Why Don't I Fit In?

It's pretty unlikely that this particular blog entry will ever see the light of "publication" for all five or so people who ever even bother to read the crap that my fingers spew out from my twisted brain.

It's so much kinder and gentler in a small town in central Florida than it is in St. Louis, MO.  The weather, the people, the pace of life.  Yes, boring sometimes, but definitely kinder and gentler to me.

Ever since moving back here, I keep getting hit over the head with the conflict that is me. Changeable, like the weather in St. Louis.  Fast-paced mentally, like the crazy rushing traffic in St. Louis.

But there's this small child who just wants to sit in the corner and suck her thumb and shrink away from all the things and people who keep telling her she's doing it wrong. She's a screwup.  She can't get anything right.

Now Martha Beck is trying to tell me in her "today" video blog (which is, like most of her stuff, actually a rerun) that the only way that others (people, events, would-be employers - that kind of monster) can hurt me is if they reflect something about me that I believe.

Then, she says, I should challenge that belief.  If there's truth in it, make changes.  If it's not true "make a list of 50 things that say otherwise" or some such crap.  That's her answer to everything:  make a friggin' list.

If I could lay end to end all the BS affirmations I have listed about myself with the help of various psychotherapists through the many years of my trying to get myself right, I could drown that skinny little twerp Martha Beck in them easily.  I might even enjoy that.

Yes, I am angry.  I know it, but I don't know how to fix it.

Here's the problem.  Apparently I am, in fact, a screwup who can't get anything right.  My income statement for the past going on five years would verify this fact.  The truth is in the numbers.

So what happens next?  How do I fix it?  Well, dumbs**t, get a job.  Just pluck one of those little jobbies off the little jobbie tree that everyone else but me seems to have growing in his/her back yard.

Hooray, it's so simple!  Why didn't I think of that?  Probably because I'm a screwup who can't get anything right.

Oh, but wait.  I don't have that jobbie tree in this backyard.

Did I have one in Florida, where it was easier to grow stuff?

Um... avocado trees, check (although I never ate the things myself); orange trees (2) which never actually bore edible fruit, check; palm trees (2, one dead), check; grapefruit trees (2) one of which bore about 6 delicious grapefruit, check; magnolia trees, check; gardenia bushes, check; hyacinth bushes, check; you get the idea.  I won't even mention all the other trees that dropped all kinds of messy stuff all over - thousands, check.

But no - no jobbie tree in Avon Park at 310 East Main Street.

OK, come back to the present, dear little screwup.

But why?  It's so much warmer in the past, especially with these nifty pink glasses on. Leave me alone.

I have to face a few facts.  The older I get, the less I fit in.  All the mean children of my grade school experience, all the mean GIRLS of my high school experience, every bully and stalker and ridiculer has left his or her imprint somewhere on my brain.

My parents, the nuns and priests, every figure of authority that ever told me what a problem child I was, they're all in there too.  The nuns are constantly whacking my little fingers with their horrible wooden rulers with metal inserts.  Ouch.

Why can't I figure out what the truth is in this?  Every human being has a reason for being here.  That should include me, but somewhere in my heart it doesn't.

And the really funny thing is that something in my brain keeps insisting I work harder to fix it.  The answer has always been "try harder" for me.  It doesn't always work, though. Sometimes "try harder" does nothing except create that desperate energy which repels that which one most needs.

This past week has been one of the hardest ones in my life.  The holidays bring everything into very sharp focus and remind us of who cares and who does not.  We get to look back over what went right and wrong in the prior year and vow to make adjustments.

And herein lies the problem.  What if it's all really and truly out of my control, just like it was in August of 1993 while I had to watch my dear hero and role model, my father, Robert C. Lucas, wither away, turn yellow and die?

Somebody please help me understand where the happy medium lies between trying to fix it and throwing up one's hands and saying "screw it".  I could read every book ever written and still not get it.

Meanwhile, I have had NO new online transcription work available for a week.  I guess this is a blessing in disguise since I have a kid sleeping in the room where my desktop computer and ergonomic work station reside.  I can type things like this from the tiny laptop keyboard set up on a TV tray in my bedroom sitting on  a folding chair with a small cushion (for my back, not my fat a**), but this is ergonomic-not.

One would think I could sleep past 3 a.m. out of sheer boredom if nothing else, wouldn't one?  This morning my bladder had other ideas, as it often does in middle-aged women. And then the brain takes over and the whistle blows and the conductor shouts "All Aboard!" - yes, it's the 3 a.m. worry train.  Choo choo!

It's amazing what comes back to haunt me at these odd hours.  Did my father actually create the reality of my mid-life rosacea by his joking nickname for me as a child of Mary Rose J. Berry Nose?

I have always loved "Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer" - even as a 3 or 4 year old who was able and reluctantly willing to sing the theme song in perfect pitch for anyone my parents deemed a suitable audience.  At one point I had a recording of this event on my father's reel-to-reel recorder.

The recorder stopped functioning years ago, probably even before the legendary basement flood.  A friend attempted to repair it to no avail.  The tapes all went into the trash as part of the legendary basement purge of 2009.

The tale of Rudolph has a happy ending.  Everyone is able to be their own misfit self and somehow the snowman version of Burl Ives is able to magically scoot away with a song and a smile for all.

And yet, I still feel like Hermey the reluctant elf and would-be dentist before the funds for his professional education magically appeared behind the animated scenes.

I still don't know what I want to be when I grow up.  IF I grow up.

Statistics tell me that I have somewhere between 13 and 35 years remaining of my life, with the low end being my father's lifespan and the high end being both my grandmothers' lifespans.

Bank statements tell me I have 20 years of full-time work ahead of me, once the clock starts (that is, once I get a full-time job and keep it for the first time since 2008).

So sing along if you remember the melody that Hermey and Rudolph sang.

Why am I such a misfit?
I am not just a nitwit.
You can't fire me- I quit,
since I don't fit in.

Why am I such a misfit?
I am not just a nitwit.
Just because my nose glows,
why don't I fit in?

And I don't know how to fix it.  And I don't have unlimited money or time left.

So, ring out the old, ring in the new.

Here we go again in this big recursive loop called life.

Make sure all restraints are firmly in place, and please keep your arms inside the ride at all times.  (screaming silently)

The Dropouts

The economy in this country-- and for that matter, in this world-- has created a brand-new socio-economic class.  I call us "The Dropouts."

I was first aware of this phenomenon during a short volunteer stint at an AM radio station in Avon Park, Florida in October of 2010.  One of the weekly regulars was a fellow whose on-air name was Timmy Z.

Unlike many of the "paid" local Highlands County radio personnel, this guy actually had a trained "radio voice" and could read copy and sound like he wasn't reading.  He wasn't paid for his on-air time, I don't believe, but he did sell advertisements for the station on commission and Lake Verona Lodge Bed & Breakfast purchased one. Tim did the voice on one of the two spots and I did the other.  Both were good.

