loving community. And for that I am grateful, today.

The Only Show I Watch Voluntarily

is Mad Men.

My theme song

Woke up, threw on some pants, woke the youngest Son, and fired up the computer for today's applyapalooza. I've been sending resumes all over, with little to show for it, since May. But, hey, the economy tanked right before I decided I was ready to look for a full-time job, so HA on me.

Son #1 saw me, he knows the score. So he started to sing this song...

Yet Another Reason For Sibling Rivalry

Son #2, this morning:

"No one in the world can get as far as Son #1 with just three words: 'Daaaaang! My God!' Set him loose in a room full of chicks, he says that, he'll come back with at least 11 phone numbers."

They Cancel Each Other Out

Yesterday we met my mother in law, Jesus Bill and another of Hubby's brothers for dinner. As I was getting ready to go, Son #2 said, "Some of your blog commenters are really attractive! Like Penelope. I mean, she's a MOM, and she's still very nice looking. I didn't think that was possible."

I gave him The Look. It requires one lifted eyebrow. And he continued, "Oh, I know, but you're not going to get any reassurance from me. You can get that from Son #1."

So, OK, Son #2 has put me in my place. Fine.

So then we met Hubby's family and that went fairly well. And as we left, Hubby's Mom said what she says to almost everyone, almost every time I see her: "Have you lost weight?"

It may be like "Have a Nice Day" or "Aloha" to her, but I'm taking it, OK? Just this once.

Otis likes to keep it on the down low

Happy Birthday, Son #1!

What YOU need, is Dueling Banjos.

Or, at least that is what I thought when I heard it this morning.