The Only Certainty is Change

Just a few months ago, I recieved a call from my emotionally out of control, no boundaries whatsoever manager telling me that I would lose my job in a matter of weeks.  She was crying hysterically during this conversation and although it knocked me out of my chair, she was so upset I was more concerned for her at that time than myself.

I did appreciate the heads up.  It allowed me to put an OH SHIT plan in place that included a budget I hate and some financial goals I have not needed in the past.  Like a COBRA fund. 

We’ve been clunking along since.  Good news came shortly after that call and from what she told  “just in time.”  Our company reorged and the big bad boss who wanted to get rid of her and her entire team had been moved to the cesspool of our company.  She was giddy!  She was happy!  She was now reporting to a new, nice, manager and all would be lovely going forward.

If I took the time to chronicle the issues my dear boss has, I would clog the internet with volumes of information.  I tell the stories of my interactions with her to just a small number of confidantes as those stories are so bizarre I am afraid of being called a bullshitter.  I have confidantes who (with my best interest at heart) get angry and insist that I go to HR.  Going to HR gets you no where, people.  No where.  If you really don’t like something that much, find another job. 

There are confidantes who laugh their asses off and are envious of my ability to think quickly and respond to her leudness and inappropriateness.  Some tell me I am crazy for sticking with the company because of her.  She is unresponsive in business issues, but will call me (and others) crying with her personal issues.  She tries to bully and manipulate by saying she is “taking care” of you/me/the team and that she should be trusted.   She scares her direct reports into being loyal to her.  She demands that no one call anyone over her head.  Only speak to her.  Trust her, she is looking out for YOU.

She is younger than me by 10 years.  It is clear I have more experience and abilities in our field than she does.  She has skills that I do not have – she can data mine to beat the band and find trends, upticks and declines no one else even thought about.  She produces wonderful user friendly pie charts and graphs of her data.  She has value, I don’t want to imply that she doesn’t.

Once I heard this term applied to a out of control young woman and it so fits my manager – she is a “hot mess.”  I have learned over the past several months how to interact with her, how to deal with her and how to get answers I need without involving her.  I have become skilled at managing my manager. 

Back to work –  no one was getting fired.  I took myself off that damned budget, well, not all the way, but a little bit.  I got a couple of manicures.  And I bought flowers for my yard.  Well, and I bought the grandkids a few things – but just a few.

All the employees in my division are remote.  We work in our home offices and travel most of the time.  I happened to be in the city where my boss lives last week so she and I went out for dinner.  This was the first time I’d seen her since the reorg and her new found happiness with a new manager.

We had a great dinner.  Talked a little business and then just talked like girlfriends.  With no boundaries, my boss tells me (and everyone else) things we should not know, nor do we WANT to know. 

I traveled home the next day.  It was after 5 when my cell phone rang and I was at a point that I could take the call, just an hour from my house.  It was my boss.  She was crying hysterically.  Just like she was the day she called to tell me we were all getting fired.  My heart sank.  For the few seconds it took her to find her voice, I thought this was it for me.

But it wasn’t.  It was “it” for her.  She was fired. 

My heart was still in my stomach.  Were they letting her entire team go?  I didn’t think so as I had just been assigned new responsibilities.  Surely they would not give me these key relationships and then let me go? 

I had to think through the situation as I tried to say comforting things to the woman who sounded as if she was having an emotional breakdown on the phone.  As I kept driving, dodging tractors and farm animals on narrow curving back roads with no lines,  I listened to her.  This is the person, the “boss”, whom I was supposed to look to for guidance, support, approval, pay raises, etc and she was blubbering like an idiot on the phone.

I know how it feels to be fired.  I’ve been fired before.  It hurts.  I cried just like she did, but I did not cry to my former staff or colleagues.  I went home and cried to my family and maintained my professional pride.

Although I feel bad for her personally, I understand why she was let go.  If I were queen of the company, I would have terminated her a long time ago.  Out of control emotional employees are a liability to a company.  Put that person in management and you are begging for lawsuits, lost business and staff turnover.

A few months ago she and I were talking about various things and I made a passing remark about Facebook.  I have a Facebook account but I am very selective about it.  I only have 55 friends and that is about all I want.  Those 55 friends are really my friends and family, people I want to keep up with and keep informed.  I don’t “friend” people I don’t talk to on a regular basis, that is not my purpose on Facebook.  I share pictures and stories with my family and friends, not the whole world wide web. 

When my boss found out I had a Facebook account, she had me “friend” her right there in the car on our mobile phones at a redlight.  No boundaries, remember?

Now I need to “unfriend” her but I know she logs on every day to count her friends to see who unfriended her.  So I may leave it alone for a while.  I do feel for her as a person, but I have a job that I like very much, thank you, and do not want it jeopardized by someone I feel is unstable. 

What a hot mess.

It is too early to know how our company will restructure, but I do know my new responsibilities are growing and I have the opportunity to do some really good stuff for my company and my clients.  I am excited about that! 

However, it is time to get myself back on that OH SHIT budget I hate and remember that no job is a guarantee.  I could still get the call any time, but maybe the person on the other end won’t be crying hysterically in an emotional breakdown.  Maybe that call will be handled professionally.

Accepting

Yesterday my husband and I went for a two mile run.  The temperature was in the low 80’s, it was humid and a light drizzle fell.  I thought it felt like a tepid sauna.  I was determined to give this short run all my energy and see if I could break through a wall I’ve hit recently.  Unfortunately, I had no luck.

Last year around this time, I discovered the “chi” posture in running.  I started running using the posture as much as I could.  It takes a little more effort and although it cut a minute off my 10 minute mile, I had to build up to do it and could only run a mile in that posture.  I wanted to do more!  I wanted to do 5K in 27 minutes.  How awesome would that be? I love finishing in first half of 5K race!  With a 9 minute mile, I could finish in the top half quite a bit!

