I must commit some of these events to paper before I forget them completely. I realized this morning on my drive to work that some memories have already started to merge together, clouding my view of them - like trying to keep the colors of a tye-dye shirt from seeping together. Somehow if I put them on paper I feel like I can only then allow myself to forget them as I have wanted to do for so long. For prosperity, I will prick myself with this pen and allow it to bleed out my emotions, all the pain and the pleasure, for it to be absorbed on the paper, never to hurt me again. The difficult part in purging these thoughts is where to begin. What is the beginning of this tale...my birth...my childhood...college...marriage? Let's go with that, marriage. It feels like a betrayal to talk about our life together, especially since it will cast a bad light on some or all the parties involved and that is not my intention. I will thus use meeting my husband only as a reference in time and try to focus on myself, shouldn't be hard.
It was the summer of my 23rd year. I had graduated college and just quit my job at the racetrack tick window, was moving out of my apartment and briefly back in with my parents. I was on the in-betweens in every aspect of my life, personal and professional. I was still working with the horses in the mornings, but not regularly. About a year prior I had ended my first very serious, live-in, almost engaged but extremely volatile relationship. I didn't do very well on my own that year. Let's just say it was a time of wild behavior and total irresponsibility, the time of my life, but not a time to be repeated.
Peolple always ask me how I met my husband. I showed up at the racetrack one morning looking for work. I met up with a friend of mine at the backside kitchen, a place where some horse trainers would go in the mornings for their am gambling fix - a hot poker game over coffee and cigarettes. Gambling is a terribel addiction, maybe one of the worst of the non-chemical type. If your husband is a drunk and has been out drinking, you will probably be able to tell, but if he is a gambler, and has been out gambling, you may not know unless you check your bank account. My point being that its probably the easiest addiction to hide, thus enabling the adict. Sorry about the tangent, my friend told me that morning that there was a guy stabled in the same barn he was working in that had just shipped in from New Jersey and needed some help. I went back to the barn with him and waited for the new guy from Jersey to show up.
I saw him pull in from where I was standing in the barn. He drove an old beat up...I guess it was an Oldsmobile that the grey paint had faded and lost any shine, so it looked like primer. I'm not sure it if was the smell of horse shit going to my head or what, but when he stepped out of the car and started coming my way I told myself, "This is the last guy I'm going to date." He was small in stature, but broad in the shoulders. Being at the track I was used to short guys. He had on workboots, jeans and a red flannel jacket, very rugged. He told me I "Was like an angel," the way I had just showed up when he needed someone. I was just happy to have a job, it was a perk that he was cute too.
It didn't take long before he was inviting me out to lunch after work, then home with him to Atlantic City, which is where he was commuting from two hours one way. We did all of the new couple things, we browsed the antique shops on our route to break up the monotomy of the drive, stop at the roadside stands for Jersey corn and tomatoes. He even bought gladiolas once in a while when we'd see them. Looking back just now, I realize that our relationship was that of new love, simple and uncomplicated, it just took extra time to evolved into a mature relationship...it was like a relationship with a severe learning disability.
Friday, June 06, 2008
Monday, June 02, 2008
The Interview
Before I know it, another year has slipped through my grasp. I am thirty-two now. I am okay with that. It was almost exactly two years ago that I was hired. That's a pretty good run I guess. Now, to find my next victim... Unless you have been in a sound proof, very dark closet for a year or two, you are aware of the job market situation, not good. Especially in our area. After the crash of the housing market, countless contractors and sub-contractors were left out of work and inevitably out of business, myself included. With the media all claiming recession or depression, depending whom you consult, and skyrocketing unemployment rates, increasing on a monthly basis, it was not going to be easy to find work at all. I applied for everything that came under my nose. I completed my job search, having submitted something like forty-five resumes and going to only four or five interviews.
Before the end of the year I had picked up some part-time work bookkeeping for a gentleman from his home, but it wasn't enough money or work to speak of. I also never went back to work for him after one particular occasion following Thanksgiving. My husband and I had been joking about having 'turkey gas'. Little did I know we weren't the only ones. I had an appointment to meet this gentleman at his home and finish bringing his books up to date, I was almost done. When I arrived he was waiting for me and filled me in on a few details. We were both working in his home office from computers that were pretty much back to back. He was telling me about a company that he consulted for that would be looking for a new bookkeeper at the beginning of the year and I thanked him for the notice. I stayed all day and worked, but there was one problem, the guy had terrible turkey gas. Unable to come up with an excuse not to go back, as the work was neither difficult nor time consuming, I finally just stopped answering his calls. I just couldn't bring myself to go back to that gas chamber or lie about why not.
The first interview I got invited to was for another construction company, very close to my home. I was interviewed by the office manager, who was a young lady very close to my own age, if not a little younger, but lacking in personality. It was going okay until she told me they had advertised the wages at half my last salary. They advertised in two different venues and I had replied to the one that didn't have a salary listed, obviously. So when they told me their range and asked me what I thought I deserved in that range I replied, "Double." I could hear it starting to downpour outside so I politely excused myself and thanked them for the opportunity (to waste my time). But it never hurts to have a 'warm-up' interview, since it's usually been a while since you've been to one, so I chalked this up to that.
At one point I was sending out resumes at such a feverish rate that I began to lose track of to whom they were going. My mother convinced me to get my community association manager certification, which is needed in Florida when managing properties with a large annual budget. So I kind of was gearing my search towards property management. I got a call from a gentleman from a campground, I didn't even realize I applied for a position there as bookkeeper. I was a little disappointed until I googled it and realized that it was a huge campground with rental properties and lot sales. I just assumed campground... I'm not sure what I thought. I was early for the interview, as it wasn't nearly as bad a drive as I was anticipating so I doubled back for a coffee. The interview went well, the gentleman, who was the property manager and I were getting along very well, there was a lot of smiling and laughing which I usually take as a good sign. He inquired as to my salary requirements and then the interview was over. It wasn't until later that I realized the correlation between the amount of money I was asking for and the end of the interview. It seems like employers in the area were taking great advantage of the employment situation and surplus of applicants, sometimes letting people go that they felt were under par to hire newbies at much lower rates. I followed up with him with an e-mail thanking him for the opportunity and expressed my interest in the campground, but to my disappointment never got a response.
My third interview was at a publishing company. I have no printing, editing, publishing experience whatsoever, but this was an office position, so it wasn't too far of a stretch. I met with the owners of the company, I later realized a husband and wife. They were very pleasant and seemed genuinely interesting and like they would be nice people to work for, aside from it being another family business, of which I was leery. We talked about them opening a warehouse location and I told them to keep me on file for the future, as shipping and logistics are one my resume already. I didn't get a call back, but they were kind enough to send a thanks, but no thanks letter, which I really appreciate as it allows me to close the door on that opportunity.
