Gratitude

Sometimes all you have left to say is Thank You.

Unless you are a writer like me, in which case there is literally no end in sight to the things left to say. But tonight I have some very specific messages to send because sometimes your own cup, which may have been empty for a very long time, has become so full of beer water that it's time to share it.

In no particular order-here are some messages that need to be sent out there:

To Capello: If I was an unmarried lesbian I would- never mind. I just want to tell you that you going to bat for me makes me grateful beyond belief. You offered my name up for some work I totally want to do even though I still haven't sent you that contest prize you won 10 months ago. Plus, you have really awesome teeth. And such gorgeous green eyes. And no one uses swear words to better effect than you and, just, thank you.

To Lisa and Lawrence: Thank you so much for being such good friends, so good that when I am very sick you bring me food and beer (!) and when I'm very poor and scared you offer me what work you can to help us get by. You've overlooked our differences and been willing to grow with me. Truly good friends are one of the most valuable assets a person can have and being able to count you among mine makes me feel rich.

To Linda: Your vote of confidence and willingness to hire me without so much as an interview was a huge boost to my eroding self esteem at a time when I couldn't even get an interview at a cookie factory. I am fortunate that you have such a generous nature and are still willing to take chances on people. Plus, you have the best toy store on earth.

To Don and Adam: You have never been truly menaced blessed by my effusiveness and I worry that it will frighten you. So I'm going to keep it brief- you hired my talented husband a year ago after he endured two awful years of unemployment and even though we've still gone through a rough year, it is a highlight that he loves where he works and the people he works with. Now that you are hiring me for a copywriting freelance job, I just feel that much more warm and fuzzy about you both (in a totally appropriate manner). Yes, that is me being brief.

To Hope and Jennifer*: You are both unfairly gorgeous. I have never seen two more gorgeous pairs of brown eyes nor met- oh, I'm letting myself make you uncomfortable!! I feel honored to know you both and appreciate that you are looking after my interests even though you both have so many of your own to look after. I have enjoyed my first freelance photography job and if WCW really wants more pictures I will be pleased to work more with you Jennifer! Damn it, thank you.

I'm not sure I'm allowed to give any disclosure on the details of my day. I think no one will mind if I point out that all of the above people I have thanked are responsible in one way or another for the five jobs I now have. Yes, that's what I said.

I was previously unemployable but now I have FIVE jobs. (OK, three of them are freelance, but still, FIVE.) They must have all read my Fake Resume, because, honestly, who wouldn't hire me after reading that one? I guess I'm not making much progress on my efforts to say "no" to five people who want my time.

Philip and I have been through a whole lot of hell in the last few years. It's been really hard. We kept saying "I think it's all going to work out. I don't know how, but I'm sure it will." And then one of us would break another bone or make us lose all our money trying to run a retail store, or make us move out of state.

Oh, that was just me...

I think it's so easy to take a job for granted until you don't have one and can't seem to get one. There are few things more primal than the fear of not having any beer starvation. There are so many people who have nothing in this world and it actually hurts my body to think of other people's children starving and cold out there and how their parents must feel because I know how close we've come to losing what we have, which is a blessed lot.

For so long I kept crying "Why doesn't the universe give us a god damned break?!". I know a break (or five) when I get one and so, Thank you. Thank you Universe.

And friends.



*No links available for this gorgeous mother and daughter.

Forklift Of Steel

Until today I've never known what it feels like to have 2,800 lbs of hanging bundled steel gently swing towards me and what it feels like to stop its progress. It is a powerfully heavy load to stop with your hands...in fact, you don't really stop it with your hands but with your entire weight centered into your hands. Whole body stiff. This is only when it's gently swinging in your direction. If it is barreling in your direction at a whipping speed- you are maimed, possibly for life. You have to have respect for that amount of metal.

My friend Lisa B.'s husband Lawrence is a welder. Today I started doing some temporary work for him to help him with a big job. I won't be getting to weld anything, but see all that steel tubing? Lawrence is going to train me to cut it to measurements for a hand rail job. I might get to grind the ends smooth and learn to clean up the metal afterwords too.

Today I learned to drive that forklift! It takes some practice to make it go in a straight line because it turns so easily and sharply it's hard to get the steering straight. I know it's kind of dorky but I love driving the fork lift. After I practiced for a while I got to use my new skills to help unload a total of 3,000 pounds of metal tubing from Lawrence's trailer to the supply rack. This endeavor took about an hour and a half of very careful work.

I have to admit that I love this kind of work. I am sadly out of shape to be doing anything like it but there is something very satisfying about working on projects that are going to be so useful. It isn't glamorous, but at the end of the job Lawrence will have put handrails down four flights of stairs to help keep people safe. I will be able to say I helped.

When Lisa asked me if I'd be interested in doing a little work for them she said she thought of me because the skills involved weren't very different from the skills needed to draft patterns. The tools, of course, are very different. The worst you can do to yourself drafting and sewing is to cut yourself with scissors or sew through your fingers, the worst you can do in a welding shop is kill yourself. However, she is absolutely right. While Lawrence was showing me the plans for the job on a blueprint it was very much like a pattern. There is a lot to learn, even though my part in this is very small. It makes sense, piecing together parts of a building.

I don't know what it is about drafting patterns that makes me feel so much in my element but putting things together always clears my head of everything else and sparks my brain like few other activities. This is why it was such a revelation to learn to use a skill saw a few years ago and plan and put together raised garden beds. I love tools. I love making things.

I know what it is: being capable of building things, especially when you are able to plan them out yourself to your own specs opens a world of possibilities up. It feels like nothing is impossible if I can cut wood, bend metal, nail boards, shape fabric, transform raw food into canned goods to eat later, all of these things make me feel more empowered in a world where there is so little I have control over. It ultimately means that given access to the right tools and materials, I can make my environment suit me and my family specifically. How many times have I wanted a built in book shelf to fit "just so" in a difficult space and wished I had the knowledge and skills to do it?

The thing is, the more you learn these new skills the less afraid you are to learn even more. So every step brings you exponentially further into the self reliant fold. If you can make things for yourself, what can't you do?

A Bowl Of Plums

I didn't get the job I most wanted of all jobs in this town. At least I had a chance, (I'm telling myself). Plus I got a really thoughtful personal call about not getting the job. In this day and age of job hunting that's pretty amazing.

Still...

I'll just stare at this bowl of plums gleaned from the tree overhanging my yard and concentrate really hard on not crying or feeling hopeless.

I will pretend that this is a world in which everyone recognizes my value and doesn't pick me last for the team.

Happy Monday.