Things happen.  Poopoo occurs.  The hypochondria kept nagging me, at times knocking me out of exercise completely.  I tried everything to get past it and finally, when the hypochondria kept me from working, I went to the doctor.

After just one test, the problem was found.  I know WHAT is wrong and that helps me mentally, but it has knocked me backwards in my exercise and physical activity.  I know the doc doesn’t want me to run but he would not come out and tell me to stop.  He said being out of shape and overweight would be worse on my back than running.  He advised me not to increase the number of days I run each week and not to increase my miles.

Ok, fine.  My goal of running a 10K is no longer a goal.

So why have I gone from a 9 minute mile to a 12.5 minute mile?  That is all I can do.  I track my running and for the past 8 weeks, all I can manage is 12.5 minute miles whatever  my distance.

My glass is always half full, no matter what, so I don’t berate myself and kick my own ass over this decline in abilities.  I do believe I can get better if I just work at it.  I believe if I lost a few pounds, it would be easier to run.  I have a BMI that the internet says is the high end of “normal” so I know I can lose a few pounds and still be normal.  There’s no worry about me ever being underweight, I love chocolate and BBQ tater chips too much for that.

I need to push myself more.  I get a little winded on the route and I walk for a minute or two.  See, not only do I have the issue with my back, my hypochondria is more involved.  I am anemic.  So I have a good excuse to walk, my cells aren’t getting enough oxygen.  Don’t forget the arthritis in my feet.

So I have all these medical reasons for not running a 9 mile mile, hell, I’ve got enough doctor’s notes to file for disability and take to the bed.

I really want to get back to where I was last year.  But part of me knows that if I don’t, I have to accept the 12.5 minute mile and be thankful I can even do that.  I really don’t want to accept it, but I may have to.

I think every aspect of running is like life in general.  There are things in our lives that we enjoy, that we want, that mean a lot to us.  But what if something happens to take that away or diminish it?  You can beat yourself up over it, bang your head against the wall to change it or accept it and be happy.

There are some that would argue we should never accept less, we shouldn’t settle, we should never be complacent.  I’m not doing any of those things.  I want to do better, but the fact is s you can’t “think positive” your way out of the absolutes in life.   I have friends who have been happily married and then blindsided with a divorce.  What then?  Do your best to make it work, but if it doesn’t, accept it and move on.  What about losing your job?  You have a job you love, coworkers you adore and boom!  You’re laid off.   You have to move forward, but you have to accept your loss.

I’m not really happy about that 12.5 minute mile.  I don’t want to accept it and by George I’ll do my best to do better.  But there are things worse than a 12.5 minute mile that I am not facing right now and for that, I’ll be happy. If I must, I will accept my 12.5 minute mile and just be happy I finished the 5K, no matter what half I’m in.  After all, I still have my glass and it is always AT LEAST half full.

Living Broke – Prioritizing

What is a luxury?  That guy who rants on the radio and TV – Dave Ramsey – gets all worked up about cutting expenses and living within your means.  I don’t feel the need to call in and confess anything to him, I have lived below my means for many years now.  But I will admit that the expense cutting he likes to yell about is practical advice when one is trying to go from being comfortably employed to Living Broke.

My husband I have made our weekly budget and in that budget, there is no room for  luxuries we have enjoyed over the years.  There are many things we must cut out.  Let’s get started.

100% Pure Kona Coffee.  Oh, have you tried this?  Heaven in small brown, perfectly roasted coffee beans!  I didn’t know about Kona Coffee until we went to Hawaii 3 years ago and had Kona coffee in Kona.  It was like no coffee I’ve ever tasted, and I fell in love right away. 

I found this coffee at my most favorite place to buy yummy foods – Fresh Market (which has also been cut from the budget).  I order our delicious Kona Coffee on line most of the time.  It runs about $26 for a slighty-less-than-one-pound bag.  Even being comfortably employed this was a bit much for coffee.  We only drank Kona coffee on Satudays, Sundays and Christmas.  If you don’t know about Kona Coffee, read about it here:  http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kona_coffee.   Kona coffee was cut.

Eating Out.  I am uncertain about completely cutting this out right now.  One of the differences I have at home is eating out.  Because I travel most weeks on business, I eat out more than I eat in.  While I’m  galavanting around exotic locales such as Sioux Falls, Topeka and Sandusky, my husband is home scrounging for food he doesn’t have to cook.  It is pitiful to call home while I’m on the road and tell him about the fabulous restaurant I enjoyed with a client only to hear him talk about the potted meat sandwich he just ate. When I get home and we have a weekend – he is ready to go out!  I am ready to eat in. 

Eating out is something he enjoys more than I do.  Is it really fair to cut it out for him when I’m still doing it?  This one may have to be compromised, espeically when I am out of town.

Nice Wine.  Up until I met my husband in 2000, I did not drink.  I couldn’t, I was Baptist and it was just not allowed.  I didn’t know what wine tasted like.  During my wild and rebellious teen years, we were all about the contraband Coors sold only in a few states.  I understood the deep motivation of Smokey and the Bandit. 

My first taste of wine was the incredibly sweet pink stuff.  From there I refined my taste in wine and graduated to less sweet reisling, then on to the light reds.  I am now a cabernet lover, I have gone deep into the wine cellars over the past few years.  My most favorite wine of all time is Cambria Pinot Grigio.  It is a mere $25 per bottle.  We’ve had more expensive wine than $25, however that happens to be my favorite. My husband refuses to drink it, stating it should be against the law to charge that much for a bottle of wine.  Especially when Berringer is just a few dollars a jug. 