The fourth interview was in a college town that was quite a drive, I map quested it at forty-five miles, later to find out on my GPS that there was a shorter way that was only thirty-five miles, not so bad, but I had already kind of written it off due to distance. Turned out the drive was very pleasant and the interview went pretty well. The woman who did the interviewing seemed pretty down-to-business-type, so I liked that. The company is a multi-national engineering firm that does a certain type of static load testing that is exclusive to this company, i.e. job security. She assured me that they have a very high retention rate and that the person for whom I am replacing has left for retirement, a very good sign. I had a pretty good feeling about this one and the woman interviewing seemed like she was exhausted of doing it and ready to make her decision.
She reminds me of my mother. Strawberry blond hair, freckled complexion, all business, with an underlying cynical sense of humor. I think we'll get along just fine. I have already made up my mind that I will accept if given the opportunity, but I continue to search and schedule interviews.
A week later, as promised, she contacted me again for a second interview, this time including someone from their accountant's office to assist her in discerning if I was actually qualified and not just an expert resume writer. To hedge my bet I scheduled another interview on the same day in the morning. The morning interview left me desperate for an offer.
I showed up an the morning interview, an aluminum sub-contractor I had previously done business with in my last job. Upon entering I came across a little red headed child at the front desk. She promptly stood and introduced herself in a very grown up way and took me back to meet her mother, who was interviewing. I was there for an hour, kind of a long time for an interview. Over the course of the hour she explained how she home schools their three (all red headed daughters, don't ask my why the color of their hair matters, I just thought it was shocking or disturbing, the three of them with their bright red locks all sitting at their own desks, in what I assumed had been other lucky employee's' desks) daughters at the office while she works. She then proceeded to bad mouth their current employees and gave me enough insight to realize that this office was a disaster. I contemplated offering to clean up her past employees mess by coming in as a consultant, but I figured that the little red kids were too freaky for me to spend any more time there than was already wasted.
In between interviews, I stopped at home for a rest. On the way, about a mile from home, on the edge of the road was a huge turtle. My husband and I are pretty good about saving turtles from roadkill by stopping and relocating them whenever we see them on the road. I contemplated for a moment, I was dressed pretty neatly in my best interview duds (which are probably my best duds period) and turned around and stopped my BMW in front of Mr. Turtle, his lucky day. This road in particular is a two lane highway, that isn't incredibly busy, but is trafficked frequently by big trucks - without much regard for wildlife. I approached Mr. Turtle and grabbed him by the sides of his shell, like I normally would with any old turtle. Upon doing so, he hissed and JUMPED up and SNAPPED at me! I guess he was one of those snapping turtles my husband is always warning me about. How bad could a turtle be? I grossly underestimated my charity case now turned opponent Mr. Turtle. Having no desire to soil my fancy pants, by being bitten or...otherwise, I walked back to my car to search for assistance. I grabbed the first thing I saw as any woman would, my purse. This time I approached Mr. Turtle in a much more aggressive fashion, crouching down and stomping my feet, possibly even flapping my arms and making some very strange 'shoo' type noises. He didn't budge and in fact, he too came back on the assertive, again jumping and snapping against my advance. I tried whacking and shooing him with my purse but he was only coming on the attack against it. Not wanting any permanent damage to my purse, finally I came up with an idea. I had a long, narrow card board box in my trunk and went to retrieve it. I took the box and gently shoved him just barely off the road into safety, the whole time he was snapping and shredding the box, better than any part of me I guess. My original plan was to pick him up and carry him far enough to safety close to a nearby pond but that wasn't going to jive with Mr. Turtle, so I left him barely off the road and wished him luck. Snapping turtles, they really do snap.
I got home and rested up for my second interview, still somewhat shell-shocked from the first. I don't know why those red-headed kids freaked me out. Must have been the combination of red hair and home schooling, which I think is weird too. Don't parents want their kids out of the house off at school?
Before the end of the year I had picked up some part-time work bookkeeping for a gentleman from his home, but it wasn't enough money or work to speak of. I also never went back to work for him after one particular occasion following Thanksgiving. My husband and I had been joking about having 'turkey gas'. Little did I know we weren't the only ones. I had an appointment to meet this gentleman at his home and finish bringing his books up to date, I was almost done. When I arrived he was waiting for me and filled me in on a few details. We were both working in his home office from computers that were pretty much back to back. He was telling me about a company that he consulted for that would be looking for a new bookkeeper at the beginning of the year and I thanked him for the notice. I stayed all day and worked, but there was one problem, the guy had terrible turkey gas. Unable to come up with an excuse not to go back, as the work was neither difficult nor time consuming, I finally just stopped answering his calls. I just couldn't bring myself to go back to that gas chamber or lie about why not.
The first interview I got invited to was for another construction company, very close to my home. I was interviewed by the office manager, who was a young lady very close to my own age, if not a little younger, but lacking in personality. It was going okay until she told me they had advertised the wages at half my last salary. They advertised in two different venues and I had replied to the one that didn't have a salary listed, obviously. So when they told me their range and asked me what I thought I deserved in that range I replied, "Double." I could hear it starting to downpour outside so I politely excused myself and thanked them for the opportunity (to waste my time). But it never hurts to have a 'warm-up' interview, since it's usually been a while since you've been to one, so I chalked this up to that.
At one point I was sending out resumes at such a feverish rate that I began to lose track of to whom they were going. My mother convinced me to get my community association manager certification, which is needed in Florida when managing properties with a large annual budget. So I kind of was gearing my search towards property management. I got a call from a gentleman from a campground, I didn't even realize I applied for a position there as bookkeeper. I was a little disappointed until I googled it and realized that it was a huge campground with rental properties and lot sales. I just assumed campground... I'm not sure what I thought. I was early for the interview, as it wasn't nearly as bad a drive as I was anticipating so I doubled back for a coffee. The interview went well, the gentleman, who was the property manager and I were getting along very well, there was a lot of smiling and laughing which I usually take as a good sign. He inquired as to my salary requirements and then the interview was over. It wasn't until later that I realized the correlation between the amount of money I was asking for and the end of the interview. It seems like employers in the area were taking great advantage of the employment situation and surplus of applicants, sometimes letting people go that they felt were under par to hire newbies at much lower rates. I followed up with him with an e-mail thanking him for the opportunity and expressed my interest in the campground, but to my disappointment never got a response.
