The Newest Normal

prompt: something that starts with "T"

prompt: Lick and A Promise

Shelter at home, safer in place, self-quarantine, suspended, postponed, cancelled. This is Spring 2020.  Maybe Summer too? And dare we fear, Fall?  It is all too overwhelming to contemplate so I'm working on maintaining a day-to-day outlook.

It's difficult.

Point of fact my day-to-day hasn't changed much since the beginning of the government's efforts to "flatten the curve".  I was already working (so grateful) from home and I am not, under even the most perfect of conditions, a social butterfly.  My work hasn't had to shut down and in fact, may get busier as the days go on with folks seeking medical attention. (The company has clients whose practices are likely to be less in demand while others are likely see a dramatic uptick).

Still, I'm concerned.  Both my son and daughter work in industries that are not considered essential. Well, my daughter's industry is but as she was employed by an sports and entertainment venue her workplace was shuttered with days on the schedule.  She may be able to get hired on with another group within the industry but job hunting during this time is...well, challenging.  Her income or lack thereof impacts my (our ) budget.  She may get paid for the games missed, a promise with no concrete documentation.

There are options, not great but, something. Those are being explored, utilized in as much as they are feasible. 
 
My son is still waiting to hear if the university (he's a teaching artist working with a theater attached to one of Chicago's major universities) will pay staff during the shut down and if so, for how long.

I am concerned. March feels taken care of economically for us but the days, weeks, m o n t h s following, not so much. And beyond all that, both have, prior to their respective workplaces shutting down, had a lot of contact with a lot of humans.

The unknown (and an extreme lack of confidence in the federal government) invokes fear, anxiety. 

So yes, I'm working on maintaining a day-to-day outlook; trying to focus on that which I may solve.  And reaching out (even more) to family and friends. 

And leaning on art even more. 

Stay safe. Stay home if you can. Follow CDC protocols.  We're all in this together. 

 

 

    

Officially Fifty-Three

A few things have happened since we were last together; my final (physical) day at work, the family picnic, having no place to go that next Monday morning, my fifty-third birthday, fear, and moving past that . . .

Much like my last (physical) day with my former employer, my fifty-third birthday passed without much in the way of fanfare. There was the FB acknowledgements which were received with gratitude, a couple of greeting cards, phone calls, and hugs from those near and dear. And again, received with gratitude. But otherwise the day (and several preceding) was spent in my room studying manuals toward clearing two hurdles (tests), a gateway to an opportunity, the next chapter(s) of my life. 

Said opportunity was presented to me (and others) at the company's Open House--to which I was invited via email--in response to one of my posted r&#233sum&#233s. At the end of the presentation I opted not to move forward, deciding that said opportunity, "wasn't a good fit."  

That, "not a good fit" haunted me over the next several days. And I got mad.  

Nearly a week later there is an identical invitation to an identical Open House. After advising the recruiter that I'd been the the Open House just the week before and relaying what I relayed at that time, I asked to be considered for the next step--a face-to-face--to further discuss the job, the expectations, the compensation algorithm, and . . . well, me. 

The recruiter agreed to see me and the first two questions she asked were, "why did you feel you weren't and good fit and what has changed your mind"? 

Long story short, I explained about the fear that overtook me and then the anger that welled up until IT beat the fear down. We had a nice conversation after which she asked me to take the weekend, think it over, be sure . . . 

Well, the week before my fifty-third birthday I decided to take a leap, accept the opportunity which meant signing up for two classes, which would lead to my taking the two tests. The materials were received and studying ensued.  

And on the day after my fifty-third birthday I took and passed the tests.  

A week from now, I'll be moving forward to the next chapter, inspired by my mother who, against many odds, beating down her own fears, reached a measure of success in a number of endeavors, given a variety of limitations and hurdles. She worked very hard to provide for my brothers and me.  She was very proud of her accomplishments. And I was very proud of her. 

I'm taking all of that, her pride, her strength, her, "wanting the very best for me" attitude with me next week and beyond. 

But first, cake. 

Third Sunday In June

Another picture perfect Sunday, on the outside, the aftermath of much needed rain, barely visible.

Pictures are not always what the seem.

On this third Sunday in June, designated "Father's Day" I've spent barely a moment thinking about my dad and even less about their dad. My son, daughter, and I were all here together for a good part of this day and that, in and of, itself, is cause for celebration. We had a handful of meaningful conversations that led to a handful of revelations.


Catharsis, or catharses comes to mind. Each has spent part of this day ruminating over focus and dedication toward the next stages of their respective days, weeks, months, and quite possibly, years.

I've spent a considerable amount of time today in my own state of rumination as my own life has taken some turns and is about to turn again. For better or worse, time will tell. For this day, however, and the couple leading to it? far from the bike ride in the park of the most carefree of summer days.

My present may very well become my past but it could also become my future. I was shown a picture of myself today and though I disagreed with the accompanying hypothesis, I can relate to and respect the sentiment presented.  

I read this quote somewhere, don't recall where and didn't take note of the author, so forgive the lack of credit, "Let your past make you better, not bitter." I feel like that quote has been the cornerstone of my entire existence.

This third Sunday in June, this Father's Day, turned out to be grand mother of days, existentially speaking.

"Mom, Where is the Computer?"

What do you mean WHERE is the computer?

All too quickly we ascertained that the computer had been stolen.

Sometime after I left for work and before D awoke to find a big assed gaping hole where our desktop computer used to sit last Thursday morning, some sniveling, slimy, scum sucking excuse for a human broke through our back door, walked through the kitchen, dining room and into the living room. They (maybe just a he or a she) disconnected monitor, tower, keyboard, mouse and printer and carried them back out of the living room, through the dining room and kitchen, out the back door they'd broken into. Also, to add insult to further injury, the sub-species took a sterling silver necklace. And even more insulting, a bottle of vodka from the freezer and a can of ginger ale from the refrigerator.

“Mom, I’m scared.” I would like to go the whole rest of my life without hearing those three words.Thank you very much. The words, coupled with the tears stopped my heart for just an instant. “Call the police, honey, I’ll be there as soon as I can” was all I could muster. I dropped everything at work and rushed home, that place that used to be a safe place for us. Home. It will be safe again, but in the meantime...I hear the fear in her voice, feel the tears from miles away.

I will abhor their act for as long as I live. I do, however, remain forever grateful that they only took the computer (& the other small items). I remain forever grateful that they didn’t rummage and ransack. I remain forever grateful that my young D loves to sleep behind her closed door, with air conditioner and television going. I remain forever grateful that she didn’t awake any sooner.

One of these days I’ll be able to forget the helplessness I felt at the sound of the trembling dread in her voice. One day, perhaps. Not.

Still, I remain forever grateful that she was safe and was able to make the call.