This morning, as I was getting ready for church, I looked at my coat and decided it was too dirty to wear. It was cold this morning, so I needed to wear something. In the closet, hung the red coat I bought for my older daughter (the one who lives with her Dad now). I bought it over two years ago, so it fit her when she was 12. I looked at the size tag. It looked possible.
So, I tried it on and it fit. This may not seem important to some of you, but you see, my daughter was very slender when she was 12 (she probably still is but I haven't seen her for 2 months.) I, on the other hand, haven't been called slender since I was her age. In fact, I have been called quite the opposite on occasion. Well, that has changed. I have worked very hard to lose the extra weight, though I am not to my goal yet. I am only a little over halfway there. But being able to put on her coat is a big step for me. I was also able to put on one of her sweaters, but it was a little short. She likes her clothes to show her tummy, but I want my shirts to cross my waistband and go a little beyond.
I wonder what she would think if she knew. I told her weeks ago that I was going to start wearing the clothes that she left here when she left, and now it is a reality.
In case she reads this, I did try the blue snowflakes jammie pants, but they were still a little too snug. Maybe in a few weeks. I already took and wear your Eeyore nightgown. :)
Monday, December 19, 2005
Frost
Something woke me early this morning. The sky was just starting to lighten with the approaching dawn. I looked down at the backyard, and saw a glimmer on the tops of branches and the swingset. The grass still had color, so I knew it was frost, not snow. Heavy frost. So much for getting out of work today.
A bit later, my teenage son came in and mumbled that he was too sick to go to school. What he really means is that he is too tired. Teens need more sleep than they are willing to admit. So, they stay up late (because they think they have the stamina), and then they end up too tired. Typically, teens need 10 hours of sleep at least 4 times a week. But, they stay up all week working on homework, then stay up on weekends doing things they enjoy, so they end up not getting the rest they need at this crucial time in their lives.
How come I can understand this, but the schools don't. They schedule high school to start way too early. I suppose they want the high school kids to get home in time to watch their younger brothers and sisters.
The problem is that society is now based on having both parents working. I know few families that can get by on one person's paycheck. Especially with the increasing costs of college loaming like a behemouth. So, there are less mommies at home to watch their own children, so older brothers and sisters are being expected to rear their siblings or the parents have to obtain child care (which eats up most of the second parent's pay check.)
Sometimes, I wonder if it is worth it. I enjoy working (at least I did when I was working for REACH), but I also enjoyed being home with my first two children (who are now teens). I enjoyed being available to take them places after school or attend field trips. I am missing that with my third child. I am less able to attend her field trips, class parties and to take her places after school. As it is, I am not home in time to cook dinner anymore. Unless I put something in the crock pot, I am no longer the cook of the family. I miss that too.
I am not sure how this blog got here from frost on the swingset, but that is the way blogs are. They ramble.
A bit later, my teenage son came in and mumbled that he was too sick to go to school. What he really means is that he is too tired. Teens need more sleep than they are willing to admit. So, they stay up late (because they think they have the stamina), and then they end up too tired. Typically, teens need 10 hours of sleep at least 4 times a week. But, they stay up all week working on homework, then stay up on weekends doing things they enjoy, so they end up not getting the rest they need at this crucial time in their lives.
How come I can understand this, but the schools don't. They schedule high school to start way too early. I suppose they want the high school kids to get home in time to watch their younger brothers and sisters.
The problem is that society is now based on having both parents working. I know few families that can get by on one person's paycheck. Especially with the increasing costs of college loaming like a behemouth. So, there are less mommies at home to watch their own children, so older brothers and sisters are being expected to rear their siblings or the parents have to obtain child care (which eats up most of the second parent's pay check.)
Sometimes, I wonder if it is worth it. I enjoy working (at least I did when I was working for REACH), but I also enjoyed being home with my first two children (who are now teens). I enjoyed being available to take them places after school or attend field trips. I am missing that with my third child. I am less able to attend her field trips, class parties and to take her places after school. As it is, I am not home in time to cook dinner anymore. Unless I put something in the crock pot, I am no longer the cook of the family. I miss that too.
I am not sure how this blog got here from frost on the swingset, but that is the way blogs are. They ramble.
Monday, December 12, 2005
Been a while
Current mood: thoughtful Category: Life
(this is a repost from another place where I blog.)
I had forgotten about this place. My life got in the way. Since writing my original blogs (which started out on another blogging location), I have changed jobs three times, with the hope/expectation that I will change again, and soon. I have had major abdominal surgery, my brother has had a stroke, and my middle daughter has decided to move in with her dad.
It may sound bleak, but there has been some good in all of this. Since the surgery, I have lost a lot of weight. Since my brother's stroke, I have had more communications with him and my sister than I usually have in an entire year. My daughter may have left, but I have accepted her choice and maybe this is better for her.
She and I talked yesterday. It was sad that we had so little to say to each other. She has changed so much since she left. Maybe she had already begun to change before she left. Teenage girls and their mothers go through a tough time as the girl moves from child to young adult. I know my mother and I went through it. My husband's sister and mother went through it.
I had no where to go when my mother and I struggled. My daughter had a father and step-mother to go to. Maybe this means that we will avoid that stress and constant conflict. Maybe her moving is the best thing, but I miss her terribly. She and I used to sit and share a hot drink and talk. Now, we do neither. Often, we end up going weeks without speaking.
Oh, I send text messages and emails. I leave messages on her voice mail, but her life and mine just aren't in sync any more. It has left a void in my life.
But, the reason I chose to write here tonight was that two of my co-workers were talking about how they basically arrange their lives around MySpace. I should have said it, but I didn't: How Sad. I mean, it is nice to have a place to put down one's thoughts, but I am not about to spend all day checking to see if they have any "new friends" or "new invites". How pathetic.
I don't mind sharing some of my life in blogs, but I don't expect the computer to make friends for me. I don't need an artificial circle of friends. I make my own friends, real ones who share experiences and interests with me. And then they sat there and acted like there was no way that someone like me could possibly know what they were talking about.
Gosh, how simplistic their lives must be. I have been using the internet since the early 90s. I had a web page up before these two were even in high school. I have been on the development team of two major international firewall projects. I even remember AOL version 2.0, though I don't usually admit that I had an account on AOL. After the stalking, I try to leave that behind. I don't even use that screen name anymore, just in case he is still searching for me. I think that he finally got the message though. The fact that it has happened twice makes me even less likely to spend much time on any one of these portals. I don't want to go through that again. It is too stressful and time consuming.
Oh well. To each his own, I suppose. Maybe they will meet all the friends they will ever need through MySpace. Then again, maybe they will end up getting stalked or maybe they will just grow up and realise that life is more than the superficial.
Currently listening: Come Away with Me By Norah Jones Release date: By 26 February, 2002
(this is a repost from another place where I blog.)
I had forgotten about this place. My life got in the way. Since writing my original blogs (which started out on another blogging location), I have changed jobs three times, with the hope/expectation that I will change again, and soon. I have had major abdominal surgery, my brother has had a stroke, and my middle daughter has decided to move in with her dad.
It may sound bleak, but there has been some good in all of this. Since the surgery, I have lost a lot of weight. Since my brother's stroke, I have had more communications with him and my sister than I usually have in an entire year. My daughter may have left, but I have accepted her choice and maybe this is better for her.
She and I talked yesterday. It was sad that we had so little to say to each other. She has changed so much since she left. Maybe she had already begun to change before she left. Teenage girls and their mothers go through a tough time as the girl moves from child to young adult. I know my mother and I went through it. My husband's sister and mother went through it.
I had no where to go when my mother and I struggled. My daughter had a father and step-mother to go to. Maybe this means that we will avoid that stress and constant conflict. Maybe her moving is the best thing, but I miss her terribly. She and I used to sit and share a hot drink and talk. Now, we do neither. Often, we end up going weeks without speaking.
Oh, I send text messages and emails. I leave messages on her voice mail, but her life and mine just aren't in sync any more. It has left a void in my life.
But, the reason I chose to write here tonight was that two of my co-workers were talking about how they basically arrange their lives around MySpace. I should have said it, but I didn't: How Sad. I mean, it is nice to have a place to put down one's thoughts, but I am not about to spend all day checking to see if they have any "new friends" or "new invites". How pathetic.
I don't mind sharing some of my life in blogs, but I don't expect the computer to make friends for me. I don't need an artificial circle of friends. I make my own friends, real ones who share experiences and interests with me. And then they sat there and acted like there was no way that someone like me could possibly know what they were talking about.
Gosh, how simplistic their lives must be. I have been using the internet since the early 90s. I had a web page up before these two were even in high school. I have been on the development team of two major international firewall projects. I even remember AOL version 2.0, though I don't usually admit that I had an account on AOL. After the stalking, I try to leave that behind. I don't even use that screen name anymore, just in case he is still searching for me. I think that he finally got the message though. The fact that it has happened twice makes me even less likely to spend much time on any one of these portals. I don't want to go through that again. It is too stressful and time consuming.
Oh well. To each his own, I suppose. Maybe they will meet all the friends they will ever need through MySpace. Then again, maybe they will end up getting stalked or maybe they will just grow up and realise that life is more than the superficial.
Currently listening: Come Away with Me By Norah Jones Release date: By 26 February, 2002
Sunday, December 11, 2005
Destiny 2
My brother is back in the hospital. Two clots in his lungs, more in his legs. They have put in some type of filter, and put him on Coumadin. They say he has a mutant clotting gene. Wish they had told us that back when he was in the hospital last time. Turns out they released him without that report coming back from the lab. Then when it did, they neglected to call either his doctor or his wife.
I think the facility is incompetent. My sister-in-law is considering moving him, but he has to be in stable enough condition as well. I am not sure that he is to that point. I am sure she is also scared that their two daughters may have inherited that gene from him. I wonder if my sister or I has it. Did it come from one of our parents? Did it happen to him at some point in his life? Too many questions left unanswered.
Meanwhile, I am working for the city in the afterschool program. My prior job (two back actually) has apparently hired a new web designer, but that person hasn't done anything but yank the old site down. They should have left it in place until they had a working copy of the new site. That is just bad protocol. I never take down the old site until I have a new one ready. I had sent in my resume to do the website, but they never even acknowledged it. Guess they didn't want a professional and they obviously didn't get one. Meanwhile, the communications site hasn't been updated since May.
My immediately former job is still trying to get their budget increased so they can hire me. I should know in a few weeks. Won't be too soon for me.
My new diet is working well. I am about halfway to my goal already. It has been fairly easy. The diet itself is strict, but has some leeway (occasionally), the exercise is mild (30 minutes a day of walking). But, combined, it is working very well. I hope to reach my goal in the next 4 months. I am already in clothes sizes that I can't every remember wearing, but I know I did. I am probably the size I was in college right now. I am going for a little more, but I am not sure I will go all the way back to high school size. After all, I have had three children since then.
I think the facility is incompetent. My sister-in-law is considering moving him, but he has to be in stable enough condition as well. I am not sure that he is to that point. I am sure she is also scared that their two daughters may have inherited that gene from him. I wonder if my sister or I has it. Did it come from one of our parents? Did it happen to him at some point in his life? Too many questions left unanswered.
Meanwhile, I am working for the city in the afterschool program. My prior job (two back actually) has apparently hired a new web designer, but that person hasn't done anything but yank the old site down. They should have left it in place until they had a working copy of the new site. That is just bad protocol. I never take down the old site until I have a new one ready. I had sent in my resume to do the website, but they never even acknowledged it. Guess they didn't want a professional and they obviously didn't get one. Meanwhile, the communications site hasn't been updated since May.
My immediately former job is still trying to get their budget increased so they can hire me. I should know in a few weeks. Won't be too soon for me.
My new diet is working well. I am about halfway to my goal already. It has been fairly easy. The diet itself is strict, but has some leeway (occasionally), the exercise is mild (30 minutes a day of walking). But, combined, it is working very well. I hope to reach my goal in the next 4 months. I am already in clothes sizes that I can't every remember wearing, but I know I did. I am probably the size I was in college right now. I am going for a little more, but I am not sure I will go all the way back to high school size. After all, I have had three children since then.
Tuesday, October 18, 2005
Destiny
My brother is recovering from his stroke. He is in a stroke rehab center, and now has some use of his right arm. He can move his right leg from the hip only. He has learned to use a wheelchair and is re-learning to read. He is not progressing as quickly as he would like, but he is progressing.
Perhaps from this, his destiny will change. Maybe dealing with this stroke will make a fundamental change in his life for the better. I have to hope that this is the case. I see no reason for his suffering or the suffering of his family. I know that God doesn't cause things like this to happen, nor does God typically step in and prevent things like this, but it does seem somewhat useless.
In the meantime, my 96 year old grandmother had her knee surgery. The following day she was standing in her kitchen making apple pies from scratch. She "didn't want the apples to go to waste." Just like Nan. She is so vital, while many members of the rest of the family have many health issues. Her husband died in his 40s; she raised six children to adulthood, and she has more than 110 grandchildren and great grandchildren. What a woman.
Meanwhile, I am feeling pensive. My former employer wants me back desperately, but she doesn't have the funding to hire me right now, yet she also doesn't want me to take another job, because then if she gets the money, I will no longer be available. It reminds me a bit of a project I was on several years ago. They wanted me to stay and work, but they couldn't pay me. When I explained that I had to come, the director got irate. Do all employers expect such loyalty and sacrifice from their employees, even those they lay off? I want to go back to my former employer, but I don't know if I can wait until January to see if she will have the money. I already waited until the end of September to see if she would get one-time special funding. It didn't come through. I could have spent that month getting another job. Well, maybe not. I just had surgery, so I was not really up to job hunting anyway.