My third interview was at a publishing company. I have no printing, editing, publishing experience whatsoever, but this was an office position, so it wasn't too far of a stretch. I met with the owners of the company, I later realized a husband and wife. They were very pleasant and seemed genuinely interesting and like they would be nice people to work for, aside from it being another family business, of which I was leery. We talked about them opening a warehouse location and I told them to keep me on file for the future, as shipping and logistics are one my resume already. I didn't get a call back, but they were kind enough to send a thanks, but no thanks letter, which I really appreciate as it allows me to close the door on that opportunity.
The fourth interview was in a college town that was quite a drive, I map quested it at forty-five miles, later to find out on my GPS that there was a shorter way that was only thirty-five miles, not so bad, but I had already kind of written it off due to distance. Turned out the drive was very pleasant and the interview went pretty well. The woman who did the interviewing seemed pretty down-to-business-type, so I liked that. The company is a multi-national engineering firm that does a certain type of static load testing that is exclusive to this company, i.e. job security. She assured me that they have a very high retention rate and that the person for whom I am replacing has left for retirement, a very good sign. I had a pretty good feeling about this one and the woman interviewing seemed like she was exhausted of doing it and ready to make her decision.
She reminds me of my mother. Strawberry blond hair, freckled complexion, all business, with an underlying cynical sense of humor. I think we'll get along just fine. I have already made up my mind that I will accept if given the opportunity, but I continue to search and schedule interviews.
A week later, as promised, she contacted me again for a second interview, this time including someone from their accountant's office to assist her in discerning if I was actually qualified and not just an expert resume writer. To hedge my bet I scheduled another interview on the same day in the morning. The morning interview left me desperate for an offer.
I showed up an the morning interview, an aluminum sub-contractor I had previously done business with in my last job. Upon entering I came across a little red headed child at the front desk. She promptly stood and introduced herself in a very grown up way and took me back to meet her mother, who was interviewing. I was there for an hour, kind of a long time for an interview. Over the course of the hour she explained how she home schools their three (all red headed daughters, don't ask my why the color of their hair matters, I just thought it was shocking or disturbing, the three of them with their bright red locks all sitting at their own desks, in what I assumed had been other lucky employee's' desks) daughters at the office while she works. She then proceeded to bad mouth their current employees and gave me enough insight to realize that this office was a disaster. I contemplated offering to clean up her past employees mess by coming in as a consultant, but I figured that the little red kids were too freaky for me to spend any more time there than was already wasted.
In between interviews, I stopped at home for a rest. On the way, about a mile from home, on the edge of the road was a huge turtle. My husband and I are pretty good about saving turtles from roadkill by stopping and relocating them whenever we see them on the road. I contemplated for a moment, I was dressed pretty neatly in my best interview duds (which are probably my best duds period) and turned around and stopped my BMW in front of Mr. Turtle, his lucky day. This road in particular is a two lane highway, that isn't incredibly busy, but is trafficked frequently by big trucks - without much regard for wildlife. I approached Mr. Turtle and grabbed him by the sides of his shell, like I normally would with any old turtle. Upon doing so, he hissed and JUMPED up and SNAPPED at me! I guess he was one of those snapping turtles my husband is always warning me about. How bad could a turtle be? I grossly underestimated my charity case now turned opponent Mr. Turtle. Having no desire to soil my fancy pants, by being bitten or...otherwise, I walked back to my car to search for assistance. I grabbed the first thing I saw as any woman would, my purse. This time I approached Mr. Turtle in a much more aggressive fashion, crouching down and stomping my feet, possibly even flapping my arms and making some very strange 'shoo' type noises. He didn't budge and in fact, he too came back on the assertive, again jumping and snapping against my advance. I tried whacking and shooing him with my purse but he was only coming on the attack against it. Not wanting any permanent damage to my purse, finally I came up with an idea. I had a long, narrow card board box in my trunk and went to retrieve it. I took the box and gently shoved him just barely off the road into safety, the whole time he was snapping and shredding the box, better than any part of me I guess. My original plan was to pick him up and carry him far enough to safety close to a nearby pond but that wasn't going to jive with Mr. Turtle, so I left him barely off the road and wished him luck. Snapping turtles, they really do snap.
I got home and rested up for my second interview, still somewhat shell-shocked from the first. I don't know why those red-headed kids freaked me out. Must have been the combination of red hair and home schooling, which I think is weird too. Don't parents want their kids out of the house off at school?
Thursday, May 29, 2008
Winds of change
Since my husband's father has passed things have stayed uncomfortably in limbo with some minor readjustments. Per his mother's request we have swapped houses. We still live on the same property, just in their old house and her in ours. She spends most of the year at her new condo in Long Island visiting with his sister, so that is okay with me too. For some reason, when his father died, I just assumed that we would be free of these ties to this property and be able to relocate and start fresh at our house in Arkansas. So much so that when I was laid off at the beginning of this year, I was also searching for work there as well.
Yes, you read it right, I finally got laid off. The party's over. This past Christmas, I had convinced my boss, through his wife, that instead of giving a holiday bonus, as there was no money to do so, to close the office for the week between Christmas and New Years. This gave me a much needed rest, as we had just spent all the past weekends for two months moving the contents of my in-laws house into ours and vice-versa and we were living out of our bedroom until we finished. And it gave me time, time to paint and clean and clean and clean.
A word to the wise, encourage your parents to purge their own belongings before you wind up doing it for them. That's all I'm going to say about that, after moving what seemed like one hundred tiny tables and countless sets of dishware and too many old appliances to count, some in duplicate and triplicate. My mother-in-law has, I said has because she refused to part with any, three crock pots, two of the same size. I have lived next door for almost nine years and she has never made anything in any crock pot and really barely cooks at all. Thus I digress and as previously promised I will not say any more on this matter as I feel as though this is something everyone eventually realizes about their own parents.
The week between Christmas and New Years was especially important, it was what I thought was the last bit of free time I would have before my parents and brother and sister-in-law were coming for their annual visit, so I wanted the house to look as nice and clutter free as possible as they were all supposed to stay overnight. We worked diligently, taping and priming, rolling and edging and were able to finish most of the main living room area of the house aside from one large wall that stretched the living and dining rooms.
It was the Friday afternoon after coming back from the holiday vacation and at the end of the day my boss strolled by my office and asked me to come in and talk to him when I had a chance. There have been other times when he said this to me and my heart skipped a beat, thinking I was in trouble for this or that, or that this was finally it, he was going to fire me, but I didn't feel that way today. I guess the week off had renewed my patience and left me revitalized with a 'can-do' attitude. In the beginning of December, I made up my mind to stop worrying about getting fired and just worry about doing my job, and that helped. Once you commit to a decision, the weight of the decision itself seems to melt away a little at a time. So to me, after vacation it was business as usual.