Like the expensive Kona coffee, my favorite wine is reserved only for the most special occassions.  Births, graduations, signing big deals at work and acquittalsw.  But no more.  Cambria was cut.

 

Frivolities: 

The cleaning ladies that come every other Thursday.  They’ve been coming for 7 years.  I can easily justify the meager $50 per cleaning when I’m busy jetting about the fly over states, but if I am at home with no job, I can get off my ass and mop my own kitchen. 

The yard mowing kid.  He was a tiny little 11 year old nerd when he and his daddy knocked on our door 7 years ago. He stuttered and asked if he could please mow our yard.  His daddy would help him, and he promised to always do a good job.  We watched him grow from the scrawny little kid to a fine young athelete than is now in his second year of college.  He not only mows for us in the summers, but he mows up the leaves in the fall and helps my husband with larger, more manly yard chores.  If I am not working, I can get off my ass an mow my own grass.  I think it will take 4 hours.  We’ve only mowed it ourselves once and it seems it took that long.

Newspapers.  I had 2 subscriptions.  One to the Wall Street Journal and one for the big city daily.  Gone.  both of them.  I can read the city daily on line and even print the coupons on Sundays.  WSJ?  Ha!  Too darned expensive for those Living Broke.

Phone lines.  We have 3 out of necessity.  Home phone, office phone, office fax.  I must have the office lines, but the day I get the call, I am cancelling them. 

Cell phone extras.  We will keep our cell phones, they have become a necessity in today’s world.  The data package will have to go and so will the broadband card.  The minutes will also be cut.  If someone needs to talk to me so long that I’ll run over my minutes, they probably need to be telling me stuff to my face.

Tupperware, Premier Jewelry, Pampered Chef and other stuff I buy to be nice  and don’t need. 

Our satellite TV is not on the cut list just yet.  We don’t live close enough to a major city to pick up channels without cable or satellite.  We have only the basic channels as neither of us are avid TV watchers/couch potatoes.  I enjoy the news every morning and an occassional episode of Green Acres. We watch a pay per view movie for date night about once a month.  So for now, the satellite hook up stays.

I have given up manicures, pedicures, massages, buying stuff for my grandkids, Starbucks, mindless shopping,  name brand cosmetics, and I  stopped our recent home improvement project before it was finished.  But I am not giving up the aloe vera toilet paper.  Nope.  No way.  Forget it.  That will be the last thing to go, just before we are moving our few possessions under the bridge. 

When you are Living Broke, you have to have your priorities in order.

Living Broke

With the cold hard news of my impending  job loss, my husband and I had the money talk. We agreed to begin that day living as if we were broke.  We decided to put half my paycheck into the Oh Shit Fund down at the bank and that our tax refund would not go to pay for the trip we’ve planned for almost 2 years: A week long adventure hiking the Grand Canyon.

Living Broke to us means a strict budget and absolutely no unnecessary purchases, trips or other expenses.  We both get allowances each week.  If we don’t spend our food budget at the grocery store, we might have enough left for a bottle of wine.

Living Broke is not a new concept to me.  Years ago, I was the 24 year old single mom with little kids and not enough money to buy groceries on Friday.  There are memories that stick with me of that time.  When I start feeling sorry for myself or thinking about how “bad” I have it, I can recall having a package of 6 chicken legs and a can of peas.  Period.  That had to be supper for me and two kids.  And it was. There are calculators somewhere out there on the internet that will tell you how much $30 from 1985 is worth in today’s dollars.  I don’t know where those calculators are, but if you find one and figure out how much that 1985 $30 is worth today, the next thing is to consider how you can take that $30 in 1985 and put gas in your piece of shit car to get you back and forth to your factory job for a week AND buy enough food for yourself and your two kids to last for that same week.  I know how to be poor.  I’ve been there and I’m not afraid.

My financial situation improved just a bit each year.  I only had my power cut off a few times and no one ever went hungry thanks to my mom who came through with a few dollars to help at the grocery store when things were really bad.

The scariest part for me was having no medical insurance on myself and my kids.  That was for a brief period of time, when I worked for a non profit and there were no benefits.  I lived in fear that something would happen and I would not be able to get medical care for my kids.  And what about me?  I had to work to get paid.  What if I got sick?  I had the fear of God put in me just a few years before I had no health insurance.  My baby was just 2 and he was very sick.  High fever, a coughing that came from deep in his chest.  I took him to the doctor, signed in and had a seat cradling him in my lap, scared to death.  The clerk called me to the front and said that unless I paid my unpaid balance, the doctor would not see my baby.  WHAT?  What balance?

The issue was that in the divorce, the babydaddy was responsible for the medical expenses not covered by insurance.  The doctor’s office sent the co pay bills to him and he was not paying them.  There was a balance of around $100.  I wasn’t sure if I had enough gas money to drive home, much less $100 to fork over for an unpaid bill that legally wasn’t mine.  I made a call to my mother, who took off work, came to the office, paid the bill and stayed with me until the baby was seen.  Because mommas do that.

Those were hard HARD times, but guess what?  I  survived.  I learned hard life lessons and I understood just how strong I am.

As my kids turned into teens, the money was tight, but I was doing well enough to afford things like gas in the car, a weekend trip to a baseball game and other niceties.  I still kept a tight reign on my income, as I did not want any emergencies to wipe me out.

When I bought groceries on Friday, I bought very little junk food.  I bought one bag of chips for each kid and one box of snack cakes/cookies, whichever they chose.  Those luxuries were only bought on Friday and when they were all consumed, they were not restocked.  I made sure to buy enough food to last a week, but if we ran out of something, we were out until Friday.

Eating out to us was fast food and it was not often.  My kids were both teenagers before we went to a restaurant that required forks to eat the meal.  They were quite impressed.