I met Timmy and several others, including my friend Tonya, at the radio station.  That was the first place in the small town that I really felt a "meeting of the minds" of youthful energy and intelligence.  In fact, I remembered having a conversation with Timmy in which we actually mused aloud "why are two smart people like you and I here in a small demographically-challenged town in central Florida and unemployed?"

Timmy had a very interesting story, most of which I can't remember, but I do remember that he did an exceptional job of doing color commentary for the local basketball team which was then called the Heartland Prowl.  Tonya had some kind of position (also unpaid) with the Prowl and apparently she had hooked them up with the radio station, which was a cool collaboration.

I also remember that Timmy told us his Highlands County home was currently in foreclosure but that the banks were so overwhelmed with the foreclosures that he felt he had some time before becoming homeless.  I know that he had a wife and kids, and I know that on one of his less cheerful moments on radio (and there weren't many, to his credit) he was asking listeners for help on how to relieve a toothache.  No dental coverage for him, no doubt.

The radio station in that short-lived incarnation eventually withered away under the harsh economic climate of Highlands County, and was sold by Dave, the well-meaning philanthropist who tried to get it going as an alternative talk station.  I believe Dave had health issues of some long standing.  His young wife Madonna was nothing short of genius on the mixing board, and she and I once discussed the possibility of my helping her learn some programming language someday.  Yes - she too was unemployed.

The end of the story is unknown to me for many of these characters.  No one in my Facebook circle ever heard from Timmy Z again and we can only speculate that his home was foreclosed and he had to move somewhere - or maybe he actually got a job as opposed to becoming homeless.  I only pray things got better for Timmy.

Tonya was eventually able to find work in Highlands County as a receptionist at a senior home, where her sunny disposition keeps the residents laughing while she bites her tongue to hold back her strong opinions and thereby keeps her job.  She just recently purchased a home with her significant other and they are doing well.

There are so many others of these Dropouts that do not have happy endings to their stories yet, including myself.  Many of us are under that magic age of 55 where we have little if any hope of getting any type of government subsidies.  Many others are either receiving social security and/or unemployment but are afraid of losing what they are getting.

Most of these are women.  Many have had rough lives including multiple marriages and dysfunctional blood families going back for generations.  Our stories are diverse but with common threads: the economy has ejected us forcefully from our once lucrative careers into such "career paths" as fast-food, waiting tables, substitute teaching, seasonal work, and editing from home in increments of $.60.  Few of us are receiving unemployment benefits, or they have run out.

The one thing we all have in common:  we are all very strong, and we keep putting one foot in front of the other somehow every day.  The world will jeer and laugh and disrespect us, but we just keep on going.

We all hope to have happy endings to our currently not-so-happy stories.

Interesting Ways To Die

During my long career as what is now called an "Information Technology Professional," there were, as you might guess, many entertaining stories and quasi-inside jokes.

These started in college, which is now called "Missouri University of Science & Technology."  It was then called University of Missouri at Rolla, or simply UMR.

At the time, we often jokingly referred to it as BUMR.

Once I got into my first professional job at Southwestern Bell Telephone Company (now known as... oh forget it) I started to learn the ropes of being a disciplined COBOL programmer.

That progressed into many other jobs throughout my career, all of which required discipline, but I digress.

An important aspect often shared among coworkers was what to do if I should die suddenly.  This was very important, and more so with each successive job in which I grew competent.

The most interesting thing was probably the method of death that started the sentence.

Downtown St. Louis, 1980s:

• If I should get hit by a Bi-State Bus...

Early 1990s in huge firm in North St. Louis County:

• If I should slip and fall on the ice walking from the parking lot...
• If I should be in a wreck trying to merge onto the Inner Belt...

Other 1990s jobs in Westport area St. Louis County:

• If I should be in a wreck trying to merge onto 270 southbound...
• If I should get killed due to road rage trying to get out of this office park...
• If I should get hit by a Coca-Cola truck...
• If I should have a heart attack due to job stress... (I did quit that one, by the way)

Other jobs throughout St. Louis area in the 90's and 2000's:

• If I should get hit by a beer truck... (its initials are A-B, duh)
• If I should get outsourced tomorrow... (not so funny in retrospect)
• If my job goes away suddenly... (really not funny in retrospect)

Since 2008 or so, the interesting ways to die have suddenly became dramatically less comical and more terrifying.  However, I firmly believe that the funniest crap comes from truth.

Before leaving St. Louis area:

• If we should find ourselves homeless in Florida, at least we won't freeze to death.

In Florida, mostly between my husband and I:

• If I should get shot by a drug lord...
• If I should get eaten by a gator while swimming at Lake Verona...
• If I should get hit in the head by a rock thrown by neighbor immigrant child on bicycle (no habla Engles)...
• If I should get carried away by a turkey vulture...
• If the big hurricane hits and we aren't prepared...
• If the termites cause the roof to collapse...
• If I'm not careful while out walking and get hit by an Amtrak... (note, this pre-supposes total deafness in Highlands County where the train whistles are L-O-U-D and L-O-N-G)
• If I should get hit by an orange truck on Hwy 27...
• If an old person driving a car has a heart attack and causes a fatality including me.... (any location but ESPECIALLY during snowbird season)
• If I die of job stress.... (shout out to what used to be CCAS)
• If we die before we sell this business...
• If we die before we sell this house...

Back in St. Louis:

• If GPS lady loses her mind and I get hopelessly lost...
• If one of the big kids in a hurry to his/her job rear-ends me fatally...
• If I should get shot or abducted by (this has its own whole sub-category):
• an angry sales clerk...
• an angry customer...
• an angry neighbor (not too worried about this one yet)...
• an angry driver who I inadvertently make angrier...
• a cyber-stalker...
• an angry former coworker, former chorus member, former ex-boyfriend, etc.....

Yeah.  You know what?  This isn't so funny anymore.  Maybe I need a deep breath and a few laughs.

More like:  maybe I need to do my scheduled work before my deadline!   Talk about lack of discipline.  Wow.

At least I'm not likely to die suddenly while doing audio transcription from home.  It may be boring and tedious sometimes - and usually lonely - but it pays a few bills and that's kind of important at this moment.

Later, y'all.

The Quiet Place Within

Deep inside of me is a place of quiet and beauty and nature and harmony.

When I'm there, things flow effortlessly. When I'm not, chaos ensues.

The quiet place is a lake in a small town in Highlands County, Florida. The harmony is four-part barbershop style.

I can go there whenever I choose - but discipline is required to make the trip.

I'm learning.