I am recovering well from my surgery. I have totally discontinued two of my long-term medications, have halved one, and expect to discountinue it and one other at the end of this month. That leaves me on three prescription medications. In addition, I have lost over 25 pounds since the surgery. Nice benefit. Some of the medications I was taking (and some I still take cause weight gain.) By discontinuing them, I should be able to get back to my correct weight. That will be nice. I haven't been the correct weight since I started one of these meds over 20 years ago, though it is not the big offender. I have already stopped those two. :)
Well, that is enough for today.
Perhaps from this, his destiny will change. Maybe dealing with this stroke will make a fundamental change in his life for the better. I have to hope that this is the case. I see no reason for his suffering or the suffering of his family. I know that God doesn't cause things like this to happen, nor does God typically step in and prevent things like this, but it does seem somewhat useless.
In the meantime, my 96 year old grandmother had her knee surgery. The following day she was standing in her kitchen making apple pies from scratch. She "didn't want the apples to go to waste." Just like Nan. She is so vital, while many members of the rest of the family have many health issues. Her husband died in his 40s; she raised six children to adulthood, and she has more than 110 grandchildren and great grandchildren. What a woman.
Meanwhile, I am feeling pensive. My former employer wants me back desperately, but she doesn't have the funding to hire me right now, yet she also doesn't want me to take another job, because then if she gets the money, I will no longer be available. It reminds me a bit of a project I was on several years ago. They wanted me to stay and work, but they couldn't pay me. When I explained that I had to come, the director got irate. Do all employers expect such loyalty and sacrifice from their employees, even those they lay off? I want to go back to my former employer, but I don't know if I can wait until January to see if she will have the money. I already waited until the end of September to see if she would get one-time special funding. It didn't come through. I could have spent that month getting another job. Well, maybe not. I just had surgery, so I was not really up to job hunting anyway.
I am recovering well from my surgery. I have totally discontinued two of my long-term medications, have halved one, and expect to discountinue it and one other at the end of this month. That leaves me on three prescription medications. In addition, I have lost over 25 pounds since the surgery. Nice benefit. Some of the medications I was taking (and some I still take cause weight gain.) By discontinuing them, I should be able to get back to my correct weight. That will be nice. I haven't been the correct weight since I started one of these meds over 20 years ago, though it is not the big offender. I have already stopped those two. :)
Well, that is enough for today.
Friday, September 30, 2005
Cruel twist of fate
With my health history, it never occured to me that one of my siblings would be the first to deal with a major emergency health issue. My younger brother had a massive stroke yesterday. We aren't sure right now what his prognosis is. I am waiting for the others to pack up so we can drive up there. If I don't have someone to watch our pets, then it will just be my son and me. If we get someone to watch the animals, then both children, my husband and I will go.
It is about 5 hours and I don't know how to get to the hospital yet. That is next on my list. I have already investigated Disability insurance and printed the information out to take with me. He has two young girls, 10 and 8. He isn't old enough for this to be happening.
It is about 5 hours and I don't know how to get to the hospital yet. That is next on my list. I have already investigated Disability insurance and printed the information out to take with me. He has two young girls, 10 and 8. He isn't old enough for this to be happening.
Cruel twist of fate
With my health history, it never occured to me that one of my siblings would be the first to deal with a major emergency health issue. My younger brother had a massive stroke yesterday. We aren't sure right now what his prognosis is. I am waiting for the others to pack up so we can drive up there. If I don't have someone to watch our pets, then it will just be my son and me. If we get someone to watch the animals, then both children, my husband and I will go.
Sunday, September 18, 2005
Looking for a job, again
Well, I had a really nice job working with REACHvirginia.org, but they ran out of funding. My boss hopes that they will get another grant (they applied in June), but until then, I am jobless.
For right now, while I am recovering from surgery (see related article, if you are interested), it isn't a big deal (other than the lack of money). I have heard that my former-former boss is retiring and they are getting a new office manager. My husband wants me to consider taking that job back, but with gas prices so high, driving out there is really too expensive. If they let me work from home (which they probably would if I take the web minister job instead of being an administrative clerical assistant), it might not be too bad.
I am just leary of working with that crowd again, because the melodramatics were over the top, and I don't need the stress (that was another reason I had high blood pressure, I am sure.)
I have sent off an email to a friend who used to do their web development to see if he is going back, if not, I may apply for his old job. I still have a lot of thinking about it to do, though.
In the mean time, I have gotten another web development client, but they didn't need much. It is located at AMIC-C. I am still looking for other clients, but so far, I haven't had a lot of luck.
My youngest is now in kindergarten, and her hours are 11-3. That makes is really rough to find a job with hours that allow me to get her on and off the bus. Oh well, I will keep looking.
For right now, while I am recovering from surgery (see related article, if you are interested), it isn't a big deal (other than the lack of money). I have heard that my former-former boss is retiring and they are getting a new office manager. My husband wants me to consider taking that job back, but with gas prices so high, driving out there is really too expensive. If they let me work from home (which they probably would if I take the web minister job instead of being an administrative clerical assistant), it might not be too bad.
I am just leary of working with that crowd again, because the melodramatics were over the top, and I don't need the stress (that was another reason I had high blood pressure, I am sure.)
I have sent off an email to a friend who used to do their web development to see if he is going back, if not, I may apply for his old job. I still have a lot of thinking about it to do, though.
In the mean time, I have gotten another web development client, but they didn't need much. It is located at AMIC-C. I am still looking for other clients, but so far, I haven't had a lot of luck.
My youngest is now in kindergarten, and her hours are 11-3. That makes is really rough to find a job with hours that allow me to get her on and off the bus. Oh well, I will keep looking.
Tuesday, August 23, 2005
Surgery
Several months ago (nearly a year), my doctor told me that if we couldn't get my blood pressure and diabetes under control, I would not live to see 2015. Yikes! Less than 10 years. So, I agreed to have some surgery that was claimed to help. I had the surgery on September 6, 2005, and as of the 8th, my blood sugar is completely under control without any medication. My blood pressure is so good, that they are likely going to take me off the meds next month. My sleep apnea is going away and I am feeling much better. I also lost a little weight - being in the hospital will do that.
I am still sore at the incision sites (5 holes), but they are healing. I am able to walk about 30 minutes at a time now (right after surgery, I was lucky to do a lap around the ward.)
I will post updates (like when I discontinue meds). So far, I have discontinued the following:
insulin
metformin
actos
I am still sore at the incision sites (5 holes), but they are healing. I am able to walk about 30 minutes at a time now (right after surgery, I was lucky to do a lap around the ward.)
I will post updates (like when I discontinue meds). So far, I have discontinued the following:
insulin
metformin
actos
Wednesday, May 25, 2005
Busy month
Things are on the upswing. Earlier today, I received a phone call from a possible new client. I had spoken to him a few months ago, but he didn't seem very interested. When he called today, he said he had looked at my competition, and they charge a lot more than I do. Gee, really? That is the point, to charge less than my competition so that I can increase my client base. Well, I gave him some information, and he said he will call back tomorrow to set up an appointment for me to come out and make a presentation.
I also got a tip from my friend, Ned. He was in a shop near his home, and somehow ended up discussing web development with the shop owner. It turns out they need a new web design, and so he offered to have me contact them. I typed up a nice email letter, and sent it this evening. I hope to hear from them soon. If not, I said I would call them Thursday to discuss meeting them and making a presentation.
The other new client I may be getting does dream analysis. She approached me at church last weekend. It is a little different from the other sites I have done, so I am looking forward to sitting down with her and discussing her vision of the site.
On the education front, I am also having good news there as well. The National Dean's List wants to include me in their directory. I am sure it is because of my fairly high GPA (3.72 right now, though this class is due to end next week, and I think it may raise that a bit.)
I also took the last of my proficiency assessments. I passed all three, so I have now tested out of four classes. Phoenix is expensive, so any that I can test out of makes a difference. My graduation is looking like December 2006 or January 2007. It depends on if I can get my classes back to back, or if I have to take 3 weeks off in July (so that I can go with my son to Boy Scout camp. His troop is required to send at least two registered leaders.)
I have also been chosen to attend a facilitators training session in August. I would then be able to facilitate the support groups in the Eastern Region. I am hoping that someone else from my area graduates too, then we can team teach. I will be required to facilitate two groups per year, but they are typically 1 hour a week for 8-12 weeks long. That isn't bad at all, and right now there are no trained facilitators in my area. The closest one is in the next city.
The only area that is not looking as rosy is my health. I am scheduled to go in to the new doctor on the 10th of June. I have met with him once so far. It appears that I may have to have surgery. I am not looking forward to that, but he says that he can nearly guarantee that I will go from 7 different daily medications to maybe only one. There is a chance that I can get rid of all of them, but he won't guaranteed that. In fact, he said that usually by the third day after the surgery, they can tell if the medicines will still be needed. It is somewhat experimental surgery, but he has had very good results. Only one death, and that was due to a blood clot (because the patient didn't get up and walk soon enough after surgery.)
I would like to thank all of you who have been reading my blog, and especially those of you who have sent me emails. I am amazed at the encouragement I have gotten from you all.
I also got a tip from my friend, Ned. He was in a shop near his home, and somehow ended up discussing web development with the shop owner. It turns out they need a new web design, and so he offered to have me contact them. I typed up a nice email letter, and sent it this evening. I hope to hear from them soon. If not, I said I would call them Thursday to discuss meeting them and making a presentation.
The other new client I may be getting does dream analysis. She approached me at church last weekend. It is a little different from the other sites I have done, so I am looking forward to sitting down with her and discussing her vision of the site.
On the education front, I am also having good news there as well. The National Dean's List wants to include me in their directory. I am sure it is because of my fairly high GPA (3.72 right now, though this class is due to end next week, and I think it may raise that a bit.)
I also took the last of my proficiency assessments. I passed all three, so I have now tested out of four classes. Phoenix is expensive, so any that I can test out of makes a difference. My graduation is looking like December 2006 or January 2007. It depends on if I can get my classes back to back, or if I have to take 3 weeks off in July (so that I can go with my son to Boy Scout camp. His troop is required to send at least two registered leaders.)
I have also been chosen to attend a facilitators training session in August. I would then be able to facilitate the support groups in the Eastern Region. I am hoping that someone else from my area graduates too, then we can team teach. I will be required to facilitate two groups per year, but they are typically 1 hour a week for 8-12 weeks long. That isn't bad at all, and right now there are no trained facilitators in my area. The closest one is in the next city.
The only area that is not looking as rosy is my health. I am scheduled to go in to the new doctor on the 10th of June. I have met with him once so far. It appears that I may have to have surgery. I am not looking forward to that, but he says that he can nearly guarantee that I will go from 7 different daily medications to maybe only one. There is a chance that I can get rid of all of them, but he won't guaranteed that. In fact, he said that usually by the third day after the surgery, they can tell if the medicines will still be needed. It is somewhat experimental surgery, but he has had very good results. Only one death, and that was due to a blood clot (because the patient didn't get up and walk soon enough after surgery.)
I would like to thank all of you who have been reading my blog, and especially those of you who have sent me emails. I am amazed at the encouragement I have gotten from you all.
Thursday, April 28, 2005
Ducks, next installment
Okay, I don't remember which installment this is, but I have more to say about ducks.
As you remember, Marilyn and Monroe were a duck couple who chose my yard as their territory for a while each spring for several years. Monroe was a devoted and protective mate for Marilyn.
In our neighborhood, we have many children in a wide range of ages. Most of them are teens, and not interested in ducks, but the little girl who lives next door is very interested. She came over one morning when my youngest and I were on the front porch. I knew her mother was in their garage reading. She would open the garage door so that she could watch her daughter play while she had a smoke, drank a cup of coffee, and often read the paper.
Cece and I had already eaten our breakfast, but I was still nursing my cuppa. She noticed the bowl of water in front of the azaleas, and asked me why it was there. I explained that I put it there so the ducks could have a drink. She was fascinated that ducks were coming to my house. I explained that I was studying them and feeding them to learn more about the life cycle. She asked if she could see them. I told her that I expected them quite soon, but that she was not to approach them or try to feed them unless a grown-up was present, and even then, only with great care.
She ran home to tell her mother and I suppose to ask for bread. Within 30 minutes, my ducks had come and were waddling up the steps to get their breakfast. I tossed out some grain, and watched as Marilyn ate. Monroe, typical gentleman that he was, wandered with in her reach, just watching.
Debbie came running back when she her them fly in. I cautioned her not to come too close, but to wait by the fence. From there she could see very well, but Monroe wouldn't feel threatened. She grimaced at me, but stopped where she was. She watched for a few minutes, then pulled a slice of white bread from her pocket. Not what I consider to be healthy, but surely one slice wouldn't hurt them. Instead of ripping it into small pieces. She threw the whole slice at Monroe. He quacked, and moved closer to me, one eye constantly on her.
Seeing that he didn't take the bread, she stepped forward and picked it back up. I told her that they couldn't eat anything that big and that she would need to make small pieces. I also reminded her not to get too close. Now, Debbie is a nice girl, but sometimes she isn't too bright. She began ripping pieces off (still way too big) and ran in to throw them. This frightened both Marilyn and Monrow enough that they half ran half flew to the other side of the yard. Debbie lost sight of them, and therefore lost interest. She dropped the bread, and headed home. I asked Cece to pick up the bread. She was about 2, but could follow simple instructions. I figured I would give it to our lab.