As I moved up in my career and my income increased beyond what I ever imagined, I remained a tight wad.  I had 2 kids to get through college and I had no savings to do it with.  I lived frugally on my income and paid as I went to put one child through a 4-year university and the other through a very expensive 13 month technical college.  My greatest accomplishment in life is getting both of them through college with NO DEBT for anyone.

Once those days were behind me, I began to relax and realize that I could enjoy life a little.  I made certain to live below my means, but I made certain to do things I enjoyed.  I felt I earned it.

I bought a nicer house.  My former house was old, outdated, needed work and once my kids were gone, so were my ties to that town.   My new house has amenities like closets.  I earned it.

I let a professional color my hair, I purchased underwear from Victoria’s Secret and I discovered manicures.

I got married.  We had a nice private ceremony in the mountains, a honeymoon and a great reception once we returned.  I took my kids on a cruise, I paid for my kids’ weddings and receptions.  I have spent more money that I want to admit on my grandchildren.  I am still careful about what I spend, but if want something big, like new furniture, I can buy it.

I don’t think I’ve been extravagant.  I save a chunk of my income, I give the proper amount to church, I support my best friend from high school who is living in the jungle in Ecuador as a non paid medical missionary. And if I want a cup of coffee at Starbucks, I get it.

So now we are Living Broke.

In the past week, I have had to think about Living Broke to actually do it.  I got my $20 allowance on Friday.   I came in well below our weekly food budget by making a detailed menu for the week and a list of what I needed.  Our Friday night date was a $4.99 pay per view movie that my husband paid for out of his allowance.  On Saturday we went for a sunset ride with our best friends and when it was time to choose a restaurant, I choose the cheap mexican place.  I paid the $15 bill and my husband left the tip.

On Sunday I drove to my daughter’s to spend the night.  Monday morning, I had $5.  I stopped at Starbucks and considered using my debit card to get the coffee I wanted to go along with my oatmeal, but decided I would not cheat, this is serious.  I bought my oatmeal and a small cup of regular coffee for $3.85.  Yikes!

I stopped by Walmart today because we needed a loaf of bread.  What I spend during the week on groceries is deducted from the weekly budget.  I knew I was successfully Living Broke when I walked into Walmart for a loaf of bread and walked out with just a loaf of bread.  I am usually one to shop around, there is always something I need at Walmart.

Today I had to drive 40 miles to the big city to take our tax stuff to the accountant and stop by the bank.  It was 5 pm when I left the bank to start home.  I saw it.  Right there.  Starbucks.  I know what is inside Starbucks!  Tall Caffee Mocha for about $5.  I didn’t have $5.  I touched my debit card.  I took a deep breath.  I looked in the bottom of my purse, just to see if any errant money had found its way to the bottom in weeks past that I might discover. Nope.  Nothing.  Just $1.15. I might as well head home.  No treats for me.

Then I saw the sign.  Large fountain drinks for $1 until 7 pm.  I turned into the McDonald’s parking lot.  I was a happy girl!  I was going to get a treat after all!  With tax, my large Diet Dr. Pepper was $1.10.  I don’t remember a Diet Dr. Pepper ever tasting as good as that one did.

If I was not Living Broke, I would have purchased the $5 coffee and I would have enjoyed it without a second thought.  I probably would have stopped in the nail salon and forked over $20 for a manicure. Usually when I have free time and I’m in the city, I take a leisurely stroll through Target looking for home decor items and more stuff my grandkids don’t need.

Living Broke is an adjustment.  I know I can do it and I know it will have its rewards, just like that $1 Diet Dr Pepper today.  I don’t how long we’ll be Living Broke, but I think once we get accustomed to it, we may not go back to the carefree days of spending money just because we can.  It seems foolish now to think about the consumers we have been.

The unpleasant road

I’ve wondered about the passengers on the Titanic.  The boat is sinking.  You know it.  You know you are going down and there is nothing you can do.  Do you pray for a speedy end?  How about someone who knows their spouse is filing for divorce and there is nothing they can do to stop it, all hope is gone?  Do you just wish it would hurry up and be over?

OK, my current situation is not life threatening and I confess the comparison to the Titanic passengers is over the top.

I am on a road in life – my employment road – and I know the end is just up ahead.  I don’t know exactly when I’ll get to the end of the road, but I know it is there.  There is nothing I can do about it and I know that.  My name is on the list and the powers that be are working their way down the list, my name is getting closer to the top. I am on the list to be let go, the LetGo Road.

When I was hit with this information just last week, I had to take a bit of time to reconcile myself to the inevitable.  I went through my own deficiencies and acknowledged what I could have done differently, although most of those improvements would not have been a detour off LetGo Road.  But I need to know where I am lacking.  What skills do I need to improve?  What skills am I missing that I need to learn?

How is my personality working for and against me in my career?  What interpersonal skills do I need to develop?  How could I have been a more effective manager?  I had hurdles with this position, what were other possibilities for getting through those?

And I thought about my accomplishments, all the things I did right.  I listed those.  Those are my strengths.

I wanted to reconcile myself so that I would know I did my best, and if I didn’t, why not?

I made peace with myself and my 6 years with this company.  I believe that being on LetGo Road at this point is not due to me being deadweight or a bad employee.  It is the result of cutbacks and the economy and a corporate take over.  The new management wants to go in a new direction and they want the people they know and love from the past to have the chance to rebuild and change the course of the company.

It helps that I’ve been the manager in an exact scenario in a previous company.  I can recall with vivid clarity being promoted to manage a business unit and my first directive was to clean house.  Without having the opportunity to review and assess current employees and positions, I was told to let them all go, no exceptions.  We had to start over.