Public Speaker

McMinnville's Finest

I started life as a lisper. My mom says it's because I sucked my thumb until I was seven and pushed all my front teeth out. Like all very special fourth grade girls I had to attend speech therapy in the "special" room of the school. I was also very shy. My own family didn't realize this because around them I was the mile-a-minute talker. How could such a child be shy? But I was. Reading passages from books out loud in class, as all kids were expected to do, was a special kind of torture. I would stutter, lisp, break out in a sweat, and blush madly every time I said a word wrong with all those hostile eyes fixed on me.

One of the reasons I knew I couldn't be a teacher as a profession, aside from the fact that young people often make me want to wring their necks, is that a job which calls for standing in front of thirty pairs of alien eyes every day would absolutely give me a stroke within the first year.

I've heard it suggested that no one likes public speaking but that can't be true because some people seek it out. I really think that stand up comedians are bizarre human beings- they not only stand in front of hundreds of people with a spot light on them but they do it with the intention of making people laugh. I'd rather die. Actors seem to thrive on this sort of attention. And then there are the professors who love to hear themselves talk...c'mon, you know what I'm talking about.

I have taught friends to make bread and to can food but with friends I am my dorky self. I can wander through parentheticals like paths in a beautiful garden and my friends never make fun of me or let me know if they're having mean thoughts. I am actually a very good teacher of the things I know when I can do it in my style.

Today Nicole and I are going to stand up in front of people and give them an introduction to food preserving, provided people come. Maybe no one will come? But we want people to come because both of us are passionate food preserving geeks who want to inspire other people to dive in and become more self sufficient. We want people to listen to us and leave thinking "I can totally make my own pickles!"

Nicole is also a shy person. We're quite a pair to be giving a talk. We're like Abbot and Costello.

I've been feeling a little rejected by my city lately. The only business that has really embraced me is the toy store for which I couldn't be more grateful*. It's actually quite fun working there and I don't worry before I come in. But I still have to find another part time job. I know so many people in my town. I have so many great connections. I care about my community here more than I've ever cared about other communities I've lived in. I have so much to offer my county but my county doesn't really have a place for me.

Except as a free public speaker, apparently.

Here's what I keep thinking: I am an excellent employee. I'm loyal, I have a strong work ethic, I am independent when independence is called for but am also an excellent team player. It's rare to find both qualities in one person. I don't have a lot of ego about my work- I don't need to get petted and coddled to perform well. My work ego is only concerned about providing what my employers and my coworkers need. I am a vibrant person and in spite of my private challenges what I bring to work with me is an overflowing positive energy, sunshine, an ability to stay calm under pressure, and a deep pleasure in bringing satisfaction to others through my work. I learn computer programs quickly, I have a ton of experience with customer service, office procedures, I'm organized, I'm an excellent multi tasker, I have an exquisite eye for detail without losing the big picture.

What employer wouldn't want those qualities?

What keeps coming to me is the possibility that my town doesn't value these things. My town hasn't come to a full realization how talented I am at learning new things and bringing sunshine with me everywhere even when it's pretty dark under my own skin. My town, perhaps, doesn't know how to use a person who is so flexible. Is it possible that the only way my talents will be recognized and used professionally is to get hired in someone else's community?

I keep thinking there is nowhere for me. I keep thinking that I made a giant mistake ten years ago when I left my swatching job to go back to school. Education is considered so important to so many people but even though I took two years of academic classes and got a 4.0 gpa, it counts for nothing since I didn't get a degree out of it. I made a detour to enrich myself and it seems that all I did was damn myself for all future employment. I should have stayed the course I was on.

And think on this, all of you who want to embark on your own business: owning your own business is like the kiss of death for future employment. Supposedly it will show off what a multi-talented person you are but all it really does is make you seem over qualified for most jobs. I've heard of this happening before I had my own business. Since I was my own administrative person you'd think that I would now be considered qualified for all administrative positions. And that's where you'd be wrong. It only counts if you've done it for someone else.

So today I am going to perform a public service for my community at great cost to my comfort; performing the one task that I have no talent for and dread above all others. That's all my community wants from me (right now) and I'm going to give it the best I can. That's how much I love where I live and the people who share this county with me. It's true love and I will forgive it for not recognizing everything I have and want to share with it.

At least we'll always have Paris The Carnegie Room.

Kisses, McMinnville!!!!

*Safeway also embraced me and Diane and Sue couldn't have been nicer. With more on-the-till training I could have been Safeway material but Safeway's method of training wasn't enough for me. I learn very quickly by actually doing a job with a mentor at my side. Clearly I'm not talented enough for Safeway but I was grateful for the opportunity to give it a try.

Hot! Hot! Hot!

another installment in a summer tale of avoiding debtor's prison

Don't you just want to eat some watermelon in this awful heat?! Well, don't rub it in if you are eating some, because it's not in season here yet so I can't buy any. In fact, if I stay true to my local eating challenge I just might not have any watermelon at all this year. They don't grow well around here.

I'll have to be satisfied gazing at my watermelon fabric instead. I just listed the above apron in my Etsy shop. I'm not sewing again, I already had this and figured I may as well list it. As I ironed it out I couldn't help but feel refreshed looking at those luscious wedges of red and green fruit. This is one of the things aprons can do for us, give us a little perk when we're wilted.

I call it better living through fabric and I know the vast majority of my blog friends wouldn't argue with me on this one. It's why we buy fabric that makes us giddy even when we don't specifically need it. We know that one day we'll be feeling blue so we'll look listlessly through our fabric stashes and when we come across that piece of fabric again it will light us up from the inside out.

If your fabric stash isn't making you happy then it may be time to liquidate it.

I heard that collective gasp.

RELAX.

I have a couple of Etsy orders to get out today and I want to say a special THANK YOU to Diane of Kentucky for her large order of fabric! While Etsy certainly isn't paying many bills at this point in time the extra money I have made from selling fabric there has been easing our very tough financial situation. In order to fix our situation we are going to have to do some very stringent budgeting.

I don't even know how people do that. I am not exactly a spendthrift but just as I started to mentally work out a possible budget I realized that most of Max's pants are either too small and/or are ripping out at the knees. I know I can patch a couple of holes and that's not a bad idea...but you can't make a pair of pants that are too small get magically big enough. I have to spend some money to clothe my kid. Luckily I just bought lots of new things for myself for my Scotland trip because I was really in need of some basics like socks so I should be set for quite a while. Whatever I find I need in the near future I can sew.

Sewing for a boy is not an easy prospect. Unless you want him looking like some freak from a cave. Boys clothes I don't do. Never have. I don't do all those crazy zip flies and to even locate the appropriate fabric is mission impossible. (My kid, as you might have guessed, doesn't wear jeans. He's picky about the fabrics he'll wear. It's a tactile issue.)