A few minutes later, I saw Monroe peek around the side of the car. Not seeing Debbie, he quackled at Marilyn to follow him, and he headed back to the porch. I told Cece that maybe she could give Debbie's bread to the ducks. I showed her how to rip small pieces. Then, I had her wait until they were quite close. I helped her reach down slowly, and then toss the bread piece a few inches in front of Marilyn's beak. Marilyn glanced at me, then moved up and took the bread. She made a beeline to the water, and washed it down. Then, she waddled back. Cece and I then tossed pieces to her and Monroe until it was all gone. The last piece was only 8 inches from Cece's feet, but Marilyn stepped forward confidentally to take it. Cece stood quietly between my knees as I sat on my chair, and watched in silence.
After Marilyn waddled off to nap, Cece turned to me and said, "Mom! She eat my bread!" She was so excited. I thought of Debbie, as I hugged my daughter. She was not likely to ever have this experience. She didn't know patience, she didn't know silence. What a loss for her.
As you remember, Marilyn and Monroe were a duck couple who chose my yard as their territory for a while each spring for several years. Monroe was a devoted and protective mate for Marilyn.
In our neighborhood, we have many children in a wide range of ages. Most of them are teens, and not interested in ducks, but the little girl who lives next door is very interested. She came over one morning when my youngest and I were on the front porch. I knew her mother was in their garage reading. She would open the garage door so that she could watch her daughter play while she had a smoke, drank a cup of coffee, and often read the paper.
Cece and I had already eaten our breakfast, but I was still nursing my cuppa. She noticed the bowl of water in front of the azaleas, and asked me why it was there. I explained that I put it there so the ducks could have a drink. She was fascinated that ducks were coming to my house. I explained that I was studying them and feeding them to learn more about the life cycle. She asked if she could see them. I told her that I expected them quite soon, but that she was not to approach them or try to feed them unless a grown-up was present, and even then, only with great care.
She ran home to tell her mother and I suppose to ask for bread. Within 30 minutes, my ducks had come and were waddling up the steps to get their breakfast. I tossed out some grain, and watched as Marilyn ate. Monroe, typical gentleman that he was, wandered with in her reach, just watching.
Debbie came running back when she her them fly in. I cautioned her not to come too close, but to wait by the fence. From there she could see very well, but Monroe wouldn't feel threatened. She grimaced at me, but stopped where she was. She watched for a few minutes, then pulled a slice of white bread from her pocket. Not what I consider to be healthy, but surely one slice wouldn't hurt them. Instead of ripping it into small pieces. She threw the whole slice at Monroe. He quacked, and moved closer to me, one eye constantly on her.
Seeing that he didn't take the bread, she stepped forward and picked it back up. I told her that they couldn't eat anything that big and that she would need to make small pieces. I also reminded her not to get too close. Now, Debbie is a nice girl, but sometimes she isn't too bright. She began ripping pieces off (still way too big) and ran in to throw them. This frightened both Marilyn and Monrow enough that they half ran half flew to the other side of the yard. Debbie lost sight of them, and therefore lost interest. She dropped the bread, and headed home. I asked Cece to pick up the bread. She was about 2, but could follow simple instructions. I figured I would give it to our lab.
A few minutes later, I saw Monroe peek around the side of the car. Not seeing Debbie, he quackled at Marilyn to follow him, and he headed back to the porch. I told Cece that maybe she could give Debbie's bread to the ducks. I showed her how to rip small pieces. Then, I had her wait until they were quite close. I helped her reach down slowly, and then toss the bread piece a few inches in front of Marilyn's beak. Marilyn glanced at me, then moved up and took the bread. She made a beeline to the water, and washed it down. Then, she waddled back. Cece and I then tossed pieces to her and Monroe until it was all gone. The last piece was only 8 inches from Cece's feet, but Marilyn stepped forward confidentally to take it. Cece stood quietly between my knees as I sat on my chair, and watched in silence.
After Marilyn waddled off to nap, Cece turned to me and said, "Mom! She eat my bread!" She was so excited. I thought of Debbie, as I hugged my daughter. She was not likely to ever have this experience. She didn't know patience, she didn't know silence. What a loss for her.
Wednesday, April 20, 2005
Gears turn, no time to burn
Wow! I meant to post last week, but I had some connections issues. Anyway, things are moving with my business. I have a new client that I will be talking to next week. His former web designer recommended that he hire me to replace her. She doesn't have the time or the skills to do what he needs. She only agreed to help out because of her friendship with his wife.
I have been working hard on the database backend for the sites I handle. While none of them sell directly through the internet yet, two have the potential to in the next two years as they grow. I don't want to wait until they need it to build it. Hubby and I have been working on it for about a week. Mostly still in the conceptual area, but we did do our first dry run last night. It is working like a charm. Just need to expand it. We also have to port it so that it services both MySQL and MSAccess since I have clients on each of those. Depends on whether I am providing their hosting or not.
I also finally took the time to set up the VPN between here and the mental health advocacy place that has me on contract. That will make it easier to work from home. It isn't too much of a drive, but there are times I would rather be home.
The most amusing thing that happened today was that my friend, Ned, emailed me. He had finally also left the diocese. He had been thinking about it for a while, but I guess things finally reached a head. But more than just that, he startled me with a strange question. "Why are they still sending emails to your old email address?" he asked me. Apparently, for the last 2 months, whenever they sent him an update on addresses and phone numbers for the database, they were copying it to my work address. I haven't popped that address since a week after I left. It has been setup on the Presario 700Z, but when the battery went bad, Hubby and I decided my business needed a more powerful machine anyway, so I replaced it, and let him have it instead. He wasn't logging in as me either, so no one was checking that account.
I thought about it, and then I went ahead and set up the account on the R3000. I tried to POP, but the password was rejected. My guess is that they didn't know how to delete me from Active Directory, so they just changed the password. Or, maybe I changed it before I left (not that I was using one of my patented "never-break" passwords there. Their system is a lost cause. I am surprised no one tried to ROOT them. Of course, I did add in a good firewall last fall (finally given permission).
And speaking of the firewall, they actually called here and asked me how to log on to it directly. I told them, in the same calm voice I have every other time, "Look in the Networking Log that I left. All the instructions are in there. All the passwords are in the vault in well-marked sealed envelopes." But they insisted that they needed to log on 'right now' because Internet Services was running somewhere on the LAN.
Excuse me? Internet Services for the intranet is a Windows only piece of software. I know, I installed it. The firewall runs on a stripped down *nix OS. I tried to get them to understand that. "Because the firewall is running Linux, Internet Services wouldn't run there even if someone put it there. Plus, no one put it there, because I am the only one who knew Linux, and I would never run a service like that on my firewall." Anyway, I finally convinced them.
Back to Ned, so he has quit, I am the only other one with any web design skills, and they are on my bad side right now. What will they do? Who knows? They are finally advertising for a full-time receptionist, but again they are doing it the wrong way:
The Diocesan Office in [insert city here], (like I am fooling anyone with that) is seeking to hire a full-time receptionist primarily as first point of contact to greet all visitors to the building and handle incoming telephone calls. Essential duties and responsibilities include: data entry; word processing, performing all aspects of mailings, both first class and bulk; operating basic office equipment; assisting in ordering, receiving, and storing office supplies. High school diploma or equivalent desired. Microsoft Office experience including Outlook, Word, and basic Excel required. Desktop Publishing knowledge helpful, but not required.
Okay, a high school graduate with all those skills? Who is willing to do all that AND be full-time on the phone? Especially when the Bishop is burning bridges with long time supporters and people are mad as wet hens and taking out on whomever answers the phone? They are also going to find this person by April 29....of what year? They also need to throw in there that the person is now in charge of the website and the intranet.
I also have it from a good source that the contractor who is doing their IT since I am gone is about to his limit. He is starting to make comments on his invoices like: "Tasks performed: A bunch of stuff an On-Site administrator ought to be doing". Well, he is right. And when I was there, I was doing that stuff. What they really need to do is force some of the computer illiterate to take the available classes so that they truly understand how to do their job. I tried to convince some of them when I was there, but they insisted they knew enough to get their job done. Now, I am hearing that without me there, they are claiming they don't know how to do searches in the database or reports or....yes, because I used to do them because no one else would, and they depended on me being there. Too bad. I am doing other stuff now.
Well, I know the Tidy Bowl man will wave as they go by. Who knows, once they elect a new bishop and hire a new administrator, maybe I would be willing to go back. But until then, I can't hear them.
I have been working hard on the database backend for the sites I handle. While none of them sell directly through the internet yet, two have the potential to in the next two years as they grow. I don't want to wait until they need it to build it. Hubby and I have been working on it for about a week. Mostly still in the conceptual area, but we did do our first dry run last night. It is working like a charm. Just need to expand it. We also have to port it so that it services both MySQL and MSAccess since I have clients on each of those. Depends on whether I am providing their hosting or not.
I also finally took the time to set up the VPN between here and the mental health advocacy place that has me on contract. That will make it easier to work from home. It isn't too much of a drive, but there are times I would rather be home.
The most amusing thing that happened today was that my friend, Ned, emailed me. He had finally also left the diocese. He had been thinking about it for a while, but I guess things finally reached a head. But more than just that, he startled me with a strange question. "Why are they still sending emails to your old email address?" he asked me. Apparently, for the last 2 months, whenever they sent him an update on addresses and phone numbers for the database, they were copying it to my work address. I haven't popped that address since a week after I left. It has been setup on the Presario 700Z, but when the battery went bad, Hubby and I decided my business needed a more powerful machine anyway, so I replaced it, and let him have it instead. He wasn't logging in as me either, so no one was checking that account.
I thought about it, and then I went ahead and set up the account on the R3000. I tried to POP, but the password was rejected. My guess is that they didn't know how to delete me from Active Directory, so they just changed the password. Or, maybe I changed it before I left (not that I was using one of my patented "never-break" passwords there. Their system is a lost cause. I am surprised no one tried to ROOT them. Of course, I did add in a good firewall last fall (finally given permission).
And speaking of the firewall, they actually called here and asked me how to log on to it directly. I told them, in the same calm voice I have every other time, "Look in the Networking Log that I left. All the instructions are in there. All the passwords are in the vault in well-marked sealed envelopes." But they insisted that they needed to log on 'right now' because Internet Services was running somewhere on the LAN.
Excuse me? Internet Services for the intranet is a Windows only piece of software. I know, I installed it. The firewall runs on a stripped down *nix OS. I tried to get them to understand that. "Because the firewall is running Linux, Internet Services wouldn't run there even if someone put it there. Plus, no one put it there, because I am the only one who knew Linux, and I would never run a service like that on my firewall." Anyway, I finally convinced them.
Back to Ned, so he has quit, I am the only other one with any web design skills, and they are on my bad side right now. What will they do? Who knows? They are finally advertising for a full-time receptionist, but again they are doing it the wrong way:
The Diocesan Office in [insert city here], (like I am fooling anyone with that) is seeking to hire a full-time receptionist primarily as first point of contact to greet all visitors to the building and handle incoming telephone calls. Essential duties and responsibilities include: data entry; word processing, performing all aspects of mailings, both first class and bulk; operating basic office equipment; assisting in ordering, receiving, and storing office supplies. High school diploma or equivalent desired. Microsoft Office experience including Outlook, Word, and basic Excel required. Desktop Publishing knowledge helpful, but not required.
Okay, a high school graduate with all those skills? Who is willing to do all that AND be full-time on the phone? Especially when the Bishop is burning bridges with long time supporters and people are mad as wet hens and taking out on whomever answers the phone? They are also going to find this person by April 29....of what year? They also need to throw in there that the person is now in charge of the website and the intranet.
I also have it from a good source that the contractor who is doing their IT since I am gone is about to his limit. He is starting to make comments on his invoices like: "Tasks performed: A bunch of stuff an On-Site administrator ought to be doing". Well, he is right. And when I was there, I was doing that stuff. What they really need to do is force some of the computer illiterate to take the available classes so that they truly understand how to do their job. I tried to convince some of them when I was there, but they insisted they knew enough to get their job done. Now, I am hearing that without me there, they are claiming they don't know how to do searches in the database or reports or....yes, because I used to do them because no one else would, and they depended on me being there. Too bad. I am doing other stuff now.
Well, I know the Tidy Bowl man will wave as they go by. Who knows, once they elect a new bishop and hire a new administrator, maybe I would be willing to go back. But until then, I can't hear them.
Saturday, March 26, 2005
When a door is closed...
A friend sent me an email a few days ago to let me know her mother had passed away. My friend and I had worked together for my last employer, but she had resigned first. She had been offered the opportunity to work at home for a state-wide advocacy program.
We have kept in touch and I had often gone to her house to help her with techincal issues in her network. Her mother ad I were on friendly terms (my friend and she lived together.) My friend's mother and I also shared a special bond of shared illness in that we both have diabetes. Her death was a shock to me, because she had been in good health when I last talked to her shortly after the new year.
When I called to let her know I would be coming to the funeral, my friend surprised me with an offer. While caring for her mother, she had gotten behind in her work for the advocacy program. She had contacted the parent organization, and they gave her permission and funding to hire a temporary assistant to get back on track. She asked me to be that assistant.
She said she would work around my schedule (knowing I have children and church obligations) and she even offered to work around the schedule if I get the other position I have been waiting on. I accepted. I know that she and I will have no trouble working together. We have done it before.