It was the end of the day so I had already begun wrapping up what I was doing and when I finished I went in his office and sat on one of the stools in front of his desk like I usually do. Then I looked at his face and knew there wasn't good news. He told me that he had to let me go and that he had let go of Gary earlier that afternoon. I said, and I actually said this, "That's okay.", because I truly felt that he felt worse about it than I did. I have a sympathetic bone and it was aching for him, reading the stress on his face and the sadness in his eyes from being faced with the very real possibility of losing everything, not just his dreams, today I saw him as a man, not my boss, a man with a wife and a baby and not a lot of hope for their future.
Why do I do this to myself? Here I am, just got laid off, my husband does not work regularly, so there is a lot of financial pressure on me, and I am sitting in my newly ex-ed boss' office trying to console him! We talked about it for a while, the inevitability of it, the crash in the housing market, etc. Then he said if I could give him a lift to his house he'd be happy to give me some pot and we could smoke from his vaporizer if I wanted. I figured that since this was his last offer to me I would take him up on it. I drove him to his 1.5 million dollar house and followed him upstairs to his 'study' and we talked for a long while more. We talked about the economy, about both of our financial situations, about my concern for him and a little bit about staying friends. I promised to do anything I could to help. He explained to me that his brother would be floating the business for him for a year and paying his father's salary.
I went in on Monday to collect my belongings and give his wife some instruction, as she was assuming my position. This didn't take long because I had been preparing myself for this day. I only had some pictures on the wall and personal items in the drawers. She wasn't really interested in my instructions so I hung around and met my girlfriend who worked in the building for lunch to break the news to her. She was more upset than I, and I was really going to miss seeing her much more than the stupid job. And like that, in a day, it was over.
His father never said goodbye, thanks or kiss my ass, and that too, was okay with me. I have never felt the urge nor obligation to exchange false sentiments. Probably because you can read my face like an open book - with bold print, so ingenuinity is pointless and sometimes insulting to the recipient.
Yes, you read it right, I finally got laid off. The party's over. This past Christmas, I had convinced my boss, through his wife, that instead of giving a holiday bonus, as there was no money to do so, to close the office for the week between Christmas and New Years. This gave me a much needed rest, as we had just spent all the past weekends for two months moving the contents of my in-laws house into ours and vice-versa and we were living out of our bedroom until we finished. And it gave me time, time to paint and clean and clean and clean.
A word to the wise, encourage your parents to purge their own belongings before you wind up doing it for them. That's all I'm going to say about that, after moving what seemed like one hundred tiny tables and countless sets of dishware and too many old appliances to count, some in duplicate and triplicate. My mother-in-law has, I said has because she refused to part with any, three crock pots, two of the same size. I have lived next door for almost nine years and she has never made anything in any crock pot and really barely cooks at all. Thus I digress and as previously promised I will not say any more on this matter as I feel as though this is something everyone eventually realizes about their own parents.
The week between Christmas and New Years was especially important, it was what I thought was the last bit of free time I would have before my parents and brother and sister-in-law were coming for their annual visit, so I wanted the house to look as nice and clutter free as possible as they were all supposed to stay overnight. We worked diligently, taping and priming, rolling and edging and were able to finish most of the main living room area of the house aside from one large wall that stretched the living and dining rooms.
It was the Friday afternoon after coming back from the holiday vacation and at the end of the day my boss strolled by my office and asked me to come in and talk to him when I had a chance. There have been other times when he said this to me and my heart skipped a beat, thinking I was in trouble for this or that, or that this was finally it, he was going to fire me, but I didn't feel that way today. I guess the week off had renewed my patience and left me revitalized with a 'can-do' attitude. In the beginning of December, I made up my mind to stop worrying about getting fired and just worry about doing my job, and that helped. Once you commit to a decision, the weight of the decision itself seems to melt away a little at a time. So to me, after vacation it was business as usual.
It was the end of the day so I had already begun wrapping up what I was doing and when I finished I went in his office and sat on one of the stools in front of his desk like I usually do. Then I looked at his face and knew there wasn't good news. He told me that he had to let me go and that he had let go of Gary earlier that afternoon. I said, and I actually said this, "That's okay.", because I truly felt that he felt worse about it than I did. I have a sympathetic bone and it was aching for him, reading the stress on his face and the sadness in his eyes from being faced with the very real possibility of losing everything, not just his dreams, today I saw him as a man, not my boss, a man with a wife and a baby and not a lot of hope for their future.
Why do I do this to myself? Here I am, just got laid off, my husband does not work regularly, so there is a lot of financial pressure on me, and I am sitting in my newly ex-ed boss' office trying to console him! We talked about it for a while, the inevitability of it, the crash in the housing market, etc. Then he said if I could give him a lift to his house he'd be happy to give me some pot and we could smoke from his vaporizer if I wanted. I figured that since this was his last offer to me I would take him up on it. I drove him to his 1.5 million dollar house and followed him upstairs to his 'study' and we talked for a long while more. We talked about the economy, about both of our financial situations, about my concern for him and a little bit about staying friends. I promised to do anything I could to help. He explained to me that his brother would be floating the business for him for a year and paying his father's salary.
I went in on Monday to collect my belongings and give his wife some instruction, as she was assuming my position. This didn't take long because I had been preparing myself for this day. I only had some pictures on the wall and personal items in the drawers. She wasn't really interested in my instructions so I hung around and met my girlfriend who worked in the building for lunch to break the news to her. She was more upset than I, and I was really going to miss seeing her much more than the stupid job. And like that, in a day, it was over.
His father never said goodbye, thanks or kiss my ass, and that too, was okay with me. I have never felt the urge nor obligation to exchange false sentiments. Probably because you can read my face like an open book - with bold print, so ingenuinity is pointless and sometimes insulting to the recipient.
Thursday, December 06, 2007
Nothing funny about this...
What was that comic, Family Circus...? That's where I work, smack dab in the middle of this family's circus.
I made a critical error the other day, that is either going really benefit me and the rest of the non-family members or go the in the complete opposite direction.
Wifey was inquiring to me about the progress of some of our current projects, and I obliged her by telling her that this particular project had been completely stalled now for quite some time waiting on selections from the homeowner. Mostly the fault of daddy dearest, who makes an art form of ball dropping and buck passing. She happened to pass my report onto her father-in-law, who in tern passed by my doorway saying that he was off to this job since I had told her that "nobody was doing anything."