Chapter 2 of my book

2 Receiving Official Layoff Notice

Thursday, September 13, 2007 dawned for me after a very sleepless and tearful night.  

I knew I needed to steel myself to go to work and face the meeting with Human Resources and get the details of how my job would end.  These were the only things I knew for certain, because my coworker didn’t want to violate any rules by giving me too much information over the phone, and I didn’t want to place her in any jeopardy either.  

Judging by the meeting invitation that I had seen that had been recalled from my email, the persons in charge of the mass layoffs were taking great care to ensure that individuals who were out of the office during the official notice didn’t receive any advance information.

It was a very strange and surreal environment that I walked into that morning, although it might have seemed to an uninformed bystander that everything appeared the same.  It was the same elevator ride to the seventh floor, the same swiping the key card to enter the work area, the same basic layout and décor within the work area. 

Many of the same faces were sitting at temporary employee workstations that had been there when I left.  That day, however, it suddenly occurred to me that the ethnicity of the vast majority of those faces was closely linked to the new country where our jobs were going.  

The underlying atmosphere or “vibe” once I opened that door that morning was definitely changed and scary.  It could have been all in my mind or the product of lack of sleep the prior night, but I doubt it.

My supervisor met with me shortly after I arrived and said that she would be glad to go with me to the meeting with H.R.  She and I were always close; she was the best boss I had ever had in my long career, and she often indicated that I was one of her best subordinates ever, so it was a match made in heaven.  

I later learned that she had cried a great deal after learning that she was going to be losing the majority of her best and favorite employees and that she had no say whatsoever in who would stay and who would go.   At that time, there was no doubt that had she been allowed any input at all, she would have opted to retain me and at least one or two others.

I was probably still in shock over the whole situation, and during the actual meeting with H.R., I felt strangely disconnected, like a story you hear about a patient who has died and left his own body and is floating above watching the medical professionals administer life-saving procedures.  

The woman who was reading me the prepared statement was wearing an amount of perfectly applied makeup that made her look nearly clownish, in my opinion, and strangely like the singer Pat Benatar from the 1980s.  She paused at exactly the right places during the statement to look up and make eye contact with me, as well as to take breaths.  It was all like some sort of strange stage play that had been rehearsed but didn’t seem real.

The only words I remember exactly are these:  “Your position has been eliminated.”  

I later gave that a lot of thought.  With all the work I had been doing each day, the constant emails and phone calls, even at home after hours, trying to fix the faulty software system and help the business users to do their jobs in spite of it… my position was being eliminated?  What the hell!  

What happens to the software that isn’t working, the business users in the call center and sales offices who can’t get their jobs done because the computer system is malfunctioning, even the insured people who can’t get a correct rate to pay because their data is incorrect?  Does someone just wave a magic wand and that all goes away?  

How in the world would anyone be trained to do what I had been doing for all those years, and even begin to handle it as well as I had?

There were a few answers in the official statement that at least attempted to address such questions.  I was one of a select group that was being given an option to stay on and train the company, based in another country, that was taking over.  

I would receive several rather large bonuses depending upon how long I was willing to stay on, up until the date that would ultimately be my last day at work no matter what, which I was told would be February 1, 2008.  Apparently some consideration was being given to my exceptional work performance and my trustworthy character, and I did appreciate that.  

I later learned that many others in the department had received one of several less desirable situations:  some were told they needed to pack up their belongings and leave before the end of the week; others were told of an end date several months later with no bonuses offered.

The entire situation seemed totally surreal, and once it was to begin to seem “real” several weeks later, there were going to be an entirely new set of issues to deal with.  But for now, I suppose I felt somewhat fortunate and spared the worst of all possible fates.

Things at work continued for a while pretty much the same as they had been, other than the fact that as word spread among the business users, I was receiving many condolences, prayers and good wishes from those I had worked so hard to help for so many years.  They made it very clear to me that THEY appreciated me even if the company did not.

A short time after the official notices of job eliminations were completed, the foreign contracting firm who was taking over the support of the systems scheduled meetings with all the employees who were being let go.  They held out what appeared to be a lucrative offer to all of us:  Hire on with us, and you will receive your entire same salary and benefits, including vacation, for the duration of time that your system is still being supported in this country.  

Part of me was just plain ANGRY at the foreign company for taking my job; another part of me knew that those who remained behind would be subjected to stresses far worse than anything we had seen at our jobs to date, and I feared for my own sanity.  

I also felt, deep down, that I had always landed on my feet with job changes in the past, and that certainly I would again soon find other work.  For all these reasons, and with the agreement of my dear husband, I declined that offer right away.

Would you read this book? Chapter 1

1 My Job Is Going Away

The writing had been on the wall for a number of years, but like using a chemical to activate disappearing ink, it took the right combination of circumstances for me to see it – and by the time I could read the writing after the fact, this whole event was history.

Monday, September 10, 2007 was a very sad day at a large insurance company in St. Louis County, Missouri.  Individual employees in the Information Technology department of this company were being taken from their workspaces one at a time by supervisors into closed rooms, and came back sobbing.  It was like a slow death, an impending doom that was spreading by word of mouth like wildfire through the department, among those sitting in their cubicles awaiting their turn to be tapped on the shoulder, or perhaps be spared.

Meanwhile, at a luxurious all-inclusive resort in Playa Del Carmen, Mexico, my husband Stu and I were sipping cocktails poolside, totally unaware of the corporate blood bath taking place hundreds of miles away.  

My job had been particularly stressful in recent months, since my company had been taken over by a larger company, and there were rampant rumors of layoffs or job relocations or any of a number of other things.  This situation, on top of the already stressful work involved in maintaining a large software system that was designed and coded in a big hurry to meet management deadlines, resulted in a fairly relentless diet of daily stress for myself and my coworkers.  

We struggled each day to fix the ever-growing laundry list of system problems, and tried our best to comply with the rigorous new procedures for coding, testing and implementing scheduled system releases.  Meanwhile, there were unscheduled emergency mini-releases, calls from system users who needed a work-around, and nearly constant requests for data fixing to correct system errors.  

Work was hardly a picnic, and the vacation that we were taking was a much needed break.  Little did I know that it might well be my last such luxury vacation in my life.

Stu and I were both employed full time and fairly well paid at this time:  I, in my 26th year as a mainframe computer programmer in the St. Louis MO area, and he, as an Activities Director and Property Manager for an upscale active retiree housing community for over 5 years.  

My continued employment since college had allowed me to live independently and comfortably throughout my adult life.  In 1999, the year I married Stu, it had also allowed us as a newly-formed family (myself, Stu, and his two sons, Ben-13 and Josh-10) to move into a really good school district for the boys’ sake.  