My first major project as the new VP of the business unit was to go around to our various locations and let people go.  That was hard and I lost sleep before, during and after.  I remember some of the staff looked at me as a savior of some sort.  They knew their unit was broken and needed to be fixed.  They thought I would fix it for all of us and they welcomed me into their world.  And then I fired them.

I know that once the decision is made to let someone go, that is the final decision.  The most heartbreaking thing for me were the people who had good reasons why they should not be let go.  “What about THIS I’m working on?”  “We have an audit coming up, I’m the only person who knows THIS.”  “But I’m right in the middle of THIS big deal.”  It didn’t matter.  Once the manager is sitting there with the pink slip in his hand, the decision is DONE.

I have the advantage of being on the other side and understanding that this shit just happens.  The best way to deal with it is to accept it and know that you can’t change it when it happens.

Along the LetGo Road, I see people who were completely blindsided by their termination.  I will not be blindsided, I know it is coming.  I feel that is advantage  I have time to be shocked and grieve a bit.  When I get that call, I will be able to say “thank you for this opportunity” and mean it.

I have time to do  emergency financial planning.  I don’t have long, but at least knowing I’m on this road helps me make decisions that I can implement now to help in the long run.  An example is the spending of the tax refund.  We had plans for that money, FUN plans.  Now that I’m on LetGo Road, we have different plans for that money.

I have to think ahead.  My resume is up to date and I’ve already started my new job search.  The market in my profession is dismal.  I have the time right now to think about my skills and abilities and start planning, at least in my mind, what I will do next.  I have made a list of the “to do’s” I need to do immediately when I reach the end of LetGo Road.  I have considered the volunteer work I will start as soon as I get the call.  I have a list of people I will call.  I have time to get things together.

In planning ahead, I am excited about what I can do next!  I find myself wishing I’d hurry up and get to the end so I can get started on what’s next for me.  But then I realize that every day I work is one more day I get paid for and I know I need to wait.

In my work life, I had to make a decision and honestly, it wasn’t a hard one to make.  Knowing that everything I am working on right now is going to be gone soon, how much effort do I want to expend?  I know some people on the LetGo Road have a bad attitude and decide “to hell with ‘em” and do as little as possible.  They take home pens from the supply closet and snicker about what they are taking from the company.   I can’t do that.  I can’t blow off my responsibities or pull back my efforts.

I have an assigned client base.  I like my clients.  I want my clients to succeed.  Therefore I must continue to offer them my best and not let any errant disappointment seep into my work.  This is not their issue right now, it is mine.  It is just what I believe.  My work ethic and sense of what is right will not allow to screw up my clients, even with simple job neglect along the LetGo Road.

Part of me wants to get to the end of this road so that I can move on.  Part of me is happy to get another day to do what I love doing and get paid for it.   I could wish and hope that the end of the road does not come, but wishes and hopes are not life strategies.  That is not to say I don’t have hopes, I do.  I just understand that hope is just that.  It is not fact, it is not the end-all solution.  It’s yet another road of life to get you where you need to be.

Waiting

I am doing what thousands of people are doing right at this very minute.

I am pacing the floor.  I have the volume on the radio down so that I can hear any sound coming from outside, the telephone, my cell phone, the little ding sound on my computer when a new email comes in.  I have CNN on and I am googling shit and coming up with bullshit.  I skipped church tonight just in case.  As I sat down to my hastily prepared dinner, I thought a glass of red wine would help relieve the tension, but I passed on it in case I need to leave in a hurry and drive somewhere.

I have my friends on alert and I am almost embarrassed by that.  Surely I am not being a drama queen!  I am anxious because my husband is in class tonight so I know he doesn’t  have his cell phone with him.  Not sure anyone at the college answers the phone at night, how long would it take me to reach him if I had to?

So I pace.  I remind myself every 5 minutes to stop frowning as it causes wrinkles.  Sometimes I stop the busy activities long enough to stare out the window into the darkness looking for an answer that is not there. I want the phone to ring but I don’t.  When it rings, I put down whatever is in my hands just in case.

What is the problem tonight?

A soldier was killed in Mosul.  On the base where my nephew is stationed.  The unit is on lockdown so there is no information coming out of the area.  We don’t know.  We are waiting.  The waiting sucks.

I almost feel guilty thinking it is not him as hoping that it is not my soldier means I am wishing it is someone else’s.

A very dear friend called and reminded me that there are 150,000 troops in Iraq right now.  There are probably thousands in Mosul.  The odds of that one soldier being my nephew are pretty low.  I know that.  But that solider is someone’’s soldier.  There are probably thousands of aunts, uncles, grandparents, sisters, brothers, wives,  cousins, husbands, mommas, daddies and some little kids wondering and worrying tonight.

Maybe this worry lessens with time.  He has only been there since December, all this is new to our family. Maybe you get hardened to the news reports and maybe in 6 months we’ll hear stuff like this and not blink an eye.  Maybe.

But in the meantime, I bet there are thousands of us pacing, worrying, praying, cussing, drinking, holding on to Bibles like they are the lifeline pulling us out of hell.

And sadly, one of us will get that knock on the door.

Blinded by the Light

The first breath I took this morning at 6:30 am bit the inside of my nose. 

It was 24 degrees outside when I stepped out my garage for my morning run.  This morning’s temperature was one of the coldest I have attempted to tackle with a morning run.  The plus was there was no wind, so 24 was what it felt like.

The days are getting a bit longer and the sun is rising a bit earlier each morning.  Just a few weeks ago, I completed my warm up laps in the dark and set out eastward on the highway in time to see the orange sun breaking through the trees as it rose above the horizon. 

This morning the prettiest part of the sunrise – the breaking into day – occured during my warm ups.  By the time I stepped out on the highway heading east, the sun was up above the trees, no longer orange, but a bright blindingly beautiful yellow.