So, God closed a door when I left my last job. He also closed a door when he took my friend's mother home, but he also opened a window. He gave us each other. I will be there to help her transition back into her career now that her mom is gone and she will help me transition through my time without a permanent job.
Perhaps by the time this temporary job is over, another window will open for each of us. Will we have to wait and see, until then, we will help each other.
We have kept in touch and I had often gone to her house to help her with techincal issues in her network. Her mother ad I were on friendly terms (my friend and she lived together.) My friend's mother and I also shared a special bond of shared illness in that we both have diabetes. Her death was a shock to me, because she had been in good health when I last talked to her shortly after the new year.
When I called to let her know I would be coming to the funeral, my friend surprised me with an offer. While caring for her mother, she had gotten behind in her work for the advocacy program. She had contacted the parent organization, and they gave her permission and funding to hire a temporary assistant to get back on track. She asked me to be that assistant.
She said she would work around my schedule (knowing I have children and church obligations) and she even offered to work around the schedule if I get the other position I have been waiting on. I accepted. I know that she and I will have no trouble working together. We have done it before.
So, God closed a door when I left my last job. He also closed a door when he took my friend's mother home, but he also opened a window. He gave us each other. I will be there to help her transition back into her career now that her mom is gone and she will help me transition through my time without a permanent job.
Perhaps by the time this temporary job is over, another window will open for each of us. Will we have to wait and see, until then, we will help each other.
Wednesday, March 23, 2005
The price of integrity
I was offered a job on Friday, but yesterday I declined. I would have been working from home with a monthly stipend. The work would have been fairly easy, and I would have received additional training, though I am the most trained in the area. The catch was that it would have been for my previous employer.
I left them in February for many reasons, more than I want to go into here. I still feel kindly toward most of the people there and miss working with them. But, in the last several months, the office has gotten worse. Certain members have been treating others very poorly, not just other workers in the office, but those we ... they ... should be serving. I saw a striking example on Monday.
The office manager had arranged for a trainer to come, from Canada, to do training on the job I refused. I am sure he thought I would come back and therefore take the training. I had been asking for it for the two years I was there. This trainer showed up Monday morning. The office manager was not in the office. He had not told the staff the trainer was coming. He left no information for the trainer. When he did arrive after 1 p.m., he didn't let the trainer know he was in the office. I was shocked. I was there for another reason. I took time to greet the trainer (whom I had worked with via email), and offered to give him the password he needed to set up his training and also showed him where the computer was located.
That someone outside the office (though recently assocaited with it) had to do these basic tasks of consideration just blew my mind. What if I hadn't needed to be there on Monday? After seeing how well the office now treats its "guests" and hearing that others are being debased with obscene monikers, regardless that I need the money, I passed.
I would rather make little or nothing and keep my integrity, than stoop to such a lowness just for money.
I left them in February for many reasons, more than I want to go into here. I still feel kindly toward most of the people there and miss working with them. But, in the last several months, the office has gotten worse. Certain members have been treating others very poorly, not just other workers in the office, but those we ... they ... should be serving. I saw a striking example on Monday.
The office manager had arranged for a trainer to come, from Canada, to do training on the job I refused. I am sure he thought I would come back and therefore take the training. I had been asking for it for the two years I was there. This trainer showed up Monday morning. The office manager was not in the office. He had not told the staff the trainer was coming. He left no information for the trainer. When he did arrive after 1 p.m., he didn't let the trainer know he was in the office. I was shocked. I was there for another reason. I took time to greet the trainer (whom I had worked with via email), and offered to give him the password he needed to set up his training and also showed him where the computer was located.
That someone outside the office (though recently assocaited with it) had to do these basic tasks of consideration just blew my mind. What if I hadn't needed to be there on Monday? After seeing how well the office now treats its "guests" and hearing that others are being debased with obscene monikers, regardless that I need the money, I passed.
I would rather make little or nothing and keep my integrity, than stoop to such a lowness just for money.
Thursday, March 17, 2005
To Work or Create, Part 2
As you may have read in an earlier blog, I had another job interview today.
But I am still thinking about web design. It is calling to me, and it is
getting less subtle.
Late Monday afternoon, in desperation after a day stuck in bed because of my
ankle, I hobbled to my bathroom, and crawled onto the edge of my tub. I hate
being dirty. I wanted to wash my hair and at least rinse the rest of me. I
knew that getting all the way in the tub was a bad idea, as I was unlikely
to be able to get back out. With my husband on the other side of the
country, I would be stuck in there until Friday. Luckily, I have a shower
nozzle on a hose (it is one of the "massaging" showerheads. I find it is
easier to clean the tub when I can move the spray to reach all sides.)
I started the water and adjusted the temperature. I leaned forward and wet
my head. No sooner did I have shampoo in my hand than my 13-year old knocked
on the door. I had a phone call. "Who is it?" I asked, hoping I could just
call back. "I don't know. He said something about a web site." Sigh. "Is it
Ned?" (He and I had been talking about a site earlier that day.) "Yeah, I
think that is what he said." Good, he would understand. "Tell him I'm in the
tub and take his number." I knew he wouldn't mind a bit. He knew about my
ankle. We had worked together for the Diocese, and still kept in touch.
Thank God for small favors.
When I was done, I crawled back to the bed. It was easier than using the
crutches. There was a piece of paper with a phone number in orange, but no
area code. I knew Ned was out of our district, and the number looked like a
local exchange. I called her in and asked her to go back over what he had
said. "Well, he thought I was you and when I told him I was your daughter,
he said that someone had told him to call you about a website." Okay, that
would not be Ned then. This was someone else. "Oh, and he said wait until
tomorrow, because he was on his way out of the office." Probably someone
from one of the churches who thought I still worked for the diocese and
would help them with a hosting problem. That would be easy to take care of;
I would just point them back to the diocesan office. I don't do that job
anymore.
The next morning I called the mystery number. But it wasn't a church, it was
a business. He had gotten my name and number from someone I had worked with
before I quit my last job. We wanted me to create a web site for his
business. Well, I was unprepared for the call. I didn't have clients' info
in front of me. I gave him the first one that came to my mind - my mother's
site. She is a potter by trade, and when my server crashed, I put what I had
salvaged of her site up on my own personal webpage until I had a chance to
rebuild the machine. He didn't need to know that she and I were related.
He paused, and then said, "That isn't a domain name. That is just a personal
site." "Yes," I answered, "I put her pages on my site for now. She wasn't
ready to get a domain name yet." He hesitated. That isn't a good sign.
"Could I have the URL of one that did get a domain?" he asked. "None of them
have domain names," I replied. This was not going well. "How long have you
been designing sites?" he asked. "Five years," I replied. "And none of them
have domain names?" he said. I sighed. "None that I am working with now. You
see, most of them pay me in trade," I explained. "This client is a potter
and she pays me in pottery. Another has a vineyard and she pays me in wine.
There is the one I did for my last employer. That has a domain name, but I
don't do their site anymore, so I can't vouch for its condition." He thanked
me for my time and hung up. A lost sale because none of my clients can
afford to pay; they are all just starting businesses too.
I called my ISP. They have a business package that would allow me to run a
full web design and hosting company from my home. It was time for me to
investigate the price. Thirty minutes later, I was depressed. Eighty dollars
a month plus a setup fee. I doubted I would have enough cash paying business
to cover even half that on an ongoing basis. And under no circumstances
would I sell the pottery my mother gave me. It is beautiful art that is
increasing in value each year. In addition, there is a sentimental value
attached to it as well.
I called the vineyard owner to check on her business. This is her third
spring, and she had told me that in March they would be able to tell how the
vines had done over the winter. She was excited to hear from me. The winter
had been kind to her vines and they would have a crop of grapes to sell. I
congratulated her. She had told me in the beginning that it usually took
three years to get a harvest. I asked her to send me some new pictures of
the vines for the website. She told me that she and her husband were finally
ready to get a domain name and start expanding the website. I was ecstatic.
We arranged to meet Thursday (which is today) for lunch to discuss the
expansion and paying me in cash from now on. Maybe it was time to officially
get my business off the ground.
I went downstairs, got my coat and purse, and walked out to the car. I
needed to run a few errands and I wanted lunch out. I called my
brother-in-law. Just the previous night, he had offered to buy my mother a
domain name for her birthday and host her site there. He has his own
business where he goes to people's homes or offices to fix their computers,
sort of like house calls for computers. I wanted to know how much he had to
pay for licenses and such to start up his business two years ago.
I was shocked by what he told me. No, not about his license, which in his
state is free, but that he could show me a place to get hosting at a price
that made my ISP's offer look ridiculous. After thirty minutes on the phone
with him, he had purchased the domain for my mother and sent me the upload
info. There was a way to make this work. I finished my errands and headed
straight home. I contacted the company he dealt with and bought two domain
names (one for myself and one for the vineyard.) I immediately began working
on the files that will go up as soon as the transfer is complete (estimated
to be tomorrow). While I worked on those, I got a call from the vineyard
owner. She had lunched with a real estate agent she knew, and the subject of
web sites came up. Now the realtor wanted me to create a site for her. In
addition, she was going to recommend me to her company and see if the whole
agency would take a site.
I was shocked again. I had gone from no (money) paying clients to two
definite and a possible, with the possible being a large client, in just two
days. I called the city to get information about getting a license. It turns
out to be quite simple and inexpensive in this area. I printed out the forms
and made plans to go to city hall on Friday.
I hung up the phone, and went back to my computer, opening the program I use
to edit web pages. Its familiar screen sprang to life, greeting me and
encouraging me to open a page. I browsed to the folder where I kept the web
pages I have built over the last several years, and opened one. I loaded the
pages and started coding again.
Next week, after my trip to the real estate company, I will make a call to
the man from Monday and arrange an interview with him. I will have three
current domain sites to show him, and half a dozen others (though they still
don't' have domains, and never will). I may even have a preliminary draft
for the real estate company. Then, I will show him my proposal for his site.
But I am still thinking about web design. It is calling to me, and it is
getting less subtle.
Late Monday afternoon, in desperation after a day stuck in bed because of my
ankle, I hobbled to my bathroom, and crawled onto the edge of my tub. I hate
being dirty. I wanted to wash my hair and at least rinse the rest of me. I
knew that getting all the way in the tub was a bad idea, as I was unlikely
to be able to get back out. With my husband on the other side of the
country, I would be stuck in there until Friday. Luckily, I have a shower
nozzle on a hose (it is one of the "massaging" showerheads. I find it is
easier to clean the tub when I can move the spray to reach all sides.)
I started the water and adjusted the temperature. I leaned forward and wet
my head. No sooner did I have shampoo in my hand than my 13-year old knocked
on the door. I had a phone call. "Who is it?" I asked, hoping I could just
call back. "I don't know. He said something about a web site." Sigh. "Is it
Ned?" (He and I had been talking about a site earlier that day.) "Yeah, I
think that is what he said." Good, he would understand. "Tell him I'm in the
tub and take his number." I knew he wouldn't mind a bit. He knew about my
ankle. We had worked together for the Diocese, and still kept in touch.
Thank God for small favors.
When I was done, I crawled back to the bed. It was easier than using the
crutches. There was a piece of paper with a phone number in orange, but no
area code. I knew Ned was out of our district, and the number looked like a
local exchange. I called her in and asked her to go back over what he had
said. "Well, he thought I was you and when I told him I was your daughter,
he said that someone had told him to call you about a website." Okay, that
would not be Ned then. This was someone else. "Oh, and he said wait until
tomorrow, because he was on his way out of the office." Probably someone
from one of the churches who thought I still worked for the diocese and
would help them with a hosting problem. That would be easy to take care of;
I would just point them back to the diocesan office. I don't do that job
anymore.
The next morning I called the mystery number. But it wasn't a church, it was
a business. He had gotten my name and number from someone I had worked with
before I quit my last job. We wanted me to create a web site for his
business. Well, I was unprepared for the call. I didn't have clients' info
in front of me. I gave him the first one that came to my mind - my mother's
site. She is a potter by trade, and when my server crashed, I put what I had
salvaged of her site up on my own personal webpage until I had a chance to
rebuild the machine. He didn't need to know that she and I were related.
He paused, and then said, "That isn't a domain name. That is just a personal
site." "Yes," I answered, "I put her pages on my site for now. She wasn't
ready to get a domain name yet." He hesitated. That isn't a good sign.
"Could I have the URL of one that did get a domain?" he asked. "None of them
have domain names," I replied. This was not going well. "How long have you
been designing sites?" he asked. "Five years," I replied. "And none of them
have domain names?" he said. I sighed. "None that I am working with now. You
see, most of them pay me in trade," I explained. "This client is a potter
and she pays me in pottery. Another has a vineyard and she pays me in wine.
There is the one I did for my last employer. That has a domain name, but I
don't do their site anymore, so I can't vouch for its condition." He thanked
me for my time and hung up. A lost sale because none of my clients can
afford to pay; they are all just starting businesses too.
I called my ISP. They have a business package that would allow me to run a
full web design and hosting company from my home. It was time for me to
investigate the price. Thirty minutes later, I was depressed. Eighty dollars
a month plus a setup fee. I doubted I would have enough cash paying business
to cover even half that on an ongoing basis. And under no circumstances
would I sell the pottery my mother gave me. It is beautiful art that is
increasing in value each year. In addition, there is a sentimental value
attached to it as well.