We had not only a four-bedroom, 2.5 bedroom ranch house with a fully finished basement in this upscale neighborhood, but we had also purchased a villa unit in the community where Stu was working.  This was partly an investment property, but even more, a convenience for Stu and I both to have a place to stay over weekends when night events were held at the community as part of his job.  

Stu often stayed over out at the villa in order to do other social things as well after his workday ended, mostly playing golf.  He had even managed to get me involved in golf with him and the residents, after buying me pink and purple golf clubs and our taking lessons together.  

We had a cute little golf cart which was fun for riding around the nine-hole course on the property – the riding around was actually more fun for me than trying to drive a golf ball for any distance without inspiring laughter from myself and other spectators.

So, whether or not we fully appreciated it at the time, life was good for us to a large degree.  We had health insurance through my employer and were able to seek treatment for our physical and mental issues as needed.  We didn’t worry about money and probably had more “toys” than anyone would ever need.  

Our boys were doing fairly well; the older one was away at college and the younger one was attending community college in town and living with us, and was able to dog-sit for us while we vacationed in Mexico.  

We had been through several very rough years with the death of both of Stu’s dear parents, most recently his father who had lived with us for close to two years after his mother’s death.  

It had been a tumultuous time for our family in terms of losing both of Stu’s parents in just under two years, but we were grieving and working through our issues, as well as Stu’s executor duties for his parents’ estate, by putting one foot in front of the other.

We were both very grateful to be able to get away to such a lovely place as our favorite all-inclusive resort in Mexico.  The beautiful surroundings, the huge pool, the wonderful gourmet meals and snacks – all of these played a large role in helping us to relax and get away from the daily life stresses we had back in Missouri.

It wasn’t until we arrived back to our home on Wednesday afternoon that I realized something was horribly wrong.  In checking my work email from home, there were some communications that said (and failed to say) some very unsettling things.  

There was one calendar meeting invitation from Human Resources that had mysteriously been issued to me and then recalled.  There was also a suspicious lack of the routine work communications I would have seen on my third work day out of office.  

Since it wasn’t yet time for all my coworkers to be gone from work for the day, I sent a couple of quick emails to my closest female coworker, Ann, and my boss, Kathy, just saying I was back in town and wondering how things were there.  Both of these women could be counted on to reply to emails almost immediately, at least with a couple of words of welcome back, so when I didn’t receive a reply from either, I had to pick up the phone and start calling around to various coworkers’ phones.

I did finally reach one of my coworkers, who immediately said that she couldn’t discuss what was going on, so I said I would just ask questions.  

At first she protested and said “you should hear this from H.R.”, but I insisted and asked a couple of questions.  

“Have people in our area been laid off?” 

“Yes.”

“A few or a lot?” 

“A lot.”

“Is your job going away?” 

“Yes.”

“Is mine?” 

“Yes.”

I expressed my condolences and thanks to her for giving me at least enough information to not be blindsided at work the next day.  I also knew that I would need to do my best to NOT cry while I was being given the official word from H.R. and with supervisors present.  I was to do most of my crying that night instead of sleeping.

I shared what information I had with my husband and younger stepson immediately, and I was crying quite a bit at that point in time.  The three of us went out to dinner at one of our favorite local pubs, but that element of joy normally present in dinner out together again as a family after our returning from a trip just wasn’t happening.

Here's Someone Who Can Really Write

Why doesn't this guy have his own blog?  He's so articulate, and kind of handsome, too.  :)

Confessions from a former Republican: I have always been an Independent, preferring to vote on issues and individuals, rather than follow any straight party line, just because one or two facets of the ideology appealed to me. When we moved to Florida, based on my dissatisfaction with specific things I felt were mishandled with the stimulus/bail-outs and our economy, I voted as a Republican in t

he Primary.

I never joined them, but was initially attracted to the Tea Party, because I saw it as a grass roots rebellion to "the way things had always been done in Washington", and several of their core mission statements appealed to me. That being said, the vitriolic nature of the rhetoric I was reading on Face Book from members of the Tea Party directed at Democrats and the President of the United States completely turned me off. At one point the images and captions got so personal and so insulting and so angry, that I either dropped the people posting them from my Friend list, or I turned off their feed so I wouldn't have to see it every day. I'm one of those old fashioned people that has witnessed in my life time the highest reverence for the office of the President deteriorate into open scorn and disrespect. Yes, I believe in Freedom of Speech, but I also believe when we diminish the highest office in the land, we in fact diminish ourselves as a country and as a people.

It was at that point that I truly felt I didn't want to vote for either candidate. Then there were the scandals, and almost unbelievable quotes from politicians - quotes that made me ask, "What century is this person living in that they don't know basic human biology?"

My Republican friends - I could give you a list of a hundred reasons why I cannot understand your unwavering allegiance to your political affiliation, but in that statement is the reason why I know it would not make a difference to you, not budge you from your belief that the President is evil, that Democrats are evil. Don't even get me started on Bush, what two wars that were going on before Obama took office have caused our country in lives and money.

On the other side of the coin is my disillusionment with the system itself. All Presidential candidates spout a list of promises during their campaigns that conveniently over look the simple fact that without bipartisan cooperation, very little can be accomplished when they assume office. Let's also not forget how much large contributions during a campaign can affect future policy. That's the reality of today's politics; so much of it is determined by money and special interest groups, on both sides of the aisle.

My fervent prayer now is that the Republicans realize that their efforts to derail Obama the past four years, to put up as many road blocks as they could, and to try to distort facts in the pursuit of their desire to get rid of him has backfired as evidence by his re-election. You have to redefine who you are if you want to unite this country, and you have to come up with a different approach in terms of advancing your party's goals for the future. What you have done in the past isn't working.

Yesterday I heard several political pundits say as much. I heard political leaders acknowledge what missteps were made and what changes have to occur if they want the support of the country; things like including women, Latinos, and African Americans more in their focus.

In the meantime, I echo many of the sentiments I have read this morning from people urging their friends and colleagues to accept the choice made by the majority of the country and stop insulting and bad mouthing the President.

Honestly, the politician I have the most respect for today is Chris Christy, a Republican. He showed amazing honesty when he acknowledged and thanked President Obama for his swift response in cutting through the usual red tape associated with getting help to the areas on the East Coast affected by Hurricane Sandy. When he popped up on Fox News (the conservatives’ favorite TV space) and was asked if his party’s candidate should also tour the damaged areas of New Jersey, Christie retorted, “I have no idea, nor am I the least bit concerned or interested. I have a job to do in New Jersey that is much bigger than presidential politics. If you think right now I give a damn about presidential politics, then you don't know me.”

That kind of candor and honesty was refreshing, especially coming from someone who previously was extremely critical of the President.

Let's follow his example and all take the high road for a change.

My name is Stu Cassell and I support this message (I should, I wrote it).