The trick we face now is to whittle away at our impressive credit card debt without earning ourselves bad credit in the process. We've had A+ credit for years now in spite of all our troubles and it would be nice to keep it. On the other hand, I'm not sure we'll be able to accomplish this feat without some damage to it. Everyone says to avoid debt consolidators like the plague but that may end up being our only option unless we can somehow make enough money to cover all our monthly needs AND make payments on our credit cards. We've always managed before, but we haven't always had a kid to clothe and feed. We've always paid our debt down to nothing and we've been proud of that.

But these are tough times and until I land another part time job or some fabulous book deal, we are still on very shaky ground. I'm not letting myself be scared today. Even though the creditors are literally calling us. They didn't used to do that. In fact, when we first had one of our credit cards we would constantly get invitations to not pay our minimum payment without penalty. Now if we're late paying by a few days they call us to ask for payment.

A friend of mine who is an investment broker was trying to convince me that we're not only not in a recession but that our economy is still healthy which is proved (apparently) by the profit reports filed by public companies in our country. I say that a great way to find out how healthy an economy is is to try to find a basic job in it. I say how healthy it is can be seen by how quickly your credit card company hunts you down when your payment hasn't arrived on time. Fear itself isn't an indication. Shit, you can just say "The plague has come back!" and half the country will rush to their doctor's office immediately and get whatever shots they're told they need, and they'll believe they need them even if all indications point to the opposite conclusion. However, the only reason credit card companies hound people for payment is if they've been getting hosed.

The truth is that if you've tried to refinance your home and within one week a number of lending institutions have suddenly gone belly up...that's not a good sign.

So my thoughts are turning towards budgeting and I'm not especially distressed by it. I don't love being in the very precarious position we're in. But having gotten a part time job that I can really enjoy and look forward to is a huge step in the direction of fixing our situation. I am feeling lucky again. Haven't felt lucky in a long time.

I'm going to view this challenge of getting out of debt and danger of losing everything as a kind of strategy game. Hopefully at the end of the game we'll still have our house, our good credit, and will learn to live within a small means. I should think of myself as a modern day Jane Austen character. One of the penny pinching poor but genteel relations of richer folk. Middle class people in reduced circumstances.

I am also considering selling my scooter. I'm not sure I could get enough for it to make it worth while but it is in great condition and Vespas do hold their value well. It's worth considering. Without the Vespa around I would not be able to run errands on it which means I'd have to solely rely on my bicycle which means I would get more fit. It would make me sad to have to sell it but at the same time, it's only a vehicle. Right? It's only a thing. A luxury.

I don't know all the answers but at least I have a sense of adventure about my still gloomy financial situation. I am the porky but (hopefully) lovable heroine in an early nineteenth century setting trying to avoid debtor's prison. Let's see where it all leads.

Wild Things

One of the things I enjoyed the most about this trip to California was seeing the variety of wildflowers on the roadside in Oregon reaching down into the ditches of northern California. It's one of my mental games to recognize and name plants everywhere but few things please me as much as wildflowers. Many of them are considered to be weeds but they have such a scrappy charm the way they dot otherwise bleak banks of dried grass.

This trip there were pink and white sweet peas all the way down the section of I-5 we traveled. In some spots it was like thick pink foam floating on top of the yellow dry grasses. There were small daisies growing in happy drifts. There was some chicory here and there- remarkable for its blue petals. I saw false dandelions in profusions so impressive I couldn't help but feel happy seeing the floods of yellow dots on the landscape.

I haven't identified the yellow flowers pictured here yet. They look similar in form to chicory but I haven't known a chicory to be yellow. There were other flowers that I wasn't sure of. Possibly some wallflowers, definitely some California poppies (looked pinched and small from the dry heat), and I might have seen some salvias as well. I wanted Philip to stop the car so many times so that I could photograph the riches of wild plants and pick some as well but I restrained myself until we stopped at a Denny's by the freeway a little north of Eugene and I spied some easily accessible flowers. Moments like these make the tough moments in life bearable. Sometimes I feel like the whole world goes silent when I pick flowers.

Of course, I thought it might be entirely possible that it's against the law to pick roadside plants. I could get arrested. I could get fined. Such a simple pleasure is often not legal in our very cramped and restricted society. It would be a pity if it were true.

I came back home and started working at Safeway. I had my first real shift yesterday. You know how sometimes you start a job and you know, right away, that the worst aspects of it are going to become a fixture of your life forever and you can see immediately that you would rather stab yourself with a pen in the temple than try to scan in a thousand ratty coupons every single day? I had that dreadful feeling that I would die inside if I had to go back ever again. Within the first hour I was already worrying about having to start all over again the next day.

Part of it was not getting enough training with someone else on a real register doing real transactions. My whole training consisted of computer time doing simulated transactions. They throw you to the wolves there. Seriously. TO THE WOLVES. Who are the wolves? You and me, my friends.

It just so happens that I am a very fortunate lady and the owner of the local toy store hired me yesterday on a part time basis. I started today. Oh holy hell...what a difference in atmosphere the toy store is compared to the grocery store. It's colorful and light and quiet and although it has all its own rules and procedures, there aren't so many coupons and sad people and impatient people. People are happier in toy stores than they are in grocery stores. Plus the people who already work at the toy store are so helpful and the lady who was training me today was so helpful and easy to work with.

Everyone has been asking me over the last week if I'm excited to start work at Safeway and I kept wanting to ask "Are you drunk off your ass, or what?! Of course I'm not excited. People don't get excited about working in grocery stores." Which is quite rude and every time I was tempted to answer in such a rude way I was stricken because the human resources lady who hired me to work at Safeway was so awesome and I really liked her personally. Plus, she gave me a job and I've come to realize that that's a pretty big deal these days. I felt a lot of gratitude for her generosity but I just couldn't honestly be excited to work as a checker.

So, if anyone cares to ask me if I'm excited to work at the toy store I can honestly (and thankfully) say: HELL YES! And also: THANK YOU LINDA!!! I go back for more training tomorrow and I don't dread it in the least. The relief I feel is palpable. It's thick in the air. I'm sluffing off dread in bucketfuls. I need full time work still (unless I keep getting more and more Etsy orders, and I'm so thankful for the ones I've been getting!). Another librarian job has come up. Two actually, but one of them so specifically isn't interested in my undereducated self it almost feels as though the ad for it is saying "...so don't bother applying ANGELINA." The other one is a part time circulation desk job and there are no psychic notes on the listing that tell me not to bother. In fact, I feel a slight shimmer of invitation.