I made a critical error the other day, that is either going really benefit me and the rest of the non-family members or go the in the complete opposite direction.
Wifey was inquiring to me about the progress of some of our current projects, and I obliged her by telling her that this particular project had been completely stalled now for quite some time waiting on selections from the homeowner. Mostly the fault of daddy dearest, who makes an art form of ball dropping and buck passing. She happened to pass my report onto her father-in-law, who in tern passed by my doorway saying that he was off to this job since I had told her that "nobody was doing anything."
Friday, November 09, 2007
Are you getting server?
Are you getting served, we are. One of our clients has served us with papers for some sort of lawsuit. I was informed upon my return from lunch that I was to get our paperwork in order. Good thing I didn't eat lunch, lawsuits always spoil my digestion. I was having a pretty good day. I guess my boss was too, because this morning he was in early, ten-ish, and actually was making conversation with me and told me why he and his sweetie were M.I.A. to the living world yesterday (hung over, did I have to even say it by now?). That was before they served him the papers when he was home relaxing today.
This beast woman who is attempting to sue us is a real piece of work. Five foot five, probably pushing two hundred pounds, bleach blond hair and always wearing no make up except that black liquid eye liner - (that normal women wear on their upper lids) thick black eye liner under her eyes, like a real hooker or eighties skeezer. Despite her disturbing appearance, she's a dentist. One time she came to the office to pick up some samples and was making polite conversation with the boss' dad and I in the hallway when her bridge, that went clear across her six upper front teeth, fell right out of her mouth. She actually caught it in her hand about half way to the floor, must happen a lot. I wonder who did her work.
My boss made many unnecessary consolations to these people in building their home. None of which were appreciated or recognized when it came to the end of the job. People always forget all the extras, they always remember the extra costs. The work has been completed but we cannot agree upon the how much money the homeowners owe because they are getting back a credit when the loan closes towards things they paid for themselves. It's really complicated and going this route, to court, is going to make my life a living hell - like it isn't all ready. I have notebooks on top of notebooks overflowing with paperwork pertaining to these people's home contract and estimates and bills and changes, it just goes on and on.
Change order is like a dirty word in construction. In a perfect world, when the customer tells you they would like a change from their plans, you would stop what you are doing, estimate the cost, present it to the customer for them to make their decision. Most of the time that never happens and all of the time it never happens in that order. These guys have a thing about stopping what they are doing, something about forward momentum I guess. Or maybe it means they would have to communicate or reschedule or do one extra iota of effort. Here's the way it goes down in reality, customer says 'oh, I'd love a giant chandelier in the foyer...', contractor says 'okay.' Then the contractor, who takes this as consent, proceeds to make all the arrangements to accommodate the giant chandelier, increasing the structural framing, supplying the electric, the electricians who will need to rent a lift to hoist said giant chandelier, the cost of the chandelier itself of course and all it's trimmings. Then the customer who does love the giant chandelier gets a giant bill from the contractor for ten thousand dollars. When the customer turns around and says 'I had no idea it would be that much, I don't agree to pay that!' What is the contractor's recourse? Take away the chandelier, un-do the framing and electric at more cost to himself? Unless you like to eat giant chandeliers or give them a really nice house warming gift it would probably pay off to STOP, but I don't want to tell anyone what to do, I'm bossy enough.
I think I was out to lunch when this story began. My husband made the most beautiful wreath out of some vines he had been trimming along the fence. He really surprises me sometimes. I went out to the local crap store to get some sparklies and ribbons to decorate the wreath. By crap store I mean one of those big chain discount stores that you always think you're getting a really good deal, until you get the item home and it completely self-destructs or was totally misrepresented in the packaging. Example; I bought ribbon that said it was sixty feet - I will probably get it home and there will be three. It was mobbed in there with Christmas shoppers. Same thing at the craft store I went to the other day, there are already long lines, I had to wait at least ten minutes today! My husband is going to go into fits when he finds out I spend forty dollars on decorations for his free wreath.
Back to work on my documents. I always thought I should have been a lawyer myself, just a few too many years of school and not quite enough ambition. Plus who wants to go to court...ever?
This beast woman who is attempting to sue us is a real piece of work. Five foot five, probably pushing two hundred pounds, bleach blond hair and always wearing no make up except that black liquid eye liner - (that normal women wear on their upper lids) thick black eye liner under her eyes, like a real hooker or eighties skeezer. Despite her disturbing appearance, she's a dentist. One time she came to the office to pick up some samples and was making polite conversation with the boss' dad and I in the hallway when her bridge, that went clear across her six upper front teeth, fell right out of her mouth. She actually caught it in her hand about half way to the floor, must happen a lot. I wonder who did her work.
My boss made many unnecessary consolations to these people in building their home. None of which were appreciated or recognized when it came to the end of the job. People always forget all the extras, they always remember the extra costs. The work has been completed but we cannot agree upon the how much money the homeowners owe because they are getting back a credit when the loan closes towards things they paid for themselves. It's really complicated and going this route, to court, is going to make my life a living hell - like it isn't all ready. I have notebooks on top of notebooks overflowing with paperwork pertaining to these people's home contract and estimates and bills and changes, it just goes on and on.
Change order is like a dirty word in construction. In a perfect world, when the customer tells you they would like a change from their plans, you would stop what you are doing, estimate the cost, present it to the customer for them to make their decision. Most of the time that never happens and all of the time it never happens in that order. These guys have a thing about stopping what they are doing, something about forward momentum I guess. Or maybe it means they would have to communicate or reschedule or do one extra iota of effort. Here's the way it goes down in reality, customer says 'oh, I'd love a giant chandelier in the foyer...', contractor says 'okay.' Then the contractor, who takes this as consent, proceeds to make all the arrangements to accommodate the giant chandelier, increasing the structural framing, supplying the electric, the electricians who will need to rent a lift to hoist said giant chandelier, the cost of the chandelier itself of course and all it's trimmings. Then the customer who does love the giant chandelier gets a giant bill from the contractor for ten thousand dollars. When the customer turns around and says 'I had no idea it would be that much, I don't agree to pay that!' What is the contractor's recourse? Take away the chandelier, un-do the framing and electric at more cost to himself? Unless you like to eat giant chandeliers or give them a really nice house warming gift it would probably pay off to STOP, but I don't want to tell anyone what to do, I'm bossy enough.