As I ran toward the rising sun, I couldn’t help but just look toward it. I became mesmerized by the bright light.  I watched the light streaming through the trees in the distance as it slowly climbed higher in the sky.  I was oblivous to what was around me.  I felt my feet hit something not so smooth and looked down to see I was running across a bit of rocks. 

At that point, I thought about how running is an analogy of life in general.  How often do we set out on a course and get blinded by something wonderful on the horizon?  The most common “blinding” we here about is “blinded by love.”  How true it is that when someone falls in love/lust, they are blinded to their surroundings.  They don’t see the rocks and boulders under their feet, the warning signs they are not on the right path, because they are looking into the beautiful light and not seeing anything else.

Once the sun is up over head and we begin to look around us again, we see the everyday things that were there all along.  That’s when we realize we took a wrong turn, or the detour we took to prolong our view of the blinding light leads down a dead end road.

It’s not just in the matters of love that we are blind.  Sometimes we are fine right where we are, but we see the blinding light of a new job that seems so perfect.  Promises are made, all we see is the good.  We don’t look away from the too good opportunity long enough to see what is really on the road right in front of us.  How many times do people abandon what they have for a promise of better things and then realize they are in the same boat?  Or out of the frying pan and into the fire?

That’s not to say that we should never take risks to better ourselves.  But maybe we need to take our eyes off the blinding sun long enough to assess where we are and what we are doing.

Running toward the rising sun this morning blinded me to the potholes and rocks along my route.  I took a 1/2 mile loop detour off the east bound route right at the one mile mark.  On this short loop, I couldn’t see the sun, I was among trees and houses.  I could see the road before me, all the rocks and holes.  Once I got back to the eastbound highway, the sun was higher in the sky and not directly in my eyes, blinding me to all that was around me.  I had a better perspective of where I was and the road in front of me. 

Maybe that is a life lesson.  When you are speeding toward the bright light of love, a huge life change, debt or slaming the door on a relationship, maybe you need to take the 1/2 mile loop off the blinding path to get your perspective and your eyesight back.

From Current Resident

You know that mail, don’t you?  To Current Resident?

I believe I’m an average consumer, aka Current Resident.  I am not in that really young demographic that the beer advertisements are meant to entice.  However, I am in the demographic of people who are seasoned in their careers, empty nesters, home owners, gainfully employed with disposable income.  I am sure there are companies that really want my money attention so I would like send a shout out to a few companies that have lost my potential money attention recently and explain why, just in case they give a shit.

I am a faithful listener to the country radio station at 107 on the dial.  My 24/7 kitchen and office radios are tuned to 107 and stay on all day and night.  I am sure the advertisers that use 107 to peddle their wares are delighted to know that there are faithful listeners like me out there.

There are times I want to turn off 107.  The afternoons are hard.  They have a female DJ and she is the most obnoxiously clueless and annoying DJ they have.  To be nice, I will say she is not the worst DJ in the world, just the worst on 107.  She laughs at everything she says.  She gives commentary on songs and her commentary sounds like it comes from an Amish minister.   But I stick with her each afternoon, tuning her out when she gets too bad.

I’m trying to remain faithful to 107.  However.  Today I had to turn them off.  I had enjoyed a yoga session in my living room, showered and dressed and walked into the kitchen for breakfast.  I was in a good mood to start the morning in spite of nagging painful back ache, the sinus cold from hell and snot production that rivals a Texas oil rig.  But 107 tried to slap me down by introducing a re-make of an extremely unsuccessful song from a few years back.  The DJ’s went on and on about how wonderful the song was and then played it.

In the Current Resident’s opinion the song was unsuccessful in its original version for a reason.  It is too damn depressing and sad.  It is a whole song about a teenager committing suicide.  Who the hell wants to hear that?  OK, I understand the extreme grief of losing a child, but I can’t imagine hearing a song like that being anything but devastating.  Seriously 107!  Stop that shit!  The Current Resident does not want to start the day crying her contacts out of her eyes and being depressed. And while you’re cleaning up your play list, take off the song about the woman who’s husband kills her in a drunk driving accident so now she gets flowers every day – on her grave.  And we’ve heard enough of that Carrie Underwood song about the funeral.  Stop it please.

If you just MUST play those songs to honor some haranguing agreement with the record labels, why don’t you have a Depression Hour and play them all at once?  That way Current Resident can elect to watch reruns of Green Acres during that time and not be depressed and looking for a bridge from which to jump.

Next.

I’m in the market for a new car.  I bought my last new car 10 years ago and if I’m only going to buy one car per decade, then I am willing and excited about buying something really nice.  However, I am practical and I have my list of “wants” in a new car.

My ideal dream car is an Infiniti coupe.  Oh, how sharp that car looks!  I have had that car on my Next Car list for years.  I have the color picked out, I know the frou frou options I want, yes, I’ve thought long and hard about this.  But I will not be getting the Infiniti.  Why?  It has nothing to do with the exorbiant price or the highway robbery for regular maintenance.  It is really simple:  Infiniti does not have, nor do they seem willing to put cloth seats in their cars.  Nope.  All leather.  I will drive a 1978 Ford Pinto before I place my ass in a leather seat.

I hate leather with a hate that I nurture every day.  Budget Car Rental knows this about me due to unfortunate experiences at their rental counters over the years.  I will not, ever, drive a car with leather seats.  I don’t want to ride with other people who have leather seats, I detest it that much.  But Infiniti apparently thinks people who can afford their cars only want leather.  They are wrong.