I called the vineyard owner to check on her business. This is her third
spring, and she had told me that in March they would be able to tell how the
vines had done over the winter. She was excited to hear from me. The winter
had been kind to her vines and they would have a crop of grapes to sell. I
congratulated her. She had told me in the beginning that it usually took
three years to get a harvest. I asked her to send me some new pictures of
the vines for the website. She told me that she and her husband were finally
ready to get a domain name and start expanding the website. I was ecstatic.
We arranged to meet Thursday (which is today) for lunch to discuss the
expansion and paying me in cash from now on. Maybe it was time to officially
get my business off the ground.
I went downstairs, got my coat and purse, and walked out to the car. I
needed to run a few errands and I wanted lunch out. I called my
brother-in-law. Just the previous night, he had offered to buy my mother a
domain name for her birthday and host her site there. He has his own
business where he goes to people's homes or offices to fix their computers,
sort of like house calls for computers. I wanted to know how much he had to
pay for licenses and such to start up his business two years ago.
I was shocked by what he told me. No, not about his license, which in his
state is free, but that he could show me a place to get hosting at a price
that made my ISP's offer look ridiculous. After thirty minutes on the phone
with him, he had purchased the domain for my mother and sent me the upload
info. There was a way to make this work. I finished my errands and headed
straight home. I contacted the company he dealt with and bought two domain
names (one for myself and one for the vineyard.) I immediately began working
on the files that will go up as soon as the transfer is complete (estimated
to be tomorrow). While I worked on those, I got a call from the vineyard
owner. She had lunched with a real estate agent she knew, and the subject of
web sites came up. Now the realtor wanted me to create a site for her. In
addition, she was going to recommend me to her company and see if the whole
agency would take a site.
I was shocked again. I had gone from no (money) paying clients to two
definite and a possible, with the possible being a large client, in just two
days. I called the city to get information about getting a license. It turns
out to be quite simple and inexpensive in this area. I printed out the forms
and made plans to go to city hall on Friday.
I hung up the phone, and went back to my computer, opening the program I use
to edit web pages. Its familiar screen sprang to life, greeting me and
encouraging me to open a page. I browsed to the folder where I kept the web
pages I have built over the last several years, and opened one. I loaded the
pages and started coding again.
Next week, after my trip to the real estate company, I will make a call to
the man from Monday and arrange an interview with him. I will have three
current domain sites to show him, and half a dozen others (though they still
don't' have domains, and never will). I may even have a preliminary draft
for the real estate company. Then, I will show him my proposal for his site.
The further adventures in job searching
My ankle is nearly better. I have rested it (some) and spent time reading (a lot). Today, I actually went out. I had a second interview with a company I had seen two weeks ago.
They finally got all my references and wanted to talk to me about their benefits and the salary. I was anxious to hear what they had to say. I left my last job on February 13, and though my husband makes a reasonable salary, I like the challenge of working. I have been home for a while now and am ready to be productive again.
The day didn’t start out promising, though. At 7:00 a.m., I climbed into the tub. With a 10:00 a.m. interview, I had plenty of time to soak a bit, then dress my 4-year old and myself, get some breakfast, drop her at the sitter, and leisurely make my way to the interview.
I sighed as I eased myself into the hot water. With the bad ankle, I had been taking just quick showers, to reduce the slipping hazard. Now, however, I let every tension melt as the aroma of the scented bubbles reached my nose. “This is going to be a great interview,” I told myself. I knew I had made a great impression at the first one. I have all the skills they need and plenty of experience with them as well. The location is much closer to home than my last job. The hours are perfect. All that I needed was the right salary and benefits, and I would be ready to sign.
I had not even started to wash my hair when there was a timid knock on the bathroom door. “Mom?” Oh no, my 15-year old son, whose bus comes at 6:30 a.m. and who should have been out of the house well before I got up. “Yes, I guess you missed the bus?” I asked, knowing the answer. “I overslept; will you take me?” He isn’t old enough to drive yet. What choice did I have? “Yes, please get your sister dressed. I will hurry.” Darn, darn, darn. I grabbed the shampoo and started to lather up. This was not the best day to have to drive halfway across town. I rinsed the suds and reached for the conditioner. In fact, it was nearly the worst day. I distributed the conditioner through my hair, concentrating on the ends. I let that soak in while I shaved my legs. It was hard to do a good job on the one with the bad ankle, but I was determined to clear the gorilla-growth that had appeared while I was recuperating. I turned on the faucet to get some fresh water to rinse my hair. I was losing precious time.
I toweled off and grabbed my clothes. They were all laid out and ready. I had chosen them last night. For St. Patrick’s Day, I wanted to be sure I had something green. I put on the green plaid skirt and a light green shirt. I took out my bone pumps and gingerly slid them on. I hoped my ankle would be able to handle them. I ran a brush through my hair – no time to dry it or style it. Luckily, I have natural curls.
I was putting the brush away when my 13-year old knocked. “Come on in. I’m done,” I said as I closed the drawer. “Don’t forget that you need to drop me off this morning.” I had forgotten. She plays the double bass in the school orchestra and had All-City auditions yesterday. The bass doesn’t fit on the bus. I herded them out the door, reminding them of things that needed to come with us, closing the dogs in their crates, and locking the front door. I glanced out into the yard and saw that it had been raining for quite a while. Great! That means mud on my dress shoes.
We piled in the car. My son had to be taken first. He had a project due in English and it was his first class. The period ends at 8:40. I looked at the clock, 8:02; we might make it. I started calculating the times for various routes based on traffic patterns and accident reports on the radio. Since there was a big accident just before the exit I would need if I took the highway, that was out. Going down Holland at 8 a.m. was sure to be a nightmare. The boulevard was the only possibility, though the thought of stoplights every 50 yards chilled my blood.
Thirty minutes later, we pulled up in front of his school. There were no parking spaces available, of course. He asked why we couldn’t just park at the curb. I rolled my eyes and calmly explained to this near-driving-age-teen-who-got-all-As-in-drivers-ed that parking in a fire lane is considered a no-no. We made it in time for his to turn in his project, but it was close.
One down, two to go. The sitter for the 4-year old was closer, but the 13-year old needed to be through the door before 9:10. Considering her school is only 3 minutes from our house, and it took 28 minutes to get where we were, my first thought was to trek there first, but that would leave me to get the 4-year old in to the sitter, which meant walking in the heels in the rain. Plus, the sitter’s daughter was my 13-year-old’s best friend. I decided to chance it, and headed toward the sitter.
Returning the way we came was not an option. That would have us in the pack with the Navy guys on their way onto base. The highway would have us in the pack of commuters who worked in the Lynnhaven area. Rosemont south was the best alternative. I turned back onto the boulevard heading toward Rosemont. The traffic was light, and I made Rosemont in great time. We pulled into the sitter’s subdivision and I asked my daughter to walk her sister up to the house. The little one suddenly threw a fit. I suppose four weeks of having me home with her had spoiled her a bit. She refused to go inside and fought her sister. I had no choice. I got out in the rain, hiked up my skirt a bit, and picked up the 41-pound dead weight. Somehow, she made herself even heavier. I carefully made my way up the steps, praying I wouldn’t twist my ankle again. My sitter met me at the door, and took her. “Go. I’ve got her. Good luck.”
As quickly as I dared, I turned and made my way back to the car. Two down, one to go. I got in and glanced at myself in the mirror. My hair looked okay if a bit frizzy, darn this humidity, but I hadn’t had time to brush my teeth or put on even a drop of makeup. As I made my way to the school, I counted the stoplights between there and the interview. Would that give me enough time to do make-up? I am not one who typically does my makeup in the car, but I did have some that I keep there for a touch up in the parking lot before I go in somewhere. There was no way I would attempt to do it while moving. I had seen women try that and usually their cars were weaving everywhere while they did. No, it would have to be in the parking lot.
I pulled into the Student Drop-Off lane and popped the trunk. My daughter got out and retrieved the double bass from the back. “Good luck,” she called up through the van. “Thanks, see you later,” I replied as she closed the back. Three down, time to go to the interview.
My tummy rumbled as I pulled out of the school lot. I realized I had not have breakfast either. That would mean a rumbling tummy during the interview. Hardly the best way to make a good impression. I considered a quick stop at a fast food place, but decided against it. As I waited at a stop light, I looked down between the seats. Sure enough, there was an unopened soda there. I had bought a twelve pack the week before I quit and a few were still left on my last day, so I had carried them out to the car. In my laziness, I had not carried them in the house. With the recent weather, the can was nearly as cold as from my fridge. Breakfast, at last. Not the most nutritious, in fact, not even nutritious, since it was Diet, but at least something in my stomach.
I turned at the light, and headed down the final stretch. I was making great time. I would have 30 minutes at least. All the lights were green for me and I got there with 35 minutes to spare. I grabbed the makeup bag, and quickly put on my face. I sprayed some detangler in my hair to calm the frizzies.
I got my portfolio and my purse, and locked the car. I checked in with the receptionist and asked to use the bathroom. I wanted to see my face in a proper sized mirror. Not too bad for a day like today. I washed my hands and put on some hand scented lotion, then I took several deep breaths. I was ready.
Within a few moments of returning to the lobby, my interviewer greeted me and led me to the director’s office.
They finally got all my references and wanted to talk to me about their benefits and the salary. I was anxious to hear what they had to say. I left my last job on February 13, and though my husband makes a reasonable salary, I like the challenge of working. I have been home for a while now and am ready to be productive again.
The day didn’t start out promising, though. At 7:00 a.m., I climbed into the tub. With a 10:00 a.m. interview, I had plenty of time to soak a bit, then dress my 4-year old and myself, get some breakfast, drop her at the sitter, and leisurely make my way to the interview.
I sighed as I eased myself into the hot water. With the bad ankle, I had been taking just quick showers, to reduce the slipping hazard. Now, however, I let every tension melt as the aroma of the scented bubbles reached my nose. “This is going to be a great interview,” I told myself. I knew I had made a great impression at the first one. I have all the skills they need and plenty of experience with them as well. The location is much closer to home than my last job. The hours are perfect. All that I needed was the right salary and benefits, and I would be ready to sign.
I had not even started to wash my hair when there was a timid knock on the bathroom door. “Mom?” Oh no, my 15-year old son, whose bus comes at 6:30 a.m. and who should have been out of the house well before I got up. “Yes, I guess you missed the bus?” I asked, knowing the answer. “I overslept; will you take me?” He isn’t old enough to drive yet. What choice did I have? “Yes, please get your sister dressed. I will hurry.” Darn, darn, darn. I grabbed the shampoo and started to lather up. This was not the best day to have to drive halfway across town. I rinsed the suds and reached for the conditioner. In fact, it was nearly the worst day. I distributed the conditioner through my hair, concentrating on the ends. I let that soak in while I shaved my legs. It was hard to do a good job on the one with the bad ankle, but I was determined to clear the gorilla-growth that had appeared while I was recuperating. I turned on the faucet to get some fresh water to rinse my hair. I was losing precious time.
I toweled off and grabbed my clothes. They were all laid out and ready. I had chosen them last night. For St. Patrick’s Day, I wanted to be sure I had something green. I put on the green plaid skirt and a light green shirt. I took out my bone pumps and gingerly slid them on. I hoped my ankle would be able to handle them. I ran a brush through my hair – no time to dry it or style it. Luckily, I have natural curls.
I was putting the brush away when my 13-year old knocked. “Come on in. I’m done,” I said as I closed the drawer. “Don’t forget that you need to drop me off this morning.” I had forgotten. She plays the double bass in the school orchestra and had All-City auditions yesterday. The bass doesn’t fit on the bus. I herded them out the door, reminding them of things that needed to come with us, closing the dogs in their crates, and locking the front door. I glanced out into the yard and saw that it had been raining for quite a while. Great! That means mud on my dress shoes.
We piled in the car. My son had to be taken first. He had a project due in English and it was his first class. The period ends at 8:40. I looked at the clock, 8:02; we might make it. I started calculating the times for various routes based on traffic patterns and accident reports on the radio. Since there was a big accident just before the exit I would need if I took the highway, that was out. Going down Holland at 8 a.m. was sure to be a nightmare. The boulevard was the only possibility, though the thought of stoplights every 50 yards chilled my blood.
Thirty minutes later, we pulled up in front of his school. There were no parking spaces available, of course. He asked why we couldn’t just park at the curb. I rolled my eyes and calmly explained to this near-driving-age-teen-who-got-all-As-in-drivers-ed that parking in a fire lane is considered a no-no. We made it in time for his to turn in his project, but it was close.
One down, two to go. The sitter for the 4-year old was closer, but the 13-year old needed to be through the door before 9:10. Considering her school is only 3 minutes from our house, and it took 28 minutes to get where we were, my first thought was to trek there first, but that would leave me to get the 4-year old in to the sitter, which meant walking in the heels in the rain. Plus, the sitter’s daughter was my 13-year-old’s best friend. I decided to chance it, and headed toward the sitter.
Returning the way we came was not an option. That would have us in the pack with the Navy guys on their way onto base. The highway would have us in the pack of commuters who worked in the Lynnhaven area. Rosemont south was the best alternative. I turned back onto the boulevard heading toward Rosemont. The traffic was light, and I made Rosemont in great time. We pulled into the sitter’s subdivision and I asked my daughter to walk her sister up to the house. The little one suddenly threw a fit. I suppose four weeks of having me home with her had spoiled her a bit. She refused to go inside and fought her sister. I had no choice. I got out in the rain, hiked up my skirt a bit, and picked up the 41-pound dead weight. Somehow, she made herself even heavier. I carefully made my way up the steps, praying I wouldn’t twist my ankle again. My sitter met me at the door, and took her. “Go. I’ve got her. Good luck.”