I think I was out to lunch when this story began. My husband made the most beautiful wreath out of some vines he had been trimming along the fence. He really surprises me sometimes. I went out to the local crap store to get some sparklies and ribbons to decorate the wreath. By crap store I mean one of those big chain discount stores that you always think you're getting a really good deal, until you get the item home and it completely self-destructs or was totally misrepresented in the packaging. Example; I bought ribbon that said it was sixty feet - I will probably get it home and there will be three. It was mobbed in there with Christmas shoppers. Same thing at the craft store I went to the other day, there are already long lines, I had to wait at least ten minutes today! My husband is going to go into fits when he finds out I spend forty dollars on decorations for his free wreath.
Back to work on my documents. I always thought I should have been a lawyer myself, just a few too many years of school and not quite enough ambition. Plus who wants to go to court...ever?
Wednesday, November 07, 2007
Just shoot me.
The boss' wife has been on board now for a few months. I've witnessed my share of family ass chewings. Having worked with my own husband for several years before we were married, I know what it looks like when a husband and wife have been arguing all morning and get to work and she tries to pretend everything is fine, wiping rampant tears away between conversations, and he nips off the head of every other unsuspecting man, woman or child in his path - and in my case barking orders all the way! Tension has been high in the office between them, projecting onto me, I would say us, I'm not the only one that works here - really, but I am the only one here all the time. Kind of a stationary whipping post, while the guys are off driving around all day.
We had to plan a trip to Arkansas to close up the house for the winter. It was pretty time sensitive, seeing as my mother-in-law is moving a thousand miles away November 1st and is the only one we trust (or have enough money to pay) to watch the farm and all the animals for us. I requested to the boss, and his dad, the personnel manager, to take three days off - that I have accumulated as personal time since I haven't called out sick this year. I submitted in writing and never heard back. I sent another request, this time stating my flexibility on the dates, that I would switch weekends, whatever worked best for them. It works best for them if I do not take off. I should have known that to begin with. So this is where the proverbial poo does you know what.
The boss was running around, as usual, no time is ever a good time, and I stopped him and explained my situation, his response was 'you don't need to go there to do that.' End of conversation.
Okay, like I said before I am flexible. Ray drove up and took a buddy of his, he got things in order, I hope. But I haven't gotten over it.
Probably while he was out of town and I was shouldering the responsibility of all the animals, the mother-in-law and the farm, I may have lost my patience.
The two 'others' (non-family members) that work here are always asking me what they get for time off and I refer them to dad, who gives everyone a different answer. One of my first duties, assigned by the boss himself, was to collaborate with 'The mom' on our employee manual, that his wife had lifted from her corporate banking job. Painstakingly, believe me, we went over the manual and made the changes we thought were applicable. I signed the back sheet and gave it to dad for his 'files' and kept a copy for myself. Only now, after I requested days off, am I hearing that we don't have a policy, we are not going by the manual, surprise! So how many days off am I entitled to? Here is my correspondence with the H.R. manager, names removed to protect my precious job;
Sent by me;
"**** mentioned something about needing a certain day off. Can we get in the practice of posting these on our calendars in outlook so that everyone is aware? Also, I refer the supers to 'dad' regarding time off, and I keep track of my own time, but I do not know if/who or how we are tracking this. What is our policy? 'Mom' and I made an employee manual in March ’06 (on ***** server in office folder), but I cannot tell if we are following policy in it or not."
Dad's response;
"Yes, **** did mention wanting a day off. He said he would confirm and I will post. I am keeping track of days off. We did copy the *** manual in March, but never issued it as policy. wife, boss and I are reviewing as there are some items that we need agree on. Currently vacation is 2 weeks after the first year of service. After the first year of service, accrued vacation days may be used prior to the completion of the year."
Me;
"And sick/personal days? I don’t see that someone should be penalized if they don’t get/call out sick?"
Dad;
"That is one of the items we are looking at."
Me;
That's the last I heard, ever.
We had to plan a trip to Arkansas to close up the house for the winter. It was pretty time sensitive, seeing as my mother-in-law is moving a thousand miles away November 1st and is the only one we trust (or have enough money to pay) to watch the farm and all the animals for us. I requested to the boss, and his dad, the personnel manager, to take three days off - that I have accumulated as personal time since I haven't called out sick this year. I submitted in writing and never heard back. I sent another request, this time stating my flexibility on the dates, that I would switch weekends, whatever worked best for them. It works best for them if I do not take off. I should have known that to begin with. So this is where the proverbial poo does you know what.
The boss was running around, as usual, no time is ever a good time, and I stopped him and explained my situation, his response was 'you don't need to go there to do that.' End of conversation.
Okay, like I said before I am flexible. Ray drove up and took a buddy of his, he got things in order, I hope. But I haven't gotten over it.
Probably while he was out of town and I was shouldering the responsibility of all the animals, the mother-in-law and the farm, I may have lost my patience.
The two 'others' (non-family members) that work here are always asking me what they get for time off and I refer them to dad, who gives everyone a different answer. One of my first duties, assigned by the boss himself, was to collaborate with 'The mom' on our employee manual, that his wife had lifted from her corporate banking job. Painstakingly, believe me, we went over the manual and made the changes we thought were applicable. I signed the back sheet and gave it to dad for his 'files' and kept a copy for myself. Only now, after I requested days off, am I hearing that we don't have a policy, we are not going by the manual, surprise! So how many days off am I entitled to? Here is my correspondence with the H.R. manager, names removed to protect my precious job;
Sent by me;
"**** mentioned something about needing a certain day off. Can we get in the practice of posting these on our calendars in outlook so that everyone is aware? Also, I refer the supers to 'dad' regarding time off, and I keep track of my own time, but I do not know if/who or how we are tracking this. What is our policy? 'Mom' and I made an employee manual in March ’06 (on ***** server in office folder), but I cannot tell if we are following policy in it or not."
Dad's response;
"Yes, **** did mention wanting a day off. He said he would confirm and I will post. I am keeping track of days off. We did copy the *** manual in March, but never issued it as policy. wife, boss and I are reviewing as there are some items that we need agree on. Currently vacation is 2 weeks after the first year of service. After the first year of service, accrued vacation days may be used prior to the completion of the year."
Me;
"And sick/personal days? I don’t see that someone should be penalized if they don’t get/call out sick?"
Dad;
"That is one of the items we are looking at."
Me;
That's the last I heard, ever.
Tuesday, October 30, 2007
Laise le bon temps roule!