A Day To Remember

Election Days are always important, especially the ones that only come every four years (like Leap Day) - the election to opt to retain or change the party or person currently in power.

It's all over by the time you're reading this, so at this point it doesn't matter.  And I should note that I am writing this ON election day, but you won't see it until tomorrow.

November 6, 2012, oddly enough, would also have been my 25th wedding anniversary, had I done the marriage thing right the first time.  Happy Anniversary, Tom, wherever you are.  I still miss having you in my life, while simultaneously understanding that perhaps it's best that we had no children.

None of my Facebook friends, with the possible exception of a few who talk to me personally and who I know in advance their voting strategy, know how I voted today.  Even my husband doesn't know how I voted the whole ballot early this morning.

Not that I don't enjoy a good conversation with my agree-to-disagree husband. We could even debate opposing viewpoints with respect, because that's how we roll.  But we have so little time to just sit and talk these days, between my working for micro-pay while trying to find a "real" job, and his attempts to find a real job himself while collecting gratefully some of that which Uncle Sam provides for those of us over a certain age.

While Jack and I were walking this morning, I was listening to a very interesting show on NPR regarding the psychology of elections and the polarization of this country to one side or the other.  There are some very interesting components that make up each person's own beliefs, including the usual (race, religion, gender, etc.) but also a lot of other associations.

On the TV show "Survivor," soon after the first season, there came about the idea of "an alliance" which is multiple players joining forces to outnumber the other tribe(s).  At this point, I see Republican and Democrat as nothing more than two giant Survivor Alliances.

In my opinion, what keeps this country free is the balance of power among (not between, because even on the ballot there are more than two parties) the various factions.  The President himself (and someday maybe herself) simply does not wield enough individual power to radically change anything.

Also in my opinion, the constant strident and vitriolic arguing among some (not ALL) members of each party is not resolving or helping anything.  Life is already too noisy and chaotic to hear over all the yelling, especially when you don't wan't to hear it.

Speaking of chaotic, while Jack and I were out walking, we met one of the neighbor's dogs who came barreling across the street from his human's control to meet us this morning.  The dog's name was Chaos.  I'm still smiling about that name, which by itself could be a whole other blog entry.

Anyway, our time on this Earth is limited, and probably shorter for each of us than we would like.  An awareness of the finite quality of life certainly makes one (me, at least) take pause to consider how each minute of each day is spent.  I would rather be writing, for example, than arguing politics with my husband or anyone else.

I now return to my low-paying (when measured by my working hour), but still PAYING, job, on which I have a deadline that is six hours away.  That deadline always sneaks up on me.  Time doesn't really speed up or slow down, but it certainly seems that way when I'm goofing off.

Please note that the world is still turning and things are pretty much the same after election day. I already knew this yesterday, as did most of you reading this.  :)

Brain dump - or Metadata from the Treadmill.

It's a cold and rainy morning in St. Louis County, Missouri.  Jack wanted to walk outside as always, and I wouldn't have minded doing that because I do enjoy it.  But Mommy doesn't do well on slick leaves or other wet surfaces.  She is not old but she's not young either.

Jack will have to wait.  Mommy must use the treadmill.  How far?  Around Lake Verona.  1.3 miles.

How did I get this radio to play National Public Radio at 90.7 FM W--- can't remember.  Not important.

Wrong buttons hit.  Power is now on, clock is flashing.  Screw the clock.  I don't have time for this crap.  Many buttons hit, finally open/close CD deck.  No more flashing clock.

Source. Ah, there's talk radio.  Start treadmill, insert ear buds.  Man, it's chilly in this basement.  Hope Stu is OK next door in his new office where I hear TV and hammering.

Are they talking about Gaugin or the other painter?  My mind is wandering and I will not try to remember this too hard.  The blog may be permanent, but it's not important.

Better than Facebook, though, if I really want to be a writer.

Don't be too hard on yourself about the spelling and puncture-ation.  Keep it organic.

We now go to a break - OK, where's that preset button on this remote?  A-ha.

Oh, no.  I did NOT hit auto-program at some point on this radio.  Not in a BASEMENT in a major metropolitan area.  Static, static, static.  Sigh.  Gotta learn how to use this thing.

There's music I can walk to.  Just dance.  Duh, duh, duh-duh, just dance.

We've raised ya-dee-blah dollars for victims of Hurricane Sandy - I "should" care about this, so pay attention.  And here's how YOU can help.  Well, maybe I can't, but, Dear Lord, please help the victims of Hurricane Sandy to get what they need and survive, physically and emotionally.

OK.  Change the station again.  Where's that Brew?

I'm going off the rails on the Crazy Train.  Yeah, I sure am.  Stu says not to call myself "crazy".

Sharon Osbourne did WHAT?  Like Kelly Bundy... er, Christina Applegate... yeah, great article on her in MORE magazine.  Apparently she WAS diagnosed first, poor thing.  Sharon wants to be around for her great grandchildren-- wait, what?  Does she even have grandchildren yet?

How old is Sharon... as old as me or older?  Probably older.  Don't go there, don't do the age thing.  I'm 45.  I'm 53, I'm gonna be - STOP DOING MATH ALREADY.  November of 19- blah blah.  That's all you need to know to be totally truthful. 

Remember in the interview you simply say if asked "I have twenty more years to work".  TRUE STATEMENT.

Wow, I'm getting winded.  Where am I now?  I think I'm coming up the big hill on Circle Street with the lake on the right.  That makes sense.  Yay.

Love this old Mott the Hoople song, it's me.  Once bitten, twice shy, babe.  Yeah, that's it.  My big mental brick wall.  Sorry, we're closed.  LOL.

They did not just say "The Brew" in the lyrics??? Clever marketing for this station.

They did NOT just say she has a Kindle in the lyrics?  What is this, a remake?  Oh yeah, they call it a "cover".  Well, cover THIS.  At least it isn't auto-tuned.  UGH.

Change the station.  OK, I love this but I can't walk to it.  Well, smart-ass, maybe that means you aren't supposed to be walking that fast.  It's organic.

Am I an IT Professional - Oh, crap, how I hate those damned abbreviations.  I don't really think I am IT in all caps.  Maybe that's part of the problem.

Am I an Information Technology Professional?  Am I a writer?  Am I a singer or musician?

The answer is Yes.

Is someone trying to sell me something here?  Are they trying to control me?  Do they want me to give money to hurricane victims?  Are they trying to force me into voting their way or buying their product?

I do need a real job, don't I.  Yes.

The answer is Money.

OK, enough time wasted.  I have reached destination 310 E. Main Street with all the yard work needing done.  Or, my current house with all the raking needing done.  Maybe Stu will do it like he did before.  

It's a virtual walk anyway.  1.3 miles is enough.  Time to stop.