So check it out: maybe life could iron itself out here. I think I'd be great at the circulation desk and since it's part time I could work at the toy store and the library both. This is a working life I can get on board with. My kid is not happy to have me working but if I need to be out there earning actual money (as opposed to the vast amounts of pretend money I make every day) I can't think of a better situation.

I'm not even going to say things like "I probably won't get the circulation librarian job" because I know I would be great at it, I would enjoy doing it so much, and there's no reason on earth why they wouldn't hire me for this position unless they have already picked someone from inside. I've decided that I'm going to work hard on my positive visualization skills. I've never been able to decide if I think positive visualization actually gets results or if it's just that people like you better when you're busy visualizing happy outcomes and so you have better experiences?

If I don't get the librarian job then that really means that something else is waiting to happen out there. Thank you, sister, for reminding me of that the whole time you visited. You have reminded me of so many things I need to be reminded of.

I am like a scrappy wild flower trying to carve out a life out of a hard dry landscape. Many of us are. I absolutely love cultivated flowers but there really is something intrinsically charming to me about those flowers that rise up out of the dust into a cloud of color and I have to wonder where they got the nutrients to shine as brightly as hothouse orchids.

The Customer is Always High Right
a role reprised

I walk into the job like a character actor walks onto a familiar stage: with my role in my mouth, my lines in my head like crackling lights I catch between breaths, and I bring with me my spontaneous passion for unfurling my anti-nature beneath the heat of the unforgiving Klieg lights that follow each expression with conscious shadows. Work is a show. Work is a place for which I must turn on my character who is affable, quirky, rarely dark (only in thin unexpected shafts of needle truth sent out to surprise the unwary- never enough to lose my grasp on the play) and so cheerful. Always full of light. Full of genuine desire to bring everyone else into the play.

No hint that I often look at large groups of people and see them as collections of penises and vaginas. A collection of animals with gender and hormones dancing around each other like so many cats strutting underneath a full moon. No hint that I strip all people into their elemental parts as an instinct. It isn't something that comes to me in a thought bubble or in a philosophical moment. It's instantaneous and flashes across my mind like a hot bolt of electricity before I can stop it. I always assess people first as an animal does, with my nose and eyes and vibrations in the air.

Going to my work orientation felt like sliding back through all the years to when I had so much less skin. So much less of everything. I am back in my Radio Shack costume working the evening shift with the older Filipino palm reader, wondering how her life brought her into the orbit of the cheap and cheesy electronic retail circuit. How did our lives manage to bisect for one evening just so I could always wonder if palms really do tell our futures, because looking back, I have to say that she told the truth even though she only knew me for six hours:

She told me I would marry an American man, even though I hoped to marry someone from another country. (How did she see in my secret dreams?) She assured me that we would travel together. (We have.) She said that in the middle of my life I would experience a big break in health, but I would come through it and live longer. (My thirties have been marked by so much physical trauma- childbirth, constant colds, new allergies, broken hip...)

I still think of her. Her papery skin over a typically thin frame with a shock of dark hair. Her retail costume as ill suited to her as mine was to me. We were such a great pair of misfits. I adored her. She was all brisk intelligence.

I thought that I had hung up my retail badge when I had a child. I believed that my life had taken a finite turn. That all those days of being trashed on by pinched frugal righteous consumers were over. That in life we move up, ever up, and at some point we take flight from these humble first steps. I believed with all my heart that these hours I put into soothing the frayed infantile nerves of the PEOPLE WITH MONEY was like paying my dues: once paid you keep moving forward and away.

I saw today what I often see from a different angle: that for the majority of my countrymen and women, this is it, you never stop paying. This is the great epiphany. There isn't a place beyond this. Money is the true god of my country and customer service is its greatest disciple.

On the one hand there's a part of me that enjoys this strange exchange between people- like all great actors I relish a meaty role- and for me there's nothing meatier than trying to satisfy the needs of shoppers, to be the person that brings some light to their empty search for product satisfaction, to be the one that gives that extra dose of genuine thoughtful human interaction...

But the dark side is exhausting. Those people trying to squeeze every last cent from their purchases and who will sell their soul to the devil just to get one extra penny from you whether or not you will get fired for losing that penny into their capacious appetite for "good deals", those people are exhausting.

I become uncomfortably aware of social chasms between myself and others. It is evident in how we expect our lives to unfold. It is evident in the things we aim for. I saw myself in all these roles as the starlet who was putting in time until the big break comes.

This may explain my amazing affinity for those popular movies in the thirties like "Stage Door" in which our heroine is always going to make it on a much larger stage than the one on which she gets her start as the understudy.

I always had such big plans for myself. Like all good dreamers, I saw my life open into an endless field of poppies like an inevitability. I never questioned whether or not I would end up doing something extraordinary, even if it meant I died young in an incredible combustion of life-meets-fire. Even if I died young I knew it was going to be spectacular. Isn't that the epitome of youthful hope and ambition? You burn bright.

What I have been coming to realize is that that isn't the epitome of all of youth. There are so many young people in our country who never see beyond the customer service career. They don't have stars in their eyes, they don't have a fool heart aiming for love or bust. They consider themselves lucky to land a position as Radio Shack's newest salesperson. They might, if they are very ambitious, set their sights on management. This work I have always considered the stepping stone that will sink into the ocean of my opportunity as I move forward, is the pearl in a lot of people's professional life. It is the actual prize.

Now that I am here again I can't help but feel the sting of my previous arrogance that I had hoped I would be remembered for my poetry. That I might find my place on the book shelf next to Bukowski, who I've slammed so many times in spite of the fact that I would consider it an incredible honor to have anyone compare my work favorably to his*. Who says that it is less noble or memorable to be an excellent employee in a customer service related job than to write something well?

A life well lived has as many meanings as there are people.

I first look at people as animals with gender and appetites. I first look at life as an epithet on a grave. What will be written on your stone when you're dead? What is the essence for which you will be remembered?

I have to believe that it doesn't matter what you do with your life as much as it matters how much you shine just because you have the gift to shine. I have to believe that in the end it matters less if you achieve honor in a public forum; that at the end of the day what matters most is that you let every ounce of light you have shine on the person who came to you from nowhere, with no name, and needed your light to keep on living.





*I will have to write about naked drunk people a whole lot more for this to happen. I will have to really own sexual filth like a second skin. Want me to try?

Jamming On The Breaks

Peach jam is so good. I can eat up one jar in just a few days.

I took my first ever drug test yesterday. Provided that Safeway doesn't find out that I'm on crack, I have a job. I was amused with myself for not being sure I would pass the drug test. I mean, I know that I have not done any drugs in the past nineteen years because drugs totally suck. I know for a fact that I have never done crack. So I know that I have no cocaine or heroine or pot in my system. So why the reservation? Even if Safeway is waiting for official confirmation of my drug free status, surely I can be sure I have the job?