A favorite motto that I have tried to embody in my every day life. A lot easier when you don't have to get up at the crack of dawn to drag yourself out of bed, put on your best clothes, commute thirty minutes to to be pushed around by people not worth your time, closed up in the four walls of your office for the next nine hours, breaking only briefly to insert your next Starbucks fix so that you can make it to the end of the day without giving yourself a concussion from your head hitting the desk from utter boredom. But I guess that's why they call it the grind, right? Because you drink coffee all day? No?
Looking back, my melancholy over my current employment status is completely understandable. Although this is by far the best paying job I have ever landed, it is by no means the best. One of the best was probably working at the racetrack.
I was in college when I applied for a job at the racetrack, which had just opened the new slot machine section, as a change cart attendant. The personnel office called and asked me if I'd be open to a different position, selling betting tickets for the horse racing. I'd never been to the races or bet on a horse, of course I had also never used a slot machine, so there was no difference to me.
Punching tickets was an interesting experience. You meet all kinds of people, literally. In my line I might wait on a homeless man who scraped together enough money for a beer and a sure thing show ticket, followed by the millionaire owner of the very horse upon which the homeless man was wagering. There is an amazing blend of camaraderie and competition among gamblers, and probably the same can be said for horse trainers too.
I worked at the ticket window all throughout college. I met mobsters and crooks, politicians and business men, and I developed a taste for the action myself. The tellers were a special group, completely separate from the 'slot' people in every way. A lot of us who worked a night shift once in a while would wind up partying together, often resulting in all night/next day trips to our favorite gambling, partying continuation, Atlantic City. We'd stay all night (morning) until either whoever drove made a big score they wanted to hang onto or most likely they lost their money and got crabby and wanted to leave.
I met a man, Super Joe, we'll call him, who was a professional gambler. He was a hell of a lot of fun to hang out with and was always up for any kind of adventure. Super, as he was often referred to, had been 'ruled off' most race tracks in the tri-state area, except the one I worked at. Ruled off is when the racing commission, the governing authority over racing, bars you from entering the grounds. Super had been ruled off for drugging horses, I didn't really know this when I met him. Thru Super I started working in the mornings for a trainer friend of his, Greg, 'walking hots'. This is when the horses come back from their daily exercise on the racetrack, they typically get a bath and then get walked for a half hour to cool them down and lower their heart rate. Seeing how I had just lost a bunch of weight by visiting Super Joe's diet doctor in New Jersey, I was really into the hot walking because I was getting a little exercise and best of all learning about the horses. Paul was a great trainer. Very knowledgeable in every aspect. He was always helpful in teaching me things and recognized right away my intelligence and eagerness to learn.
Greg went out of town for a while and left Super and a friend of his in charge of the horses. While he was gone I realized that Super had been slipping in the stalls before a race and drugging the horses (with who knows what). Poor Greg had a family to support and was doing his best at running his business and could have gotten in a lot of trouble, even ruled off himself, so I did the worst thing imaginable to Super, I ratted him out to Greg. This immediately terminated any semblance of a friendship that ever existed, but it got me in good with Greg.
Working for Greg he gave me a horse to walk that had injured his eye and was on stall rest, P.D. (I had to shorten his racing name Precise Direction - I can't believe I still remember that horse's name ten years later!). P.D. needed lots of time out of the stall, so he was a kind of a project for me. I will never forget, P.D. had a Guatemalan groom at the time. For some reason the groom couldn't understand why P.D. (I pronounced Petey) would kick at him when he was working on his blind side, hmm. Well, after a while I got really attached to P.D. and one day I caught the groom kicking him in the belly. I immediately started screaming at him. He got in my face right back, all I could do was pick up a pitch fork and start to chase him. I guess this began my endeavor to become a horse trainer.
After I ran off Paul's Guatemalan, I felt obligated to stay and work harder and learn more than ever. He taught me how to be a good groom and how to feed horses. From what I could tell, racing horses was no brain surgery. I stuck with it. When college ended for the summer I would work both behind the scenes in the morning with the horses, then go and work at the ticket window selling wagers for the races.
Eventually I met my husband, unbeknownst to me, another horse trainer, when I started working for him. And he taught me even more about horses. When I decided to go down South for the winter to his farm I learn about mares and breeding and babies.
Things were slow for my husband and I throughout the winter, so I took a job at a large local horse show. I lasted a whole two weeks working for a top notch hunter/jumper training barn from upstate New York. If what I learned about horses I learned from living with horses, what I learned about girls and horses, I learned in the two weeks I worked for them. Imagine if you will, an all female team of trainers, riders and grooms, all catering to the whims of their multi-millionaire clients and their triple figure sales tag horses.
Probably the thing that took me by surprise most was their blatant disregard for common safety practices. Safety has always been first with me and working around horses, driven by fear. Having little to no contact with horses in my youth, I was very intimidated by their size and strength, it took me a very long time to develop the skills to work around them safely and comfortably. The girls that attended these magnificent beasts were careless about their own safety, often doing things that I would never attempt, leading two horses at once, walking behind them.
Whoa, flash forward to present time: side note, I just called my boss to let him know that a very important potential customer had called to schedule a meeting at 8:15 am tomorrow and his response was "Christ! I'm drinking tonight. I already started." It's 3:30. The same thing happened the last time he was supposed to meet them, he had a large time the night before and wouldn't answer my calls the next day when I was trying to prompt him to get to his meeting. I had to call the client, who was already on the site and explain that he was 'sick' at the last minute and couldn't make it.
Looking back, my melancholy over my current employment status is completely understandable. Although this is by far the best paying job I have ever landed, it is by no means the best. One of the best was probably working at the racetrack.
I was in college when I applied for a job at the racetrack, which had just opened the new slot machine section, as a change cart attendant. The personnel office called and asked me if I'd be open to a different position, selling betting tickets for the horse racing. I'd never been to the races or bet on a horse, of course I had also never used a slot machine, so there was no difference to me.
Punching tickets was an interesting experience. You meet all kinds of people, literally. In my line I might wait on a homeless man who scraped together enough money for a beer and a sure thing show ticket, followed by the millionaire owner of the very horse upon which the homeless man was wagering. There is an amazing blend of camaraderie and competition among gamblers, and probably the same can be said for horse trainers too.
I worked at the ticket window all throughout college. I met mobsters and crooks, politicians and business men, and I developed a taste for the action myself. The tellers were a special group, completely separate from the 'slot' people in every way. A lot of us who worked a night shift once in a while would wind up partying together, often resulting in all night/next day trips to our favorite gambling, partying continuation, Atlantic City. We'd stay all night (morning) until either whoever drove made a big score they wanted to hang onto or most likely they lost their money and got crabby and wanted to leave.