As quickly as I dared, I turned and made my way back to the car. Two down, one to go. I got in and glanced at myself in the mirror. My hair looked okay if a bit frizzy, darn this humidity, but I hadn’t had time to brush my teeth or put on even a drop of makeup. As I made my way to the school, I counted the stoplights between there and the interview. Would that give me enough time to do make-up? I am not one who typically does my makeup in the car, but I did have some that I keep there for a touch up in the parking lot before I go in somewhere. There was no way I would attempt to do it while moving. I had seen women try that and usually their cars were weaving everywhere while they did. No, it would have to be in the parking lot.
I pulled into the Student Drop-Off lane and popped the trunk. My daughter got out and retrieved the double bass from the back. “Good luck,” she called up through the van. “Thanks, see you later,” I replied as she closed the back. Three down, time to go to the interview.
My tummy rumbled as I pulled out of the school lot. I realized I had not have breakfast either. That would mean a rumbling tummy during the interview. Hardly the best way to make a good impression. I considered a quick stop at a fast food place, but decided against it. As I waited at a stop light, I looked down between the seats. Sure enough, there was an unopened soda there. I had bought a twelve pack the week before I quit and a few were still left on my last day, so I had carried them out to the car. In my laziness, I had not carried them in the house. With the recent weather, the can was nearly as cold as from my fridge. Breakfast, at last. Not the most nutritious, in fact, not even nutritious, since it was Diet, but at least something in my stomach.
I turned at the light, and headed down the final stretch. I was making great time. I would have 30 minutes at least. All the lights were green for me and I got there with 35 minutes to spare. I grabbed the makeup bag, and quickly put on my face. I sprayed some detangler in my hair to calm the frizzies.
I got my portfolio and my purse, and locked the car. I checked in with the receptionist and asked to use the bathroom. I wanted to see my face in a proper sized mirror. Not too bad for a day like today. I washed my hands and put on some hand scented lotion, then I took several deep breaths. I was ready.
Within a few moments of returning to the lobby, my interviewer greeted me and led me to the director’s office.
Sunday, March 13, 2005
Laid up
This is not what I intend to write about today, but I have had an unexpected event in my life. I fell and am now stuck with crutches and bed rest.
It amazes me how a day with such potential can become one of the worst in one's life. It started out with two pretty cool possibilities for a Saturday. A friend had called to tell me she was heading down to her beach house, and she invited my family and me to come down for the weekend. We haven't seen each other in months due to conflicting scheduled, so I was excited about the chance to get away from the chores and duties here, and have a weekend of just play.
The other possibility was one of my other friends. He turned in his resignation at work on Friday, and so had his first weekend off in 3 years. He was willing to come to my place to visit.
Either choice was a good one, but I admit my first choice was going to the beach. That friend had some bad news last week, and so she was looking to forget her hard times, whereas my other friend was basking in the glory of dumping a bad boss.
Saturday morning dawned and I called my friend at the beach. She had driven down Friday evening. We talked and she asked if we could wait until Tuesday for our day of fun. She needed a few days to pull herself together. That sounded reasonable, so we planned a day of fun for Tuesday.
I called my other friend, to see if he wanted to come for a day of D&D (those who don't know what that is will have to wait for another blog.) Unfortunately, his wife had come down with something, and he had to stay home and nurse her. Well, with no one to visit, my husband, children and I decided to catch a movie, Robots. So, off we went to the theatre.
In our area, we have a very cool theatre chain that differs from ordinary theatres. At the Cinema Cafe (visit www.conema-cafe.com for more info), the guests sit at tables, and can order full meals to eat while watching the movie. So instead of just popcorn, candy and a soda, my two older children had pizza, whereas our little one had corn dog nuggets.
Anyway, after the food was delivered, we discovered that we were missing a straw, so I decided to sneak out (so the rest of the customers could still see the movie) to get another straw. Unfortunately, I didn't remember the small step at the aisle, and I missed it, landing on my ankle in a way that ankles aren't meant to bend. The waiters came to my rescue getting me ice, and the manager brought me a chair. He offered to get me medical treatment. I declined; after all, I only twisted it. He recommended I fill out an accident report after the movie just in case, so that if went to the doctor I could charge it back to them and helped me back to my seat.
An hour and a half of throbbing ankle pain later, I filled out the paperwork. He gave me passes for a free movie the next time I came, and offered to wheel me out to my car, if necessary. I really didn't think it was their fault. I ended up heading to the Doc-in-a-Box anyway. Two hours later, I was on crutches with my ankle wrapped up. The x-rays didn't show any broken bones, but there could be ligament damage. Wonderful, I thought, remembering that my husband is leaving for a week in San Diego on Monday.
As I hobbled to the car on the new crutches, I realized that I am far from graceful using them. In fact, I am a danger to the civilized world. The doctor had recommended staying in bed at least until Monday, and then just tentative attempts to put weight on it. He hoped I would be back to normal in a week.
This was the death of my Tuesday outing with K. It also meant some major changes in the rest of my week. No way to drive my son to Scouts. No way to pick him up from after school play practice. No way to even hit the grocery store. How can anyone push a grocery cart while hobbling on crutches?
So, here I am, a captive audience. I guess this week I will be reading your blogs.
It amazes me how a day with such potential can become one of the worst in one's life. It started out with two pretty cool possibilities for a Saturday. A friend had called to tell me she was heading down to her beach house, and she invited my family and me to come down for the weekend. We haven't seen each other in months due to conflicting scheduled, so I was excited about the chance to get away from the chores and duties here, and have a weekend of just play.
The other possibility was one of my other friends. He turned in his resignation at work on Friday, and so had his first weekend off in 3 years. He was willing to come to my place to visit.
Either choice was a good one, but I admit my first choice was going to the beach. That friend had some bad news last week, and so she was looking to forget her hard times, whereas my other friend was basking in the glory of dumping a bad boss.
Saturday morning dawned and I called my friend at the beach. She had driven down Friday evening. We talked and she asked if we could wait until Tuesday for our day of fun. She needed a few days to pull herself together. That sounded reasonable, so we planned a day of fun for Tuesday.
I called my other friend, to see if he wanted to come for a day of D&D (those who don't know what that is will have to wait for another blog.) Unfortunately, his wife had come down with something, and he had to stay home and nurse her. Well, with no one to visit, my husband, children and I decided to catch a movie, Robots. So, off we went to the theatre.
In our area, we have a very cool theatre chain that differs from ordinary theatres. At the Cinema Cafe (visit www.conema-cafe.com for more info), the guests sit at tables, and can order full meals to eat while watching the movie. So instead of just popcorn, candy and a soda, my two older children had pizza, whereas our little one had corn dog nuggets.
Anyway, after the food was delivered, we discovered that we were missing a straw, so I decided to sneak out (so the rest of the customers could still see the movie) to get another straw. Unfortunately, I didn't remember the small step at the aisle, and I missed it, landing on my ankle in a way that ankles aren't meant to bend. The waiters came to my rescue getting me ice, and the manager brought me a chair. He offered to get me medical treatment. I declined; after all, I only twisted it. He recommended I fill out an accident report after the movie just in case, so that if went to the doctor I could charge it back to them and helped me back to my seat.
An hour and a half of throbbing ankle pain later, I filled out the paperwork. He gave me passes for a free movie the next time I came, and offered to wheel me out to my car, if necessary. I really didn't think it was their fault. I ended up heading to the Doc-in-a-Box anyway. Two hours later, I was on crutches with my ankle wrapped up. The x-rays didn't show any broken bones, but there could be ligament damage. Wonderful, I thought, remembering that my husband is leaving for a week in San Diego on Monday.
As I hobbled to the car on the new crutches, I realized that I am far from graceful using them. In fact, I am a danger to the civilized world. The doctor had recommended staying in bed at least until Monday, and then just tentative attempts to put weight on it. He hoped I would be back to normal in a week.
This was the death of my Tuesday outing with K. It also meant some major changes in the rest of my week. No way to drive my son to Scouts. No way to pick him up from after school play practice. No way to even hit the grocery store. How can anyone push a grocery cart while hobbling on crutches?
So, here I am, a captive audience. I guess this week I will be reading your blogs.
Wednesday, March 09, 2005
The Fifth Duck
Ducks are odd. Their shape is odd; their voices are odd. Who could ever love that billed face? Other ducks obviously do, in their own way.
If you’ve read my other entries about ducks, you’ll remember my fondness for their awkward little selves and that I had taken time to become very familiar with four of their species: Marilyn, Monroe, Larry and Lily.
Over the last several years, I have watched these same four ducks. I have taken pages of notes and hundreds of pictures. While my experiences with them are limited to two months each year, I can safely say that I know these four ducks better than anyone else does. In fact, I may know them better than some human couples I know. After all, how many other couples do I spend several hours with each day, everyday, for 60 days straight in a row, watching their relationship unburdened by any posturing, rationalizing or explanations? Everything I know of Marilyn & Monroe and Lily & Larry I know solely through observation.
Two years ago, I met a fifth duck. I eventually named him Lester. It was several days after the other four appeared that spring before he showed up that first time. Mid-afternoon, my middle child told me that a drake was in the yard. I was surprised, as I had never had a loner in the yard before. My first thought was that Marilyn or Lily was hurt or dead, leaving her mate alone. I wiped my hands dry on the dishtowel and went outside, holding my breath.
It certainly wasn’t Monroe; I felt nearly as sure that it wasn’t Larry. I opened the food container and tossed some out to entice him closer. He eyed me warily, but eventually moved close enough to get some. Just a loner, I thought, snapping a few shots with the camera. After a bit, he waddled to the plum tree and curled up in its shade.
I went back in the house, finished washing the lunch dishes and started on dinner. Just as I slid it in the oven, I heard a familiar tapping. Glancing down the hall, I saw Marilyn on the porch, rapping on the glass down with her bill. She had long lost her fear of me and had actually become quite bold. I gathered my laptop and camera, and adjourned to the porch.
As I had done so many times before, I refilled the water dish, and cast out some food. True to form, Monroe waited while Marilyn ate while Larry pushed past Lily. Sadly, Monroe’s gallantry had not rubbed off on Larry at all. It was then I noticed Lester approaching. He watched as the four moved confidently within a few feet of me. Slowly, he crept forward. Monroe immediately became tense. Anytime Lester came within a few feet of Marilyn, he would nuzzle her, then let out a loud quack at Lester, who would then back off. After two aborted attempts to move hear her, Marilyn waddled off to her normal resting place. This time, instead of feeding while she slept, Monroe sat next to her, head up, eyes constantly on Lester.
Meanwhile, Larry was oblivious to the motions of Lester. Lester made tentative moves toward Lily and finding no reaction from Larry, he moved even closer and in a more determined way. Within seconds, it was over. Lester grabbed Lily by the neck with his bill, held her down and mounted her. By the time Larry reacted, the deed was done. Released, Lily scampered away toward the plum tree. Larry chased Lester until the newcomer took off, then returned to feeding.
“Was Darwin right?” I wondered. Certainly, in light of what I had seen, Larry’s genes were less likely to be passed on than Monroe’s were; and what of Lester? He had invested little to ensure his genes succeeded beyond that first deposit.
I found my mind wandering to people I knew, categorizing them roughly as Monroes, Marilyns, Lilys, Larrys and Lesters. Did the Monroes tend to have a better chance of gene survival? Did the Lesters ever have their genes win out? And if they did win, did the progeny survive without the father in place? The answer seemed obvious. The couples in which the two partners worked together had stronger marriages and children who were more successful. The couples where at least one member was self-centered tended to have relationships that collapsed, either due to intrusion by a newcomer or just deterioration. Their children seemed to suffer as well. Of course, it wasn’t true in 100% of cases, but it did seem to follow in general.
Self Reflection
Many years ago, and no I don't want to discuss how many, I took several psychology courses in college. At the time, I wanted to be a genetic counselor. I wanted to help pregnant couples know more about the child they were carrying and how their genetic traits would be passed on. This meant a lot of biology, physiology, anatomy, and psychology courses. Partway through, the truth of the job hit me like a ton of bricks. There would be times that the information I would have for the couples would not be pleasant. I would be the bearer of that unpleasant news and the choices I would be able to offer them would be insufficient. I lost my desire for that field and moved in other directions.
Regardless, I did learn a lot in those psychology courses. One required that we keep a journal, not that different from this blog. We needed to spend at least 15 minutes each day, just writing. It didn't matter what our topic was or whether we stayed on topic. All that mattered was that we write. We didn't share those notebooks with anyone in the class, nor did the professor ask to see what we had written. All she asked was that we carry the notebooks with us and write when we had the opportunity.
For a while, I let that dream wither in the back of my mind. After all, it was a dream I didn’t pursue. A dream that had spoiled before it was reached, but it didn’t go away. It just sat, dormant, waiting for a chance to resurface.
Many years later, during my first marriage, I was friends with one of my spouse’s co-worker’s wives. That is a typical event in the military. The “members” make their friends among their co-workers, and the spouses are left to make friends, or not, from among themselves. This particular woman and I got along quite well. Her daughter was only a few months older than my son was. We got together on the weekend, when the men were gone, and let the children play. We met at the mall and wandered around to get our exercise. We planned Tupperware parties.
One day, she called me with the news that she was expecting. I was thrilled for her. I knew that she wanted a larger family because she had been an only child. A few weeks later, I found out that I was also expecting. We shared notes from our doctor’s appointments and shopped for maternity clothes together. It was an exciting time, until the day of her ultrasound.