Just goes to show you how suspicious I have become about opportunity and how it doesn't come my way without barbs anymore. I am a faithless one. Well, Safeway seems like a much better place to work than Joann's Fabric, but they don't start you off with good pay, in case anyone was wondering. It's union, so if you put in enough hours you will certainly get raises, but the start pay is just about as dismal as anywhere else. But, with so few opportunities on the horizon I don't have a right to complain. So, I start training this Saturday.

Just to let you all know, I submitted a book proposal to Lark and I'm sure that if anything I submit gets accepted I will not be allowed to discuss any details...but it should be safe to say that the editor who got my proposal is giving it a good look. If she likes it she may take it to the Acquisitions committee. I won't know anything for at least a month. But I am proud of myself for finally knuckling down and putting it all together. I felt really good about what I sent and it all suddenly seemed so clear to me how it would look, what the projects would be and how to present it.

I'm going to need to find out some industry details such as: if you've mentioned that you have a couple of other ideas to an editor and they say they are already doing a similar project and won't pursue them, can you take it to a different publisher? Even if the first publisher might be considering one of your proposals? I mean, working with different publishers at the same time who might be competitors...is that frowned on? Do you wait until you're through dealing with one completely before approaching another?

Yesterday I came up with another idea. I don't have a lot of cutting edge craft ideas. The publishers want new fresh material and most of what I do can only be described as new and fresh because of the personal style I impose on my projects, the projects themselves aren't anything new. To publish a book of crafts that aren't really fresh but whose strength lies in the unique styling is generally reserved for crafters and designers who already have a known name with which to sell their book. There is one craft I do that I still don't see a lot of around the craft world but which I think is pretty great. I'm not going to tell you what it is, instead I'm going to turn all cagey and secretive on you.

I promise it's only because I need to do some market research. If I want to propel myself out of the situation we've been in I had better get serious about proposing book ideas to publishers. All my life everything has come back to the writing. I have, so many times, made a push to get serious (code for: get published) and so many times I would find that I wasn't ready for it. My skills weren't honed enough. I didn't know what my purpose was. My goal. A writer needs a goal; to tell stories if they are fiction writers. But if you suck at writing fiction and only one in one thousand poems is any good but you clearly have a gift with words...what do you do with it? Where do you take it?

I know now what my nonfiction voice is. It's evident all over this blog. But before I can convince someone to publish my essays, I had better develop a better portfolio of published works. Who will buy a book by an unknown writer spouting off a bunch of random opinions? I have finally actually figured out where to start with the serious creative nonfiction. It's difficult because I don't want to write a memoir exactly. I don't want to write anything that will heavily involve my family who, I don't believe, is ready to be written about. Too much raw feeling still lives in that part of the past. There was a part of my past though that has a provides a rich thick layer of tales to tell and queer light through which to see a life opening up.

The two years I went to FIDM between the ages of seventeen and nineteen. I was mostly disconnected from my family. The stories really don't involve them. It was a time during which I had an epiphany and then the usual anticlimax that follows big moments of enlightenment.

I will start working on that and let it flesh itself out as I go along. In the mean time I will work on my book proposal writing and pitching skills with craft books. Whatever I have in me that's worth presenting I will present. I think I've got three strong titles in me.

Personally, I think publishers and editors will find that while I'm a rather large personality, I'm not at all a diva to work with. I'm very professional. I know I don't sound like a very professional person on my own blog. That's because this is MY CLUB HOUSE AND I CAN EAT CHEESE ALL DAY IF I WANT TO AND CRY INTO MY BEER...

...and wonder what the hell is going on with the Danny/Lindsy plot on CSI? I'm irritated that Lindsy is suddenly turning into a person with issues that prevent her from being decent to Danny who really likes her, and she must be a real dumb nut not to see that he's an awesome guy.

Summer is knocking me flat. It isn't hot weather, because we haven't had much of that. It's the kid being out of school. My friends who home-school are made of much sterner and more maternal material than me. It's only been a week so far and I am just about ready to claw holes in the plaster walls out of frustration. I want some peace. I think writers don't necessarily make the best parenting material. I want to concentrate on my projects like getting a job and writing but the kid wants me to play legos, watch movies, watch him play video games, and is constantly in need of something from me.

Max is signed up with a summer day camp which starts in a week. I hope we're all still alive by then. I may be buried in the back yard under my favorite rose by then. What remains of me...

Happy Things

Yesterday was a major cleaning day and today is going to be one as well. Right after I update my resume and send it out to a job prospect. Looking for a job requires a surprising amount of time. I'm not waiting to hear back from the job I really super duper want because:

a) I know there's a tremendous amount of competition for the job
b) They may need to hire the wrong person before they hire me

and c) A watched phone never rings

Some things that are making me really happy right now:

• Even though all the algae in the pond has died and turned the pond water black, the tadpoles are thriving! I am so excited to see them getting large. Now I'm really afraid of the pond being toxic and killing my little army of frogs-to-be. I need to read up on how to clean a pond without killing the wildlife in it. I love frogs. Seeing tadpoles reminds me of running around Diamond Lake trying to catch frogs and running into a snake under a bush by the lakeside mid-breakfast with a frog inching into it's jaws. It reminds me of taking tadpoles home to watch them develop legs.

• The bouquet of roses my friend Ericka brought me from her garden.

• My living room which doesn't look like a trash heap anymore.

• The fabulous thirties reproduction prints I found in the boxes of fabric. I haven't even finished going through half of them and already I have found some amazing treasures. I'm hoping to uncover the perfect fabric for slip covering my couch and my armchair. I did find some floral upholstery fabric which reminded me of classic English sitting rooms doused in floral homage.

• The strong rainfall I woke up to. It means I don't have to water my yard today. I don't have much planted but my roses were thirsty and I need them to grow strong and bloom for me. My "Crested Moss" is developing buds which makes me want to shriek with excitement! I've been wanting a moss rose for a few years. The rain smelled so refreshing.

• Having my chickens home with us. We love the sounds they make and missed them so much when they were still at the old house. Philip built in a little door into the the porch that opens up into the run so I can walk out the kitchen door and dump kitchen scraps down to my girls without having to leave the porch. I used it yesterday and it was BRILLIANT.

• That everyone loved my fake cover letter so much! If only you were all employers around here I'd be off to work right now. My real one wasn't so very different than the fake one in tone, but I did include more concrete reasons why I'm the perfect candidate for the job.

• Pippa, who sits in my lap purring every morning while I answer e-mails and write my posts. She is very keen to show us her hunting chops by bringing down one of those queer caged bird-beasts she discovered in the yard. She and Penny were so entertaining stalking the hens.