Walking in Circles

Today's grocery shopping expedition presented me some unique challenges.  What does one do when one is in a land that is new and yet familiar?

Everyone who knows me knows that I LOVE Aldi.  It's the ultimate in grocery shopping with great quality, not too many choices, and logical, consistent store layouts.  At least the German blood in me truly loves Aldi.  

For the record, the German part of me is also responsible for my love of imported beer and fattening foods... but I digress.

I had no trouble getting all the items on our list quickly, with one exception that Stu added:  "Parmesan Cheese (Jar)".  I knew exactly what he meant - he is my husband of nearly 14 years, after all - but I usually manage to pawn off all the regular grocery shopping on him.  So where in Aldi does one find this item?

After making numerous circles around the busy Bridgeton store, and actually saying to myself out loud at one point, "Dorothy, we're not in Sebring anymore," I was finding myself a bit frustrated.  

Did I ever actually purchase the "jar" of parmesan cheese at Sebring Aldi?  Would it need to be in a refrigerated display or just on a shelf?  Even I was aware it couldn't be in the freezer case, but that didn't stop me from walking past it a few times.

At this point, I was torn between channeling my Inner German (Bob Lucas), praying to St. Anthony (patron saint of lost articles), and trying to find a non-busy store employee on a ridiculously busy shopping day.  

I had almost reached option three above (but not quite) when I found myself passing the young mother carrying on a dialogue with her young son about "helping with the shopping" for the fifth time, and silently sympathizing with her plight.  

(But hey - the dialogue was in English!  Hey, Dorothy, we're not in Sebring anymore!)

At last the Inner German spoke to me and gave me an idea of why the "parmesan cheese (jar)" would not be found anywhere near the other variety of cheeses scattered throughout the store.  "Hey, Em (my father's nickname for me) - what do you use it with?"

Parmesan Cheese (Jar) was then quickly found, right near the pasta where it belonged.

Dear Lord, please help keep my mind flexible in this land of new challenges - and please help me not to lose it in the process.

A Reluctant Lesson in... Technology?

As I often do these days without the structure of a day job, I spent way too long on Facebook this morning, conversing with several friends in Highlands County, FL.

For a variety of reasons, many of them are able to live relative lives of leisure as compared with the hustle and bustle of a big city.  Let's face it - life just moves at a slower pace back there, which I often catch myself missing.

Around 10 a.m., Jack came to me and started whimpering.  I honestly think he might have somehow read my mind, because I was having a conversation with a FL friend that made me think about my and Jack's daily walk.

I let him outside so that I could get dressed for the walk in the normal-for-this-time-of-year (unpredictable and constantly changing) St. Louis weather.  It's hard to dress even simply with a 48-pound dog jumping all over you.

I couldn't even check the forecast online and get dressed in layers deemed appropriate, including shoes and socks, before he started barking frantically "I Want Inside NOW!"

I finally finished getting enough clothing on to go let him in.  It was raining and he was wet!

At this point, much as Jack could have used the walk (especially with his recent weight gain noted at yesterday's vet visit), I decided I needed to walk alone on the treadmill in the basement.

Let me start by saying that Stu is nothing short of a genius and a very loving husband. He has set up for me the most wonderful exercise room, complete with treadmill, fan to cool, and technology to entertain.  The "technology to entertain" this morning proved a bit confounding to my imperfect self.

I'm still not sure if it was the order in which I did things or just technological barriers to “stealing TV shows” - which I was not trying to do - but I never anticipated this level of challenge, which actually took longer than the walking itself of 1.3 miles (the distance around Lake Verona).

Along with our subscription to DirecTV (and two paid DVRs) Stu got some software which allows you to watch the shows you have recorded on a DVR, which is connected to your home computer network, on your computer.

Stu's laptop, which normally sits on a desk/tray on his bed in his bedroom (a.k.a. his "office"), is the combination of newest and most portable computer we own.  It's also the only one of our three computers which can connect to a modern flat screen TV (which we bought in early 2010 for our FL bed and breakfast) via an HDMI cable. 

Since Stu was gone shopping for groceries and hardware necessities, I decided I would grab his laptop and borrow it for the treadmill before he got back, and hopefully leave it in a way that he wouldn't even know I had borrowed it.

I unplugged the electrical cord and carried it and the laptop, with the mouse and mouse pad, downstairs.  After connecting the laptop up to the downstairs outlet, a network signal extender, and the HDMI cable already attached to the TV set hanging on the wall, I went to turn on the TV with the remote.

The TV would not respond, and I assumed that the batteries in the remote had died.  After all, these were probably the original batteries that were in the remote when we bought the TV, even though the actual TV remote was rarely used since we had DirecTV (and remotes) in all the guest rooms.

I reinforced my original assumption by pulling out and discarding the two AA batteries, clearly labeled with a foreign name.  Let's get some good old American batteries – Eveready (headquartered in St. Louis, by the way) - that we know are relatively new (checked the date printed on them).

Still no response, and then I realized the error was human (never assume because you make an... you know the rest).  Murphy's Law says (or should say) that the appliance always works better WHEN YOU PLUG IT IN.  Duh!

OK, with the TV and the laptop both receiving electricity, the Windows Desktop was clearly visible on the large Visio TV screen.

At this point, according to repeated error messages, the DirecTV software seemed to think I was trying to use more than one monitor at a time (the laptop AND the TV set). I closed the laptop lid to turn off one of the two monitors.

I restarted both the computer and the software several times without success. I finally figured, "_____ this, I'm spending more time on the _____ technology than I will be able to spend on the _____ workout."  You can fill in the blanks with your own expletives of choice.

At this point, the TV was displaying Stu's desktop with a window where DirecTV was trying to download software, as shown in the illustration at the top of this blog.  It gave me something to look at, anyway, for the duration of my walk, along with comparing current weather conditions between Avon Park, FL and Bridgeton, MO.

Also in our basement fitness room is an old combination CD player/AM-FM radio/receiver, circa 2003, which Stu has also somehow gotten connected to the TV.  

This device is still amazingly complex if you have neither the original manual nor the brain of a 20-year-old.  Its purpose in this equation is to allow me to listen with headphones to the TV while walking on the noisy treadmill, and it has its own remote to control volume while walking.

My thought process at this point was something like, OK, I can stand to walk without TV, but please let me have music or talk radio, because I don't even have the dog or my neighborhood to entertain me today.  Yes, I am spoiled!

It took me an amazingly long time to figure out how to get the radio part of this device tuned to something besides 730 AM, which is great for Barry Foster on WWTK in Florida, but yields nothing but static in a basement in Bridgeton, MO.

There were so many buttons, all of them doing at least double if not triple duty, that even with my new magic bifocals, my old not-so-magic brain wasn't doing so well.