I met a man, Super Joe, we'll call him, who was a professional gambler. He was a hell of a lot of fun to hang out with and was always up for any kind of adventure. Super, as he was often referred to, had been 'ruled off' most race tracks in the tri-state area, except the one I worked at. Ruled off is when the racing commission, the governing authority over racing, bars you from entering the grounds. Super had been ruled off for drugging horses, I didn't really know this when I met him. Thru Super I started working in the mornings for a trainer friend of his, Greg, 'walking hots'. This is when the horses come back from their daily exercise on the racetrack, they typically get a bath and then get walked for a half hour to cool them down and lower their heart rate. Seeing how I had just lost a bunch of weight by visiting Super Joe's diet doctor in New Jersey, I was really into the hot walking because I was getting a little exercise and best of all learning about the horses. Paul was a great trainer. Very knowledgeable in every aspect. He was always helpful in teaching me things and recognized right away my intelligence and eagerness to learn.
Greg went out of town for a while and left Super and a friend of his in charge of the horses. While he was gone I realized that Super had been slipping in the stalls before a race and drugging the horses (with who knows what). Poor Greg had a family to support and was doing his best at running his business and could have gotten in a lot of trouble, even ruled off himself, so I did the worst thing imaginable to Super, I ratted him out to Greg. This immediately terminated any semblance of a friendship that ever existed, but it got me in good with Greg.
Working for Greg he gave me a horse to walk that had injured his eye and was on stall rest, P.D. (I had to shorten his racing name Precise Direction - I can't believe I still remember that horse's name ten years later!). P.D. needed lots of time out of the stall, so he was a kind of a project for me. I will never forget, P.D. had a Guatemalan groom at the time. For some reason the groom couldn't understand why P.D. (I pronounced Petey) would kick at him when he was working on his blind side, hmm. Well, after a while I got really attached to P.D. and one day I caught the groom kicking him in the belly. I immediately started screaming at him. He got in my face right back, all I could do was pick up a pitch fork and start to chase him. I guess this began my endeavor to become a horse trainer.
After I ran off Paul's Guatemalan, I felt obligated to stay and work harder and learn more than ever. He taught me how to be a good groom and how to feed horses. From what I could tell, racing horses was no brain surgery. I stuck with it. When college ended for the summer I would work both behind the scenes in the morning with the horses, then go and work at the ticket window selling wagers for the races.
Eventually I met my husband, unbeknownst to me, another horse trainer, when I started working for him. And he taught me even more about horses. When I decided to go down South for the winter to his farm I learn about mares and breeding and babies.
Things were slow for my husband and I throughout the winter, so I took a job at a large local horse show. I lasted a whole two weeks working for a top notch hunter/jumper training barn from upstate New York. If what I learned about horses I learned from living with horses, what I learned about girls and horses, I learned in the two weeks I worked for them. Imagine if you will, an all female team of trainers, riders and grooms, all catering to the whims of their multi-millionaire clients and their triple figure sales tag horses.
Probably the thing that took me by surprise most was their blatant disregard for common safety practices. Safety has always been first with me and working around horses, driven by fear. Having little to no contact with horses in my youth, I was very intimidated by their size and strength, it took me a very long time to develop the skills to work around them safely and comfortably. The girls that attended these magnificent beasts were careless about their own safety, often doing things that I would never attempt, leading two horses at once, walking behind them.
Whoa, flash forward to present time: side note, I just called my boss to let him know that a very important potential customer had called to schedule a meeting at 8:15 am tomorrow and his response was "Christ! I'm drinking tonight. I already started." It's 3:30. The same thing happened the last time he was supposed to meet them, he had a large time the night before and wouldn't answer my calls the next day when I was trying to prompt him to get to his meeting. I had to call the client, who was already on the site and explain that he was 'sick' at the last minute and couldn't make it.
Living in fast forward.
I'll keep this brief because it is depressing, but I don't want you skeptics out there to think I am completely without emotion. Sometimes it feels like we're all living in fast forward. And the button's broke on the remote control. Before I even knew what happened, I quit the Girl scouts, was out of high school, out of college, getting married, now I'm waiting for my parents to retire, and it's all a blur, pock marked by the highs and lows of love and loss.
This year finds us at some of our most difficult times, I have to be glad it's almost over. My husband and I struggled thru the illness and death of my father in law. We're living with a mortgage for a house we can't move to. My mother-in-law is leaving the farm and abandoning us to convert to condo living (I can't blame her, sometimes I feel like the farm can be overwhelming too). I've had a turbulent year at work thus far, my boss and I speak in terms of 'making it to the end of the year.' ( - no one else knows that but he and I). Myself, my loved ones, my pets, we're all one year older, which makes me sad knowing the years are ticking by and we all have to work so hard just to survive that we never have enough time or money to be able to spend the time together we'd all like to.
Before you know it.
But time has not been wasted, nor have I allowed it to slither thru my fingers without taking a way a few valuable lessons.
*I learned what a reward it is to be able to comfort your spouse and make them feel, really feel your love and support.
*I can keep a level head thru a crisis (I kind of always suspected).
*We, as husband and wife, have to be there for each other.
*As horrifying and awkward as this may come out, it is a beautiful experience for a family member to die amongst their loved ones. To be able to say, "I was there for him," and know that you truly were to the very end, to ignore your pain to comfort someone else.
*And, I have suspected this for a year or so, but I am getting old(er).
This year finds us at some of our most difficult times, I have to be glad it's almost over. My husband and I struggled thru the illness and death of my father in law. We're living with a mortgage for a house we can't move to. My mother-in-law is leaving the farm and abandoning us to convert to condo living (I can't blame her, sometimes I feel like the farm can be overwhelming too). I've had a turbulent year at work thus far, my boss and I speak in terms of 'making it to the end of the year.' ( - no one else knows that but he and I). Myself, my loved ones, my pets, we're all one year older, which makes me sad knowing the years are ticking by and we all have to work so hard just to survive that we never have enough time or money to be able to spend the time together we'd all like to.
Before you know it.
But time has not been wasted, nor have I allowed it to slither thru my fingers without taking a way a few valuable lessons.
*I learned what a reward it is to be able to comfort your spouse and make them feel, really feel your love and support.
*I can keep a level head thru a crisis (I kind of always suspected).
*We, as husband and wife, have to be there for each other.
*As horrifying and awkward as this may come out, it is a beautiful experience for a family member to die amongst their loved ones. To be able to say, "I was there for him," and know that you truly were to the very end, to ignore your pain to comfort someone else.
*And, I have suspected this for a year or so, but I am getting old(er).
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