Well, it's time to get dressed, clean the kitchen, and make some farmer's cheese.

Hope you all have a fabulous Tuesday!

Cover Letter
The unwritable letter

To Whom It May Concern,

I have to figure out how to tell you, without sounding the least bit desperate (or insane) within the scope of one page, why it is that I am the ideal person for the job you are aiming to fill. I have to tread that delicate almost impossible line between modesty and confidence. I have to hit a note just south of arrogance with no hint of mousy retreat. Nothing lands me in a hopeless word stew like trying to say something without seeming to say it.

I propose to come right out and say it: I am the person you are seeking for this job. I have never worked as a librarian though I have developed all the skills that seem to be desirable in one such as the research capabilities of a blood hound: give me the subject and let me hunt, I have a tenacious need to find every last shred of information I can from a variety of sources such as books, the Internet, and from experts in the field. I once needed to know all about the fault line my house was built directly on top of because I didn't sleep for three weeks after we had a "mild" quake and I didn't rest until I had actually contacted a geologist at the USGS website. Needless to say, the information I received was disquieting and I had to move to Oregon.

I have spent my whole life dying to get behind the reference counter of every library I've ever been in because I feel sure that if I could only get my hands on all those sources of information I could uncover more than anyone else. I have spent so many hours of my life in libraries because I am in love with them. Public libraries are the ultimate source of attainable knowledge. For no money at all (if you don't incur late fees that is) you can learn about almost anything. you can visit almost every corner of the world. You can crawl into almost every human mind that has cared to imagine the world as it might have been, might be in this minute, or as it might become.

I have a deep respect for education through college, but I don't think anything compares to the knowledge you can uncover for yourself amongst the shelves of a public library under the steam of your own hunger to learn more.

I have been breathing words since I was a very small child. My Grandma Shirley actually scolded my mom for teaching me to read before Kindergarten, saying that my teacher would be displeased to see me getting ahead of myself. I don't remember life without the written word. I have been writing since I was ten because it fuels my body as well as my mind. I don't have a formal education but I have a feeling for language and through an extensive reading habit from the time I was small (most of the material coming from my public library) I have an instinct for language both formal and colloquial.

There is absolutely no doubt in my mind that if you set me to the task of learning the dewy decimal system I will do it. I will meet all of your expectations. I will exceed them because if you hire me you will be hiring my passion for information, books, and making it accessible to the people who come in on their personal missions of curiosity. I will learn everything you need me to know and I will come in with impossible enthusiasm because I will be released from my financial worry. I will be free to live my life swimming in words.

You will not regret hiring me because I am smart as a whip but there is no moment in the day when I am not acutely aware of the fact that someone always knows a little more, that I always have more to learn, that I am far from perfect. You will not regret hiring me because I will shine for you.

I have always secretly wished I'd studied to become a librarian. It is as natural to me as breathing. Teach me this discipline and let me draw more people in with my enthusiasm and my friendly nature. If you hire me you will be inviting me to come home at last. I will come full circle with all of my lives.

Sincerely,
Angelina Williamson

Hire me

(I'm the one you want by your side for the Apocalypse)

The best way to find out if your local economy is strong or weak is to try to get a good job in it. A job that will cover all your bills and leave you with a little extra for emergencies like shoes for junior and underwear that you wouldn't be embarrassed to be caught dead in, which is the kind of predicament I just might end up in if I don't get work soon.

The jig is up. I have done everything I have the energy to do, am capable of doing, and know how to do to not have to get a job in the outside world. I had a great five years of staying home, first as a housewife with no baby (total heaven!), then as a mom (also pretty great...though I can't say it wasn't really hard work), and then the last four years running a part time business which morphed into a full time business with the one theme running through the whole endeavor: I consistently made no money.

It's time to take stock because I have got to convince someone out there to pay me enough money so as not to lose my house, my dignity, or my happiness...or at least my house, now that I'm finally in one I completely love.

Let's take a look first at the job experiences from which I may draw in order to find a new job:

Babysitting- I was really good at it since I never did drugs or had boyfriends.

Underage nail salon slave- in exchange for gross manicures. Not my best job.

Salesperson- New York Fabrics. My first legal job.

Cashier- at Wendy's. What can I say? I was doing my laundry with bar soap in the sink, eating my room mate's government cheese, and no one in the fashion industry would hire me.

Salesperson- Radio Shack. It was next door to Wendy's on Market Street in San Francisco. It paid about ten cents more per hour and I didn't have to smell like thick meat grease.

Shipping Manager- Weston Wear. I loved it. One of my favorite jobs ever. It was very industrial, I had to wear boots and lift 50 lb boxes and I got to fill out UPS papers and feel very important. This was my big break in fashion design.

Costume Designer- self employed. I fancied myself in business but really I turned out to just be a contract worker for my good friend. Two years of barely making rent while sewing couture quality historical garments made anything else sound like better work.

Barista- we didn't call it that when I had the job. I was either a "coffee jerk" or just a jerk. I loved this work too. Very freeing to just make coffee for a lot of idiots and feel very smart and undiscovered behind the scenes. Hard work. Early burn out.

Stockroom Person- Loved this job. Again, had to wear boots and got to smash boxes and be generally a great ass kicker. I got to interact with the UPS guys and be the first to unpack merchandise, steam clothes, organize the chaos, and generally avoid customers except when doing them the fun service of beautifully wrapping gifts for them.

Design Assistant- Mulberry Neckwear. I loved this job too. Seriously loved it. I found I didn't want to be one of the designers because they weren't my kind of people except for a couple of them who became good friends of mine. I liked being in the thick of the action, doing the nitty gritty. Keeping all the designers organized, cleaning up their messes, and being necessary to the rest of the department. Production art is really satisfying.

Swatcher- Mulberry Neckwear. Aside from staying home to be a housewife and a mom this was my all time favorite job. I was the liaison between the pattern designers and the printers in Korea who had to print the colors the designers generated. I sat at brightly lit tables of color swatches matching them to computer print outs. I was speaking in color which was exciting. Everything is essentially language. I was very good at this job. I really had to speak up for myself to get it. The only reason I left was to go to community college. They wouldn't let me reduce my hours, so I left to learn math and French.

Barista- Copperfield's. Again?! Why did I come back to this? Good God, I still wasn't done being burnt out working in a coffee house. Why are people so rude to the underpaid people serving them snacks and caffeinated beverages?

Salesperson- Copperfield's books. I did really enjoy this job. I love putting books away and finding books for people. I was very good at it and it was obviously gratifying being completely surrounded by books, talking books, recommending them, ordering them, and breathing them.