After way too much struggling for a woman who is trying to make a living in technology, I managed to get pre-set buttons number 5, 7 and 8 (or some such thing) set to Y-98, Brew 100.3, and KWMU St. Louis Public Radio.

And so I walked to some very new music, some old rock and roll, and some talk radio.  All were interesting for their own reasons.  

I had to resist the temptation during the fast tunes to adjust treadmill speed to anything like my former peak walking speed (when I was 30 and weighed 115 lbs.), but I did indulge myself in setting it to somewhere near the music tempo when it was less than about 3.5 mi/hr.  

Jack was patiently waiting for me at the top of the steps when I finished my solo workout.  Between a fear of our 2007 basement in Creve Coeur, MO, and being trained not to go upstairs to the guest rooms at Lake Verona Lodge Bed and Breakfast, I guess he hadn't felt compelled to follow me if it meant stairs.

I went to let him outside again, and saw that it was no longer raining.  This prompted a lengthy string of apologies from me to the dog.  Surely by now he knows Mommy is crazy, but he still loves me.  And that's why dogs are much better than technology.  The End.

Living Life In Color

Today was another great day for a walk around the subdivision.  It was actually a little bit chilly when Jack and I started out, and it was already late (close to 10 a.m.), but I was happy in my shorts and t-shirt.  I had to wonder what the older couple who walked by wearing jeans and fleece jackets thought, but they didn't seem to notice, and that's just fine.

Living in the moment means you enjoy today without dwelling on the future.  I'm getting better at doing just that.  When you worry about winter cold and ice, you miss the beauty of autumn, and I think I missed MANY autumns in just that way before moving to Florida.

I do, however, find myself hunting for clues of the impending color show that we will soon have in this area.  And I did find one which I captured on my phone and am sharing here.  At first I thought it might just be those berries, or some dead leaves, so I literally crossed the street to get a closer look.  No doubt about it - the magic has begun.

I have always loved diverse colors.  As a child, one of my favorite things in the world was the fireworks at 4th of July.  My dad used to always take me to see a display somewhere in the area that wasn't too crowded.  

Dad knew I loved the sights and sounds of fireworks displays (except the really loud bombs) and parades (even though the drums made my tummy feel funny).  I never knew how much he hated crowds and traffic when I was young, and I have to give him a lot of credit for that.

This past summer, for the 3rd straight year, I had the best seat in the house for a really spectacular fireworks display over Lake Verona in Avon Park, Florida.  Who can complain about sitting in a lawn chair in your own driveway watching the most AMAZING colors right over your head, and yet being able to hear the cheers from the more crowded viewing points all around the lake?  No matter how depressed you might be, you can't help yourself from being in awe at a moment like that.  I loved it.

I always thought I would love living somewhere where I didn't have to deal with ice and snow.  At first, I did, just because it was DIFFERENT.  But I sure learned a lot about myself in the last three years or so.  Always green can be boring.  Always either hot or hotter can be boring and quite uncomfortable for a woman with hot flashes.  Always anything is never different.  

I'm not sure the editing police will like that last sentence above, but I do.  And it's my blog.

Different is good.  Different means change.  Change means growth and adaptation.  These are the things that keep us young.  I don't want to ever get old in my mind.  I know my body will get old and already has its limitations, but rather than brace myself against those and other changes, I'm going to try something different.

I leave you with a quote from one of my all time favorite vocal groups, Carpenters, from their song "It's Going To Take Some Time."

But like the young trees in the wintertime, I'll learn how to bend.

Thoughts While Walking

I do some of my best thinking while my feet are moving.  Therefore, my daily walk of 1.2 miles has provided me with a lot of interesting ideas.  Here are a few of those thoughts on several topics.

On Walking

While I was unemployed in Florida, I always needed to walk “first thing in the morning” unless I wanted to be really hot, especially in the summer.  

Not that I intend to remain unemployed for any length of time here in Missouri – because I do not – but on a positive note, here I can walk any time of day, even later after it has warmed up to a tolerable temperature.  

I love walking in the brisk cool air of autumn.  Year round, ideally, I will only need to use the treadmill on icy, snowy or rainy days as long as the temperature stays above freezing.

On dry pavement, my biggest hazard walking here in MO are those little landmines that fall off the Sweetgum trees – and I watch carefully for those after once falling on one in 2008.

On Honesty, Job Hunting and Social Media

I have always prided myself on being a very honest person, but I have been told that my level of honesty can hurt me while job hunting.  

I agree that over-sharing or venting on Facebook, or (God forbid) discussing politics or even showing a political bias on Facebook can certainly hurt my chances at a good job.  But I draw the line at dishonesty. 

Here’s the thing.  Most real facts about me are not that hard to find out.  While I don’t wear my age tattooed on my forehead, it is a matter of public record, and I really don’t work that hard to hide it, either.  

My mother actually had an incorrect year of birth – one year later than truth - on her driver’s license in an attempt to look younger than my father (she wasn’t, but she was only 6 months older than him, which in my mind isn’t a big deal).  

OK, to be fair, I must admit that my last MO driver’s license listed my weight at 150.  The truth is it’s higher than that at the present, and has been for years.  

The woman at the license bureau, who was able to call up my old MO information in her computer, said she’d leave it at 150.  However, she went ahead and updated my husband’s new license to his actual stated weight.  

What’s the difference there?  Maybe men prefer accuracy while women prefer a soft focus?  Hmmm. 

This morning I reviewed my Facebook “Timeline” (and yes, I hate it too, but we won’t go into that here) from the perspective of an anonymous public person.  

I didn’t see anything I needed to delete, and that’s a good thing.  Anyone who wants to read all that will be seeing the “real” me, and I’m fine with that.  

Everyone with whom I have interviewed or spoken regarding a position to date has received the truth.  Yes, it’s a positive slanting, somewhat edited version of the truth, but it’s as honest as I can be.  

I hate even telling the tiniest lie when I don’t have to.  There are two reasons for that.  First, I can’t keep my story straight if I lie, and I don’t want to have to be sure every resume I ever posted has the exact same information.  

Second, I have one of those expressive faces that would probably display “SHE’S LYING” in large scrolling letters across my forehead if I did. 

I still believe honesty is the best policy.  An employer who is the best fit for me will appreciate this, as have others in the past.

On Big City versus Small Town Culture

I’m sure there are those native St. Louisans who believe that St. Louis is a small town at heart, and there is some truth in that.  But when you have actually lived in a really small town like Avon Park, Florida, the cultural differences are very apparent and it's good to respect them. 

While walking Jack in Avon Park, there were two main groupings of other pedestrians we would encounter.   The first group were those afraid of dogs.  Those people would literally cross the street to avoid Jack in many cases, even if they would wave hello or shout “Good Morning”.  

I learned the value of short-leashing him quickly if they chose to share the sidewalk, or even moving over to the grass with him short-leashed so they could pass without fear. 