I went to my second and third choice cars, a Nissan and a Toyota where I have options for “building” my own car.  This is nice because there are amenities that I really want.  Of course I want a nice radio and speakers, but I want a dock or something built in so tha I can plug in my ipod.  I want a moonroof.  I want power seats and doors and it would be really nice to push a button on a cold morning and have my car start by itself.  For both the Nissan and Toyota, those options are available and considered “premium” which means to get those things, you get leather seats.  Asshats.

I have marked Infiniti off my list.  They have lost a sale.  I hope they are comfortable in their leather chairs.  I feel that I can argue, barter and compromise with Nissan and Toyota and get some of what I want and still be comfortable with my ass in a cloth seat.  We’ll see.

Next

Don’t make it hard for me to buy from you.  There are many companies out there that want my business and make it very easy to buy from them.  Walmart?  Pay attention.  One of my half ass interests is photography. I take tons of pictures and have a nice little digital camera.  I download the pictures to my computer, edit them and then upload them to Walmart for printing.  I have an account set up on line and uploading, although time consuming, is easy.  Ordering is a breeze.

Walmart decided to jack with my on line account yesterday and I could not upload my photos.  Apparently there was some fluke where my password no longer worked.  I clicked on the “email my password to me” button and waited for the email.  And waited.  And waited.  And then tried a new photo printing service instead.  This morning Walmart emailed my password to me but it was 12 hours too late.  I now have an account to print my pictures somewhere else and I may start using this new service all the time.  Sorry Walmart.  Current Resident wants it to be easy.  When you start making it hard, I’m gone.

Current Resident has choices in this economy that we haven’t had before.  We don’t have to buy from you, unless you are the local utility company and therefore have a monopoly.  I don’t have to listen to suicide songs on your radio station.  I don’t have to buy your car.  I don’t have to have my pictures printed by you.  You better watch out.

Ignore the needs and wants of your customers and you may be writing Obama for a bail out.

Three Points and a Poem

I have not been to the school that trains Baptist preachers, however, I have heard many times in Baptist churches that the ideal sermon for Sunday mornings is “Three Points and  a Poem.”  Back in my more afraidreligious days, I actually had a notebook specifically designed for one to take notes during the sermon.  And sure enough, the page was designed in three sections for the three points.

I am not preaching a sermon today, if I did it would be all the reasons one might want to really think about religions that shoot their wounded.  But I do have 3 points today and I’m always up for a good poem! Here goes.

Point 1:  Limits

On Friday, I planned to do some Christmas shopping after my Toastmasters meeting in Memphis.  My first stop (after Chik Filet) was Fresh Market.  Food items in Fresh Market are the absolute best in the whole world and very expensive.  At Fresh Market, I can purchase 100% Kona coffee, Honeycrisp apples the size of basketballs and fresh limes the size of my head.  The fruits and vegetables sold there are obviously grown in heaven, but don’t tell the Baptists. 

There are spices and nuts and flavored gourmet coffee beans.  I could devote days worth of blogposts to what one can find in Fresh Market.  It is nirvana for me.  But it is terribly expensive.  I love Fresh Market and what is within its walls so much that I could spend my entire paycheck there every month.  I have tried to fool myself, saying I am only running in to get a bag of coffee just to push a buggy load of fresh fruits and veggies out to the car. 

I seem to have little control over myself in Fresh Market.  As I walked into Fresh Market on Friday, I walked over and grabbed a basket.  A basket is my self imposed limit in Fresh Market.  I put the basket limit into practice a long time ago. 

See, the basket will only hold so much fresh, heavenly food.  A shopping cart will hold HUNDREDS, maybe THOUSANDS of dollars worth of Fresh Market goodies that I can’t resist.  I imposed the basket limit for self control.

On Friday I loaded my basket carefully.  Not only is there a volume limit on the hand held basket, there is a weight limit.  There’s only so much weight I can lug around in a basket.  As I browsed the succulent Ruby Red grapefruits the size of Saturn’s moons, and the HoneyCrisp Apples shining in the crate, I laughed at myself and my basket limit.  I thought of other such limits I use on myself, and oddly, most are related to food.

The One Plate Limit.  I love vegetables.  Country seasoned and slow cooked veggies are the best.  Therefore, I love those redneck country buffet restaurants.  There are many out there, and I will admit my favorite is Ryan’s.  The vegetables are seasoned and cooked just like I would cook them at home.  I think I am the only person in my family that enjoys a nice meal at Ryan’s.  I have no friends that would be caught alive in a Ryan’s either. 

My husband refers to places like Ryan’s as “the trough” (See:  http://www.enasco.com/product/C14448N  for an explanation).  Whenever I have harassed convinced him to take me to Ryan’s, he likes to point out that we are the thinnest people in the place.  As a matter of fact, if someone lined up all the eaters at the trough along the wall, he and I would be considered anorexic and painfully thin. 

To contol my love of country veggies at Ryan’s, I have a self imposed one plate limit.  I can pile my one plate as high as I want with anything off the trough buffet I want, but I only get ONE PLATE.  This plate must include any bread I might scarf down want to enjoy, but since those yummy yeast rolls can be easily balanced on top of  a mountain moderate portion of fried okra, this is not a concern. 

My One Plate Limit has served me well.  Although I weigh a little more that I want, I am still wearing the same jeans I wore in 2000 thereby proof that the One Plate Limit works in preventing mid-life weight gain.

Hurting Shoe Shopping Limit.  Yet another limit, with nothing at all involving food.  I’ve never been a marathon shopper.  The magazines and TV would like to make us all believe women live to shop.  Although I’m sure that is true of some women, I can’t say that I know many who want to do nothing other than kill a weekend in a mall.

I take shopping in spurts.  When I am traveling, I’ve been known to peruse a mall in a strange city.  It is safe for me to walk around by myself in malls and I do not have to buy something to enjoy the experience. 