Housewife- I have to be honest here and say that this was the single best job I've ever had in my entire life. I loved it. I blossomed and grew and came alive in ways I never expected and I found the heart of my self through finding joy in keeping my home. No one is ever supposed to say this but it was better than being a housewife with a kid. I got a lot more sleep and my house was actually kind of clean for the first time in my life.

Stay At Home Mom- Being a mom is pretty wonderful but it is way more work than being a housewife without a child. You are still expected to keep house, but you are now living with a little human whose entire purpose in life is to destroy order and keep you from sleep. Being a stay at home mom is harder work than any other job a person can have. Stock market? Oh give me break- that's total cake in comparison.

Business owner- Dustpan Alley. Started with handmade cards. Part time gig. Fun. But I can never just go a little distance. This became the obvious full time effort when we lost everything and moved to Oregon.

Store owner- Dustpan Alley. Seemed I had to do it. Spent all our money trying. Oh crap. Still kind of smarts. If you want to get to know a new town, opening a store in it is the fastest way to meet all of the movers, shakers, and the blood suckers in the shortest time possible. Closing your store down is the fastest way to find out what real friends you've made.

Blog Writer- the pay has been close to nil until I count all the friendships I've made and the very loyal same group of readers I've had for the two years I've been writing, not to mention that the discipline it has taken to write a post nearly every day that is good enough to be read by others has honed my writing skills.

Technical Writer- for Studio Mongo. Excellent job. I got a chance to sharpen my writing wits to the specifications of others, which meant not using swear words or making fun of Paris Hilton for a change. Technical writing is not quite as lively as blog writing, yet it is so necessary there is a thrill in writing something so functional. I found myself getting into it and my boss said I was very good at it.

Total Waster. This is what purgatory would feel like if I believed purgatory was a real place. Wanting one thing, knowing that I can't have it, dragging my feet towards a future I don't want, a life I didn't expect, a path I have no desire for. I got a taste of what the ideal life for me is long enough to want it with every cell in my body but it is now like a treasure set adrift in a rough sea.

At some point you've just got to get on with it and make the best of life as it presents itself that you can. Maybe you can't make a silk purse out of sow's ears but you might be able to make some super funky moccasins and convince a bunch of really foolish rich people that they're really stylish, if this wasn't true then there is no explanation for Ugg boots. So I'm moving on to the part where I stop whining and grow a pair of balls. Because that's what you need to look for work these days.

Here's what's generally on offer here in my little corner of the world:

Cashiers
Baristas
Line cooks
Office Clerks
Salespeople
Seasonal fruit workers
Waiters
Medical workers

This wouldn't be such a bad line up really, except that you must read the fine print and find out how qualified employers expect you to be:

Cashier: full time hours for bright, honest, non-junkie. Pays minimum wage. Must have 10 years experience working on our own register system, have a bachelor's degree in anything, and must submit a vial of pee to screen for excessive vitamin B12 shots.

Administrative Assistant: Full time hours. Pay starts at $8.00 p/h. Responsibilities include: data entry, bills processing, ordering supplies, making spreadsheets, pretending not to be a smart-ass. Qualifications: must have bachelor's degree in office sciences, be proficient in Excel, InDesign (in case we want to exploit any latent design talents), two years experience with Microsoft Word (2008 edition), and be not only punctual and subservient, but must also have not smoked tobacco in five years.

Gas Station Attendant: will train. Minimum wage. Bring good attitude. Must have bachelor's degree in Liberal Arts. Must not have been in prison for at least two years. No need to pass drug test.

Every employer has an impossible laundry list of requirements for their prospective employees and the only way anyone could possibly meet them all is if they've already been working for that employer their whole adult life. Since when are so few people willing to train anyone for good work? Since when must we all come pre-equipped with qualifications we would have had to be fortune tellers to have had the foresight to acquire?

Since we became a depressed economy with a whole lot more people in need of work than there are jobs, that's when.

I don't even have a bachelor's degree. You'd think I'd be pretty far buried under the trash heap of educational regrets about now. What is keeping me from regretting having followed my singular path and not getting the traditional degree is that it really doesn't matter what degree a person has these days, it won't be the right one. It will cost you every penny you can beg, borrow, or steal, and in the end your dream job will turn up on a job list and they will want you to have the degree you didn't get.

Why You Want Me For The Job:

I am unbelievably loyal to good employers, I am honest (I don't steal time or money), I thrive on challenges, I am publicly easy to get along with and tolerant of nearly all human foibles (such as religion and dim wits), I have enough optimism to face down the Grim Reaper, I learn quickly, I am the ultimate Girl-Friday, I am fantastic in a crisis, I am level headed, smart, properly afraid of breaking the law (but not enough to be annoying to anyone besides my family).

Qualifications: Worked my ass off since I was a preteen for other people with the highest degree of dedication and have maintained a spotless work ethic, have an associates degree in fashion design which is useless to you but shows that I got exactly the education I needed in order to do what I set out to do when I was seventeen (over twenty years ago now), have owned my own business, I have been trusted with fabric archives to organize, children to care for, I am diplomatic in spite of my acerbic wit, I want to thrive and I want others to thrive as well, I will get the god-damned job done!

Bottom Line: I'm the one you want by your side when the Apocalypse comes.

Hire me!

Chicken Run

I miss our hens. I miss hearing them squawk, shuffle, coo, cluck, argue, and preen. A collection of noises that I find soothing, therapeutic, and charming. It's too quiet here. It's time to shake up the neighborhood and introduce them to their new existence living next door to the McMinnville hillbillies.

Oh, totally random (before I forget again): I keep meaning to say that the owner of the Burnside B&B (Liz) was fabulous and I adore her and she cemented her charm when she asked me who Martha Stewart was. How cool is that? Yes, some people don't even know who she is.

Back to the hens...we can't just bring the hen house over and let them roam the yard because the dog will kill them. So a run has to be built first. Although I have yet to see evidence of skunks or raccoons in our own yard, we know they are plentiful in the McMinnville neighborhoods and aside from dogs they are the most serious predator of chickens. Fortifications must be built that cannot be breached by digging or unlatching or climbing in via tree branches. For this reason, building a chicken run is a little bit like building a tiny Fort Knox. Burying chicken wire down in the dirt several inches is a good tactic. Covering the roof of the run is also smart, the other threat is chicken hawks. Yep, hawks that steal and eat chickens.

Because we live in a suburban area, there are set back rules for keeping chickens that we must adhere to. This is predominantly why we are building our chicken run right up against our lovely porch. Normally we would probably find a different spot for them.

All of our animals were intrigued by Philip's mysterious undertaking. They camped out around him, got in his way, perched themselves importantly on the tools, and generally tried to be as unhelpful as possible which is cake to cats and dogs.