She came over right from the doctor (because I was watching her other child), and showed me the pictures. I looked at them as she raved about the hands and feet and how the baby kicked during the exam. I looked more closely because I thought I saw something that didn’t appear right. I asked her what the doctor had said about the baby. She didn’t realize that there was concern in my voice. She prattled on about the length of the baby and the estimate of its weight. I decided not to mention my concerns. After all, I was not a sonogram technician.
Three weeks later, I had my ultrasound. I scrutinized the screen and even asked the tech about what I thought I had seen on my friend’s picture. She said that if I saw what I thought I saw, it sounded like polydactylism (multiple digits on the hands or feet.) I also mentioned that the kidneys didn’t appear similar to my baby’s. The tech suggested that there might be something genetically wrong with the other baby. I didn’t say another word. I was to watch her daughter the following day because she was going back for another ultrasound. I decided to bide my time.
The following afternoon, when I answered the door, I knew that I had been right. Her eyes were puffy and red. She didn’t say a word; she just walked in and sat down on the sofa. I got us each a glass of ice water and then I took her hand and waited for her to speak.
She took out the pictures, both from that afternoon and the previous appointment. She handed them to me and told me that they thought the baby had a genetic defect. She told me a little about it and I listened. Then, she stopped, hung her head, and wept.
I pulled her to me and told her that I had studied genetics in college and that I knew about Patau syndrome. At first, she didn’t do anything. Then she pulled back a bit, wiped her eyes, and asked what I knew. I got up and retrieved my old genetics books and we flipped through until I found it. I explained more than the doctor had told her. I gave her the odds of successfully finishing the pregnancy. I told her the odds were against the child making her fifth birthday. I told her that I would stand with her through it unless my pregnancy would make her uncomfortable because it suddenly dawned on me that every time she saw me, it would remind her that the baby growing inside her wasn’t perfect.
I went to their house every day from the day she was released from the hospital. I watched her daughters so my friend could shower. I went with her to the mall where we would walk, and browse, and get our exercise. I hugged her when strangers pulled away at the unusualness of her baby’s appearance. I took her older daughter into my home the week they planned the funeral. My doctor didn’t let me attend the funeral though. He felt I was too close to delivery to be that far from the hospital.
Several months later, she called to tell me she was expecting again and she asked if she could come over. I made some tea and waited for her. Her daughter and my son got out blocks and began to build a city, my little one slept nearby in her bassinet. “What is the chance that this baby will have it too?” she asked, tears forming in her eyes. Very little chance, thankfully, it isn’t genetic in that it is passed from parent to child. It is genetic in that the genes are malformed in division. I could see the relief in her eyes for a second, and then they darkened. While I knew the chances were 1 in 3000 that seemed too high a probability to her. I recommended that she see an obstetrician who specialized in high-risk pregnancies and see if he/she thought that testing would be appropriate. She ended up having an amnio and the baby was just fine. No trace of genetic abnormality, he would be a fine son.
Since then, both our families have moved more than once, and I have lost track of them. I wonder sometimes how they are. My dream to be a genetic counselor didn’t turn out the way I thought it would, but I guess that it was fulfilled. I was able to counsel my friend when most of her friends turned away. I was able to help her and her family through a rough time in their lives. I was also able to see how lucky I really was. My daughter was healthy. I never took that for granted again.
Regardless, I did learn a lot in those psychology courses. One required that we keep a journal, not that different from this blog. We needed to spend at least 15 minutes each day, just writing. It didn't matter what our topic was or whether we stayed on topic. All that mattered was that we write. We didn't share those notebooks with anyone in the class, nor did the professor ask to see what we had written. All she asked was that we carry the notebooks with us and write when we had the opportunity.
For a while, I let that dream wither in the back of my mind. After all, it was a dream I didn’t pursue. A dream that had spoiled before it was reached, but it didn’t go away. It just sat, dormant, waiting for a chance to resurface.
Many years later, during my first marriage, I was friends with one of my spouse’s co-worker’s wives. That is a typical event in the military. The “members” make their friends among their co-workers, and the spouses are left to make friends, or not, from among themselves. This particular woman and I got along quite well. Her daughter was only a few months older than my son was. We got together on the weekend, when the men were gone, and let the children play. We met at the mall and wandered around to get our exercise. We planned Tupperware parties.
One day, she called me with the news that she was expecting. I was thrilled for her. I knew that she wanted a larger family because she had been an only child. A few weeks later, I found out that I was also expecting. We shared notes from our doctor’s appointments and shopped for maternity clothes together. It was an exciting time, until the day of her ultrasound.
She came over right from the doctor (because I was watching her other child), and showed me the pictures. I looked at them as she raved about the hands and feet and how the baby kicked during the exam. I looked more closely because I thought I saw something that didn’t appear right. I asked her what the doctor had said about the baby. She didn’t realize that there was concern in my voice. She prattled on about the length of the baby and the estimate of its weight. I decided not to mention my concerns. After all, I was not a sonogram technician.
Three weeks later, I had my ultrasound. I scrutinized the screen and even asked the tech about what I thought I had seen on my friend’s picture. She said that if I saw what I thought I saw, it sounded like polydactylism (multiple digits on the hands or feet.) I also mentioned that the kidneys didn’t appear similar to my baby’s. The tech suggested that there might be something genetically wrong with the other baby. I didn’t say another word. I was to watch her daughter the following day because she was going back for another ultrasound. I decided to bide my time.
The following afternoon, when I answered the door, I knew that I had been right. Her eyes were puffy and red. She didn’t say a word; she just walked in and sat down on the sofa. I got us each a glass of ice water and then I took her hand and waited for her to speak.
She took out the pictures, both from that afternoon and the previous appointment. She handed them to me and told me that they thought the baby had a genetic defect. She told me a little about it and I listened. Then, she stopped, hung her head, and wept.
I pulled her to me and told her that I had studied genetics in college and that I knew about Patau syndrome. At first, she didn’t do anything. Then she pulled back a bit, wiped her eyes, and asked what I knew. I got up and retrieved my old genetics books and we flipped through until I found it. I explained more than the doctor had told her. I gave her the odds of successfully finishing the pregnancy. I told her the odds were against the child making her fifth birthday. I told her that I would stand with her through it unless my pregnancy would make her uncomfortable because it suddenly dawned on me that every time she saw me, it would remind her that the baby growing inside her wasn’t perfect.
I went to their house every day from the day she was released from the hospital. I watched her daughters so my friend could shower. I went with her to the mall where we would walk, and browse, and get our exercise. I hugged her when strangers pulled away at the unusualness of her baby’s appearance. I took her older daughter into my home the week they planned the funeral. My doctor didn’t let me attend the funeral though. He felt I was too close to delivery to be that far from the hospital.
Several months later, she called to tell me she was expecting again and she asked if she could come over. I made some tea and waited for her. Her daughter and my son got out blocks and began to build a city, my little one slept nearby in her bassinet. “What is the chance that this baby will have it too?” she asked, tears forming in her eyes. Very little chance, thankfully, it isn’t genetic in that it is passed from parent to child. It is genetic in that the genes are malformed in division. I could see the relief in her eyes for a second, and then they darkened. While I knew the chances were 1 in 3000 that seemed too high a probability to her. I recommended that she see an obstetrician who specialized in high-risk pregnancies and see if he/she thought that testing would be appropriate. She ended up having an amnio and the baby was just fine. No trace of genetic abnormality, he would be a fine son.
Since then, both our families have moved more than once, and I have lost track of them. I wonder sometimes how they are. My dream to be a genetic counselor didn’t turn out the way I thought it would, but I guess that it was fulfilled. I was able to counsel my friend when most of her friends turned away. I was able to help her and her family through a rough time in their lives. I was also able to see how lucky I really was. My daughter was healthy. I never took that for granted again.
Fickle indeed.
Fickle indeed. As I sit here this afternoon at the computer, I am surprised at the way the weather had turned. 69 yesterday, snowing today. Of course, I don't expect it to stick. Seeing the quarter-sized and larger snowflakes falling outside the window while I lunched with an old friend, it was hard to remember that this is Virginia BEACH.
We ordered the soup and salad special that the Olive Garden has at lunchtime during the week. We both chose the minestrone - a good hearty soup, filled with white beans and vegetables, grated parmesan floating on the top. My friend had just completed a job interview and we were discussing the offer they made.
As we ate and talked, I watched the rain change to sleet. I knew that sleet meant snow was coming. When we walked to the car, I mentioned that the snow must be on the way, and that he should consider leaving directly back northward (he lives 180 miles north-west in Richmond.) While I was not concerned with his driving skills in the snow, I was concerned with those who live in this area. Snow is unusual enough to make good drivers poor, and poor drivers deadly.
I dropped him off at his car, and watched him drive off in the now nearly complete snowfall. My little one and I turned and headed home. In the fifteen minute drive, the snow had begun to stick.
We came in, and I headed up to the computer to check the weather: 2 inch accumulation expected. Maybe I will make soup for dinner. A warm, creamy potato soup with cheddar cheese and thick wheat bread would quickly remove any thoughts of snow from our minds. After dinner, we will set aside our dishes, and spend an evening in story-telling and sharing.
The weather may be fickle, but my life goes on regardless.
We ordered the soup and salad special that the Olive Garden has at lunchtime during the week. We both chose the minestrone - a good hearty soup, filled with white beans and vegetables, grated parmesan floating on the top. My friend had just completed a job interview and we were discussing the offer they made.
As we ate and talked, I watched the rain change to sleet. I knew that sleet meant snow was coming. When we walked to the car, I mentioned that the snow must be on the way, and that he should consider leaving directly back northward (he lives 180 miles north-west in Richmond.) While I was not concerned with his driving skills in the snow, I was concerned with those who live in this area. Snow is unusual enough to make good drivers poor, and poor drivers deadly.
I dropped him off at his car, and watched him drive off in the now nearly complete snowfall. My little one and I turned and headed home. In the fifteen minute drive, the snow had begun to stick.
We came in, and I headed up to the computer to check the weather: 2 inch accumulation expected. Maybe I will make soup for dinner. A warm, creamy potato soup with cheddar cheese and thick wheat bread would quickly remove any thoughts of snow from our minds. After dinner, we will set aside our dishes, and spend an evening in story-telling and sharing.
The weather may be fickle, but my life goes on regardless.
Life of Ducks, 2
Marilyn and Monroe are not the only ducks who choose our yard as their spring vacation spot. Two others, whom I named Larry and Lily, are also frequent visitors.
Larry is a more vocal duck. He quacks a lot, nearly continually. Not all his quacks are loud, in fact it more sounds like grumbling than quacking most of the time. I have come to call it quackeling.
Lily is quiet, tentative and timid. While Marilyn will approach me and wait for me to put down food, Lily hangs back and watches. I wonder what has happened in her life to make her so distrustful.
Her relationship with Larry differs from Marilyn and Monroe's relationship as well. Where Monroe watches Marilyn and encourages her to go first, Larry is not cut from the same cloth. He pushes forward to eat first, he grabs Lily by the neck and pushes her in the direction he thinks is best; he quackles at her constantly.
One morning, as I sipped my coffee and watched Marilyn and Monroe, Larry and Lily came to visit as well. I was about to toss out the grain just as they landed at the edge of the lawn. I recognized them, both by the constant quackeling of Monroe, but also by the small bald spot on the back of Lily’s neck. I set down my coffee and reached for the container of food. Grabbing a handful, I sat down on the steps, and invited Marilyn to approach.
As soon as I sat, she waddled up to me, stopping about a foot away. Monroe wandered by the plum tree about 6 feet away, trying to act nonchalant, but watching me. I began tossing the grain to her. Marilyn ate and then sipped water. When Larry saw me doling out food, he waddled up as well, though he stopped about 2 feet away. When Lily tried to approach, he quackled at her to stay back. I tossed some food her way, and he dove to get it first. I tossed out the rest, making sure that Lily would get some while Larry was busy with some I had tossed a little further out. Soon, Marylyn ambled to her normal sleeping spot, Monroe watching and guarding her. Once she was settled, he came to get his breakfast.
Larry continued to eat, even when Lily waddled off for her nap. He didn’t even watch to see which way she headed. She stopped a few feet from Marilyn, and curled up. Larry tried to prevent Monroe getting food, but I was watching, and made sure that both got plenty.
I stood up, moved back to my regular chair and my now lukewarm coffee, and took some pictures of them. I pondered the styles of the two drakes. I know that part of their actions is inbred instincts, but obviously, there is room for personal variances too. Monroe was a much more nurturing partner than Larry was. In fact, I compared Larry in my mind to the descriptions of abusive spouses and realized that humans do not hold the patent on cruel behavior.
Larry is a more vocal duck. He quacks a lot, nearly continually. Not all his quacks are loud, in fact it more sounds like grumbling than quacking most of the time. I have come to call it quackeling.
Lily is quiet, tentative and timid. While Marilyn will approach me and wait for me to put down food, Lily hangs back and watches. I wonder what has happened in her life to make her so distrustful.
Her relationship with Larry differs from Marilyn and Monroe's relationship as well. Where Monroe watches Marilyn and encourages her to go first, Larry is not cut from the same cloth. He pushes forward to eat first, he grabs Lily by the neck and pushes her in the direction he thinks is best; he quackles at her constantly.