The second group in Avon Park were the friendly folk.  These included locals and tourists of all ages, ethnic groups, and income levels.  

Walking around Lake Verona on the selected streets with sidewalks was a very common thing, and that’s where you would always see pedestrians.  Most would smile and say at least “Good Morning.”  Many others would literally stop and have a conversation with me and pet Jack. 

Here in Bridgeton in my little subdivision, there seems to be a good mix of younger working people and retirees.  Every last property is well kept up even though I don’t see many people on my walk.  

Those pedestrians that I do meet do not always volunteer a greeting of any sort.  And that’s OK.  

People are busy and sometimes shy.  I myself have not always volunteered greetings while walking unless the other person is directly in my path, depending on my mood.  

And it’s not a small town.  I can respect that difference even as I am sensitive to it.  There are plenty of people even here who will chat for a moment, and as long as I have the time to do so, I enjoy that.

Conclusion

It’s great to be able to walk 1.2 miles every day and have my time to think about so many things and get my thoughts organized, whether or not I choose to put them down on paper.  

Many of my daily thoughts are related to organizing my life and my job search, and that’s not mostly blog-worthy stuff for anyone who isn’t very much like me in age, interests and profession.  

But I do enjoy sharing some thoughts with others, and I hope you enjoy it, too. 

Post Script While Publishing

I normally compose in Microsoft Word, and sometime between my last blog and this one, they have completely revamped the Blogger editor.  

I think it will save time next time if I actually do my composing on their editor and then cut and paste a text version into Word to save it afterwards.  It's either that, or fight with the HTML code to get it formatted the way I want it.  

Come to think of it, maybe it's not such a bad thing to get very familiar with HTML code again.  :)

That Which Does Not Kill Us...

Finish this sentence: That which does not kill us…

There are lots of alternative endings, I’m sure, but rather than go for the cheap laugh, I will go with the standard …makes us stronger.

I’ve been hearing this line in my head a lot lately and thinking about my life: what it once was, what it is now, and what I hope to have it become. I have to believe, if nothing else, that after this entire adventure, I’m a lot stronger. I would like to add happier to that list as well, and I might as well throw in wealthier. What the heck, if you’re going to dream, dream big – right?

Here’s my life as it once was, circa 2006. I was making a great income, and so was my husband. We had a really nice house, actually two of them, one of which was paid off and was primarily a weekend getaway out at his work property. We had every imaginable toy that either of us could possibly want. We were able to have Stu’s father, Alex, move in with us and have two rooms of his very own in our large home without being cramped ourselves. Between his money and ours, the three of us were able to eat out at restaurants almost every night. Both boys were safely in school and not living with us full time, so our only concerns were taking care of Alex and ourselves, other than our jobs. We had health insurance that would cover any and all doctor visits with just a tiny co-pay.

Was I happy? Well, oddly, not the way I should have been. I didn’t really love my job at all, and it was quite stressful sometimes. Stu’s job was stressful to him as well, and we both occasionally brought that stress home to each other and to Alex. Everything seemed more difficult than it should have been, and there never seemed to be enough time or energy to get everything done that needed doing. We were both overweight and out of shape, and we weren’t really taking the time or energy we needed to devote to each other and our marriage. We had two dogs that we loved and two cats that we also loved, but who were beginning to use random areas throughout the house in place of their litter boxes and making the whole place smell awful.

No, when you exclude the income, the toys, the health insurance, I can say with some assurance that I was NOT happy. But I certainly didn’t have the time to think about why I wasn’t happy or what I could or should do about it. I didn’t even have (or make) the time to write a blog like this one to share my thoughts with others who care. I hadn’t flexed any creative muscles in so many years, with my computer programming jobs, that I probably couldn’t have constructed these sentences with any sense of flow or continuity. I was dead inside. My idea of leisure time included hours on end of playing computer games or watching TV with Stu and snacking while doing so.

So fast forward a little bit. In September of 2007 I received notice that my job was going away effective the following February 1. Was I happy then? Of course not, because I knew it meant job hunting again, although I might get a little time off between jobs as usual. I was also worried about our financial future. The first bill for COBRA health insurance after the job ended would nearly send me through the roof, even though I didn’t know that yet. I didn’t think we could live comfortably on just the one income (Stu’s). Little did I know what else was coming.

I got a new job in April of 2008 as a temporary system analyst at a health care company very near my home. Was I happy then? Happy to have a paycheck, yes. Happy to be back into the grind of daily working and office politics, a resounding NO. Much as I liked my coworkers, the actual work I was doing at that job for about the first six weeks was very tedious and boring, since it involved mostly correction of a huge volume of system errors on a new system (package software) that wasn’t working very well. The good news for me, if I wasn’t happy, would be that that job would only last 11 weeks altogether anyway, before company management decreed that almost all temporary employees must be cut loose.

I therefore had my free time back in July, 2008. Was I happy then? You’ve got to be kidding! The worry of applying for unemployment again and trying to job hunt, which I hated to begin with, plus the financial worries of being back to that one measly income between us again. After a very unsuccessful job hunt for many months, I fell into a deep depression.

In February of 2009, I started a very intensive (and expensive) training course to learn Microsoft .NET technology in order to get a programming job again in a job market where mainframes had all but left the planet (all the jobs had definitely left the USA by this time). Was I happy then? Of course not. The course material was difficult and I was the oldest one in the class. In March of 2009, Stu lost his job and we officially became a zero-income family, putting even more pressure on me to succeed. I won’t even bother to ask the question any more; you know the answer now.

Hired for a new job in May of 2009. Fired from that job in July of 2009 for reasons that I now believe were related to personality rather than job performance. Another deep depression. Stu suggesting we should buy and run a business together. My random comment about a bed and breakfast while baking cookies. Stu finding a business and us buying it without doing our homework. Us finding out the business wasn’t all that the con artist former owners made it out to be. Us spending most of our retirement money before finding that out. Us also losing my COBRA health insurance by moving to another state. How many times can you say “not happy?”

Fast forward to January, 2012. Still a zero-income family to speak of, but my priorities have completely changed. I would be very happy with a total annual income of one-half of Stu’s former salary for the two of us to live on. I have all the time I want and need to pursue my creative endeavors. I live in a small town in a beautiful tropical state, in a county where everyone seems to know each other by name, and most of them are really nice. I get to wear shorts and t-shirts in January, and year-round. No stressful job, no dressing up, no office politics. My marriage is very happy, and we just added a second dog to our family. We have enough savings to keep us afloat for a while, and I have already decided I will NOT return to anything related to computer programming, which is good considering the nearest jobs of that type are 50 miles away.

Am I happy now? Yeah, I think I am. And I KNOW I’m a whole lot STRONGER.