Even our neighbor's puppy got in on the act. Chick dug a hole for her under the fence and I didn't discover it until I saw Chick run by twice in one direction...after my double take I noticed that the extra Chick was actually a Rottweiler puppy. This forced caused me to finally meet our neighbors over the back fence. We've agreed to let our dogs be friends since none of us can honestly figure out how to stop a determined black lab from digging her way to China if that's what she wants. Riley is very sweet, super soft, and more spazzy than Angelina on a farm.

Life is good here. We've discovered that we are much too poor to have our house up on the market but much too poor to pay for two mortgages so our friends Anna and Mitch are going to rent it because they really like the house and are supremely tired of living in a rental house with raw sewage leaking into their basement. Yeah, I don't blame them. We are all super happy with this outcome, though it's been a slightly bumpy ride working this all out. (Sorry for all the ups and downs Anna!!) (They've been very kind and patient with me.)

We are also too poor for me to lounge around here all day eating bon bons (locally made, obviously) so I'm looking for a job. I was really depressed about the prospect until I saw that our local library is hiring. Don't get your undies in a bunch over it, I'm sure there's a lot of competition for the position, but I got a glimpse of how working again might actually be exciting. I was beginning to imagine the drudgery it must be to pump ever more expensive gasoline into giant trucks all day when I saw this little light. It may be a long shot, but this is a job that I am ideally suited for, that I have secretly dreamed of even doing even after graduating from FIDM with my associates degree in fashion design.

Libraries are magical places. There were times in my childhood when I spent more hours talking with the librarians than I did my own parents. There are few places that hold as much promise of attainable knowledge and no other place in which you can broaden your experience of the world without leaving town. They smell of books; they represent the ultimate in organization of information; the human imagination is represented in thousands of ways and celebrated nowhere else so thoroughly than in public libraries...all for free.

Reality is a funny thing and who can say what it will look like tomorrow, but today is Sunday and we are all going to go for a bicycle ride together and I am going to dream yet another impossible dream.

Wanting

Plum liqueur I made two years ago. Unlike my hips, it has been aging gracefully.

It has an intense plummy flavor and although I think it could use a little more alcoholic bite, it is a wonderful drink. The color, of course, mesmerizes me. But then, baskets of dirty potatoes have also been known to mesmerize me.

I have been moving as fast as cold molasses these days. It seems to take a Herculean effort to do the simplest things such as write the bills, pick up the laundry off of the floor, or attend to any of the thousand things that need attending to. This is often a truer indication of depression than a moping mind is. I don't actually feel depressed though. I have just been longing to be able to sit down and read a little, or putter around the house, without great purpose or ambition. In short: I want my life to slow down.

Today I fill out an application for a job. I was going to wait. But if I wait, then we will have a lot less of a cushion in the bank should we need it. I have been busy poring over garden books and it occurs to me that if we can't even afford health care for me* then I also can't afford anything for the garden this year. If I get a job now then I can spend a little on the garden. There is much fruit and flowers (such as roses) to establish in my working garden. So I am going to see if the local health food store will hire me as a cashier.

Things have been becoming clearer. Is it the sharpness in the autumn air? It's certainly true that I do all my best thinking in the fall and winter. I am going to shut down my Dustpan Alley website store for a bit. I don't want to sew for anyone anymore. I am much more interested in developing patterns and DIY instructions for people. My studio has become a place I kind of dread. For three years I have been making aprons for commerce and in that time have barely had a chance to squeak out a few for myself. If I had been making a living doing all that hard work I wouldn't be setting it aside right now. Unfortunately I have spent way more than I have earned and at the end of all that hard work I am looking for minimum wage work as a cashier.**

All of that work did lead me to this blog though. I am so happy here! If I'm going to not make a living doing something, I think it should be something I love, something I wake up to every morning excited to work on, excited to put time and energy into it. I want time to develop projects here at home, projects that I can then tell you about. I will be putting together some kits and patterns which I will list in my Etsy store and when my website and my blog are united, I will list them on my official website too. However, I'm not going to worry about whether anyone buys them or not. I am not a salesperson. I've known this since I was playing Barbies and couldn't sell anything to my own dolls. I am not a retailer. Duh, Angelina. My mom and dad have always known this.

What I want.

I've been thinking so much about wanting lately. Wanting. The things I want right now are so different than the things I have been wanting for the past few years. I want some pretty basic things which are now frighteningly out of my reach. I want to be covered by health care in case something happens to me, which it will because I'm 37 years old and already have a creaky body. I want to be able to buy my kid the things he needs. I want to be able to stay home. I want to have time to tend my garden, my home, my family, and the animals in my care.

I want to become healthy and fit again.

These are not crazy wants.

Do you know what you want? Is what you want now different than what you wanted a year ago? Five years ago?

I used to want more pretty things for my home. I used to want grown up furniture. I used to want to move north, I used to want a bigger garden, I used to want to be a successful business woman. I used to want lots of shoes. I used to want more books. I used to want my own store.

Now I just want to keep what I have. To be honest, I really have gotten a lot of what I wanted. I have some beautiful furniture (that my dog is busy eating), I have some really pretty dishes, I have a bigger yard, I did move north. I think you become much more aware of what you already have when circumstances threaten to take everything you have away.

What's satisfying to me now is opening up a bottle of two year old liqueur that I made myself and having the taste of summer plums burst open in my mouth like I had just picked them yesterday. Still warm from the sun.

Yesterday was one of those mild fall days when the sun warms the air and tranquilizes the spirit. I wanted to get out there and do a little yard work. I have three six packs of swiss chard that I should have planted three weeks ago. I really want to have it growing in my garden. Yesterday would have been perfect. Somehow I ended up pilfering my time away. Squandering it on a lot of nothing because my mind was in disorder. Today, however, is another gorgeous day out. I plan to get out of my pyjamas and into the garden. I have to take it easy though because my back is still troubling me. I am going to enjoy those warm rays saturating the shirt on my back as I plant up a bed of chard.

I'm going to enjoy the great simplification of my life.

*We would certainly qualify for state help in covering our health insurance based on our income, but there is a six month waiting list and you also have to be without health insurance for six months in order to qualify. I can't afford to keep my health insurance and neither Philip's job nor the job I'm hoping to get offer it as a benefit. I will just have to go without. I certainly am not willing to allow Max to be without it and Philip needs to be covered because his asthma needs monitoring. Anyway, that's life in the "land of the free", where we are all free to be too poor to have health care.

**If my prospective employers are reading this, please note that I will be grateful to earn whatever you pay as long as it helps my family pay the bills. Not only that? I will be a great employee!! Seriously. Hire me!