One morning, as I sipped my coffee and watched Marilyn and Monroe, Larry and Lily came to visit as well. I was about to toss out the grain just as they landed at the edge of the lawn. I recognized them, both by the constant quackeling of Monroe, but also by the small bald spot on the back of Lily’s neck. I set down my coffee and reached for the container of food. Grabbing a handful, I sat down on the steps, and invited Marilyn to approach.
As soon as I sat, she waddled up to me, stopping about a foot away. Monroe wandered by the plum tree about 6 feet away, trying to act nonchalant, but watching me. I began tossing the grain to her. Marilyn ate and then sipped water. When Larry saw me doling out food, he waddled up as well, though he stopped about 2 feet away. When Lily tried to approach, he quackled at her to stay back. I tossed some food her way, and he dove to get it first. I tossed out the rest, making sure that Lily would get some while Larry was busy with some I had tossed a little further out. Soon, Marylyn ambled to her normal sleeping spot, Monroe watching and guarding her. Once she was settled, he came to get his breakfast.
Larry continued to eat, even when Lily waddled off for her nap. He didn’t even watch to see which way she headed. She stopped a few feet from Marilyn, and curled up. Larry tried to prevent Monroe getting food, but I was watching, and made sure that both got plenty.
I stood up, moved back to my regular chair and my now lukewarm coffee, and took some pictures of them. I pondered the styles of the two drakes. I know that part of their actions is inbred instincts, but obviously, there is room for personal variances too. Monroe was a much more nurturing partner than Larry was. In fact, I compared Larry in my mind to the descriptions of abusive spouses and realized that humans do not hold the patent on cruel behavior.
Tuesday, March 08, 2005
To Work or to Create
I do hate making choices. To be more accurate, it is not making the choices that bothers me, it is acting on them. Several years ago, I wanted to start creating websites for profit. I had made a few sites and they had gone over quite well, but I didn't have any prospects for customers.
I spread the word around that I was willing to build sites for a fee, and finally, I got a bite. My church decided they wanted to have a website and they asked me. I sat down, worked out a pricing schedule (which was well below the average) and proposed the plan to them at the next meeting. They approved it, and asked me to start right away.
I spent hours creating the graphics and working with the layout I had pitched. Of course, I also needed information from them, and that is where it fell flat. They had agreed that they wanted pictures of the main employees, but the employees were slow to get them to me (if they bothered at all.) I also needed information from each committee about their ministry, but again, getting information was like pulling teeth on a 2 month old. I knew it was in there, but it was hard to find.
I did my best, and uploaded the work in progress to the agreed upon URL. Some pages weren't ready, but most were. I approached the vestry and asked them to review the site, and let me know if it suited their needs. A few viewed it and sent in comments (all positive), but most didn't bother. I sent a bill in to the pastor, but nothing happened. I went to the next vestry meeting and they voted again on whether they wanted to support this website. Again it passed, but again, I got no money and no more new information for the site. Four months later, I took the site down.
A month or two later, my mother contacted me. I had already created a site for her pottery and she loved it, but now her church was looking to create a website. They wanted me to do it. I was pumped. Again, I spent hours creating graphics. I submitted the finished product and they loved it. Within a week, I had a check in my hand. I was thrilled. They also asked that I stay on and to updates to the website on a monthly basis. We set a price and that relationship continued for about a year, when one of their parishioners offered to do the updates for free.
In the meantime, I did create some other new sites, but they were all on a voluntary basis, and no money changed hands. I tried advertising, but it brought me no new leads. I reminded everyone I knew that I was looking for freelance work. Still, I got no responses.
One day, while picking up information for our church newsletter (which I also do gratis), there was a postcard for a job opening that the sender wanted us to publisize in our newsletter. The skills requested on the postcard were well within my abilities; they even stated that web design was a plus. I applied that afternoon. Two weeks later, I had the job.
Unfortunately, for me, they had no intention of using those skills. For over a year, my main tasks included fetching paperclips and pens for my "supervisor" (nothing about her was super). I complained, and was moved to another division, but even there, my web design skills were mostly ignored. I got to work on plenty of databases, did some desktop publishing, and a lot of "catch-all" work, like the main switchboard. On top of that, my new boss told me that one of my co-workers had complained about me. I was "too enthusiastic and outgoing". What?
I decided that I no longer needed to subject myself to their idea of "work ethic". The situation was toxic to more than just myself, and if I wasn't wanted, the best thing I could do was leave before I did something I would regret.
So, now I sit here unemployed. I have applied to a few places, and had a few interviews. So far, nothing has come up. I am torn between continuing to try to prove myself to people who will undoubtedly not use the talents I showcase for them (and which they say they want to have) and just starting my business again, and hoping for the best.
I have the skills, I have the personal motivation, I just lack the customers. Is it more important to make money or to feel good about myself? Can I feel good about myself in the long term if I don't get customers, or will their absense slowly eat away at my self-confidence?
I think it is time to build a webserver.
I spread the word around that I was willing to build sites for a fee, and finally, I got a bite. My church decided they wanted to have a website and they asked me. I sat down, worked out a pricing schedule (which was well below the average) and proposed the plan to them at the next meeting. They approved it, and asked me to start right away.
I spent hours creating the graphics and working with the layout I had pitched. Of course, I also needed information from them, and that is where it fell flat. They had agreed that they wanted pictures of the main employees, but the employees were slow to get them to me (if they bothered at all.) I also needed information from each committee about their ministry, but again, getting information was like pulling teeth on a 2 month old. I knew it was in there, but it was hard to find.
I did my best, and uploaded the work in progress to the agreed upon URL. Some pages weren't ready, but most were. I approached the vestry and asked them to review the site, and let me know if it suited their needs. A few viewed it and sent in comments (all positive), but most didn't bother. I sent a bill in to the pastor, but nothing happened. I went to the next vestry meeting and they voted again on whether they wanted to support this website. Again it passed, but again, I got no money and no more new information for the site. Four months later, I took the site down.
A month or two later, my mother contacted me. I had already created a site for her pottery and she loved it, but now her church was looking to create a website. They wanted me to do it. I was pumped. Again, I spent hours creating graphics. I submitted the finished product and they loved it. Within a week, I had a check in my hand. I was thrilled. They also asked that I stay on and to updates to the website on a monthly basis. We set a price and that relationship continued for about a year, when one of their parishioners offered to do the updates for free.
In the meantime, I did create some other new sites, but they were all on a voluntary basis, and no money changed hands. I tried advertising, but it brought me no new leads. I reminded everyone I knew that I was looking for freelance work. Still, I got no responses.
One day, while picking up information for our church newsletter (which I also do gratis), there was a postcard for a job opening that the sender wanted us to publisize in our newsletter. The skills requested on the postcard were well within my abilities; they even stated that web design was a plus. I applied that afternoon. Two weeks later, I had the job.
Unfortunately, for me, they had no intention of using those skills. For over a year, my main tasks included fetching paperclips and pens for my "supervisor" (nothing about her was super). I complained, and was moved to another division, but even there, my web design skills were mostly ignored. I got to work on plenty of databases, did some desktop publishing, and a lot of "catch-all" work, like the main switchboard. On top of that, my new boss told me that one of my co-workers had complained about me. I was "too enthusiastic and outgoing". What?
I decided that I no longer needed to subject myself to their idea of "work ethic". The situation was toxic to more than just myself, and if I wasn't wanted, the best thing I could do was leave before I did something I would regret.
So, now I sit here unemployed. I have applied to a few places, and had a few interviews. So far, nothing has come up. I am torn between continuing to try to prove myself to people who will undoubtedly not use the talents I showcase for them (and which they say they want to have) and just starting my business again, and hoping for the best.
I have the skills, I have the personal motivation, I just lack the customers. Is it more important to make money or to feel good about myself? Can I feel good about myself in the long term if I don't get customers, or will their absense slowly eat away at my self-confidence?
I think it is time to build a webserver.
Monday, March 07, 2005
The fickle hand of nature
I live in Virginia Beach, VA, USA. The city is on the coast and usually has temperate weather. This winter has been particularly cold. It is odd to see people with full-fledged coats, gloves, hats and some even with mufflers. I can remember winters when I was out on Christmas day in just jeans and a shirt, riding my bike. Certainly not this winter.
I am not saying we had a lot of snow this year. We certainly didn't, though we had some. The schools were even out one day for the snow. We just have had brisk cold and windy days. We have also had record amounts of rain already this year. Everything is soggy and cold. Finally, today, we had a day of beautiful clear, warm weather. In fact, it was up to 69 degrees today. It is still 58, which is high enough that I left out some of my hanging plants. Of course, it is warmer now than the high is expected to be for tomorrow, and the rest of the week is kind of bleak as well.
Such is the fickle hand of nature.
I am not saying we had a lot of snow this year. We certainly didn't, though we had some. The schools were even out one day for the snow. We just have had brisk cold and windy days. We have also had record amounts of rain already this year. Everything is soggy and cold. Finally, today, we had a day of beautiful clear, warm weather. In fact, it was up to 69 degrees today. It is still 58, which is high enough that I left out some of my hanging plants. Of course, it is warmer now than the high is expected to be for tomorrow, and the rest of the week is kind of bleak as well.
Such is the fickle hand of nature.
The life of ducks
Living on the coast, we have a good number of migratory birds pass through our area. I had the pleasure of getting to know four of them starting in the spring of 2001.
It began one morning, as I sat on the front porch with my coffee and my laptop. I saw two mallards fly down the street and land at the edge of the lawn. I watched as they wandered in the grass, seeking bugs and seeds. The male followed quietly after the female while she searched, bill down, through my lawn. He never made a sound; he just followed her. After a while, she wandered to the side of the yard, lay down, and curled up to sleep. He watched her silently, and then he wandered back to the middle of the yard, and searched for his own breakfast. After a bit, he wandered to where she slept and curled up next to her.
Later that day, I did some research on Mallards and went out to pick up some food for them. I didn't want to fill their stomachs with something that wasn't suitable. I brought it home, put a portion in a tightly lidded container, and left it on the porch.
The next morning, again I sat on the porch, coffee in one hand, laptop beside me, watching the world wake up. Sure enough, after a long wait, and several cups of coffee, I saw them flying in low. They landed at the lower end of the lawn and began to wander toward me. The female, her bill sweeping the grass in front of her, was unaware of the gentle protective eye of her male, who walked quietly behind her. I opened the container of food, and cast out a few handfuls, just as the man at the feed store had shown me. The water dish was already in place. I sat down, and picked up my camera. Slowly, the female moved toward the grain. She tasted a bit, and then headed for the water. She then alternated between picking up the grain and sipping the water. The whole time, the male just watched, silently, behind her. After a bit, she wandered to the edge of the lawn, and settled down. Again, he watched her, and then headed back to the grain. He tried some, and then drank. I named them Marilyn and Monroe.
My neighbor's dog, Lucky, barked as one of the neighborhood kids stepped out to head to the bus stop. Marilyn woke and quacked once. Monroe chirped back at her, not a real quack, more subdued than that, and headed toward her. When she saw him, she settled back down, and put her head back under her wing. He waited a few minutes, glanced at the water dish and the grain still on the grass, and then settled down next to her.
I watched them for quite a while that morning. My daughter was asleep in her crib and my older children were already at school. I took pictures and thought about duck life. I realized that my husband was very like Monroe. He watches me quietly a good portion of the time. He gives me first chance at whatever I see, and then when I am satisfied, he takes care of himself, but if I need him, he is right there to comfort me. I wondered to myself, are we that different from ducks?
It began one morning, as I sat on the front porch with my coffee and my laptop. I saw two mallards fly down the street and land at the edge of the lawn. I watched as they wandered in the grass, seeking bugs and seeds. The male followed quietly after the female while she searched, bill down, through my lawn. He never made a sound; he just followed her. After a while, she wandered to the side of the yard, lay down, and curled up to sleep. He watched her silently, and then he wandered back to the middle of the yard, and searched for his own breakfast. After a bit, he wandered to where she slept and curled up next to her.
Later that day, I did some research on Mallards and went out to pick up some food for them. I didn't want to fill their stomachs with something that wasn't suitable. I brought it home, put a portion in a tightly lidded container, and left it on the porch.
The next morning, again I sat on the porch, coffee in one hand, laptop beside me, watching the world wake up. Sure enough, after a long wait, and several cups of coffee, I saw them flying in low. They landed at the lower end of the lawn and began to wander toward me. The female, her bill sweeping the grass in front of her, was unaware of the gentle protective eye of her male, who walked quietly behind her. I opened the container of food, and cast out a few handfuls, just as the man at the feed store had shown me. The water dish was already in place. I sat down, and picked up my camera. Slowly, the female moved toward the grain. She tasted a bit, and then headed for the water. She then alternated between picking up the grain and sipping the water. The whole time, the male just watched, silently, behind her. After a bit, she wandered to the edge of the lawn, and settled down. Again, he watched her, and then headed back to the grain. He tried some, and then drank. I named them Marilyn and Monroe.
My neighbor's dog, Lucky, barked as one of the neighborhood kids stepped out to head to the bus stop. Marilyn woke and quacked once. Monroe chirped back at her, not a real quack, more subdued than that, and headed toward her. When she saw him, she settled back down, and put her head back under her wing. He waited a few minutes, glanced at the water dish and the grain still on the grass, and then settled down next to her.
I watched them for quite a while that morning. My daughter was asleep in her crib and my older children were already at school. I took pictures and thought about duck life. I realized that my husband was very like Monroe. He watches me quietly a good portion of the time. He gives me first chance at whatever I see, and then when I am satisfied, he takes care of himself, but if I need him, he is right there to comfort me. I wondered to myself, are we that different from ducks?
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