However, when it is time to shop, like it is now because Christmas is next week, I have to set limits.  To set shopping limits, I wear slightly uncomfortable shoes.  I know that my feet will only hold up for so long in uncomfy shoes, therefore I know when I enter the store/mall that I have a limited number of hours to accomplish my goals.  This prevents me from wasting precious time browsing and spending money on items that are not my list.  I must get my list finished before the Hurting Shoe Shopping Limit kicks in.  Because once my feet start hurting, I’m done.  No exceptions.  I love my feet and I need them to keep running.  I am not about to risk messing them up with marathon shopping trips in high heeled boots.

Another funny thing to me is I have several pairs of uncomfortable shoes and each one has a different time limit.  When my husband whined and moaned and finally agreed to go to the mall with me last weekend, I wore my 3 hour boots.  That way I would not be tempted to keep him out too long and thereby have to kill him.  When I went shopping Friday (starting with Fresh Market) I wore my 6 hour shoes.  Because I had a lot of items on the list, and I started very early.

Point 2:  Explain This Please

As a grandparent, it is important not to piss off the parents.  Parents have rules for the grandkids and they expect grandparents to respect those rules when the grandkids are visiting.  Everyone should understand that grandparents are allowed a few minor liberties with the rules, but grandparents must realize they can’t cross every line the parents lay out.

As a STEPgrandparent, that rule is even more important as not only do I have to suffer the wrath of stepchildren if I mess up, I have to suffer the passed-along complete bullshitwrath of my stepchildren’s mother. 

I realize that I must follow rules set out by my step children for their children or I can mark those babies off my list of grandchildren.  I love those babies and I enjoy seeing them and spending time with them, so I do my dead-level best to abide by THE RULES, no matter how damn stupid and idiotic they are.  Sometimes I think THE RULES are only imposed on me and my husband and the sole purpose of said RULES are to make life hard on us.  As evidence, I offer…

When the two oldest grandchildren (now 4 years old) were old enough to pay attention to television, we were told in a harsh manner that SpongeBob was not allowed.  Nope.  It is of the devil, horrible and one kid out of two was not allowed in the same room where SpongeBob was playing on the TV. 

I admit, I have not watched children’s cartoons in decades and although I could pick SpongeBob out of a line up, I knew little about him.  So I asked why.  Seriously, please tell me what is bad about SpongeBob because I truly don’t know. 

I was told it was just bad for children.  Period.  No other explanation.

So I checked out SpongeBob.  It’s pretty dang funny if you ask me!  I saw nothing wrong with SpongeBob.  OK, it was silly and there were MAYBE one or two comments in an episode that were over the heads of young children, but the show seemed harmless.

On Friday, the non-SpongeBob watching child was brought to our house for the weekend.  As usual, his mommy barked out orders and RULES that we must follow while we kept him for the weekend.  She has begun telling us what to watch on television while he is here.  She told us that we must watch Power Rangers Jungle Fury at 11 am on Saturday.  It was a RULE.  Whatever.

So we watched.  OH. MY. GOD.  Teenagers possessed by the spirits of animals, worshipping animals.  OK – just a kids’ show, right?  But why is poor cartoon SpongeBob and his silly antics not appropriate and teenagers worshipping and possessed by spirits OK? 

We were also told just last year that if we had said children at our church during a commuinion service, we must immediately leave church and take the children away.  They do not want their children participating in any religious sacriments or services until the child fully and completely understands what he/she is doing and what it means.  We have avoided making a spectacle of ourselves  fleeing our church service by making sure we do not have the grandchildren the one Sunday per month that our church has communion.

I’ve been invited to two church services to see the various grandchildren in Christmas programs.  All three of the older grandchildren have “big” roles in their respective children’s celebration and observation of the birth of Jesus. 

One child had shit his pants this weekend and I took him the bathroom to clean him up.  As I was washing his ass, he noticed the small ceramic manger scene on the counter. 

Kid:  Is that the Away in a Manger house?

Me (smiling):  Yes, it is.

Kid:  But, but, where is the chimney?

Me:  What chimney?

Kid:  The Chimney for Santa to come down?

Me:  But Santa doesn’t come to the Away in a Manger house.  That is where Baby Jesus was born.  See baby Jesus in the manger?

Kid:  But baby Jesus needs toys from Santa.  He needs a chimney.

So…….we don’t want our kids participating in ANY church service until they COMPLETELY understand what they are doing……..

Point 3:  Why don’t I care?

Maybe it’s just too much work.  I haven’t had my usual holiday enthusiasm this year.  I’m not depressed, unemployed, broke, or contemplating major life changing stressors.  It’s been a busy year with 2 grandchildren added to our family a big wedding just a few weeks ago.  I must have used up all my energy before Christmastime arrived.  I have begrudgingly hauled boxes of shit up and down the attic stairs and put up 3 trees.  I have decorated and set the holiday table.  I draped garland and wreathes along our fence. 

However.  The wind has blown a few of the wreathes off the fence.  I bought enough garland to finish out the fence and it is still in the bags in the garage.  I notice last night that about half of the (at least) 25 strands of damn lights on the main tree in the dining room are not working.  Piss! 

And I decided I just don’t care.  The half lit tree will remain half lit.  I’m not taking all that shit down to find and fix the problem.  I’m not reattaching the wreathes to the fence.  What we have is what we’ll have, unless of course more shit blows away or falls off or doesn’t work and then THAT is just what we’ll have. 

I’m thinking with enough wine flowing and margaritas served, no will notice the half lit tree.

And to close…

A Poem

Set your limits to avoid the bad

Don’t figure out stepkids or you’ll go mad

If the tree is bare

Who really cares?

Just give the gifts and we’ll all be glad.