I have been job hunting these past two week. I have realized that I am unable to live within my means and still keep those things around me to which I have become accustomed. I knew it was coming when my pay was cut in half after I retired. And I lasted longer than I thought I would, but it is all about to catch up with me. Hence, the job hunting.
Back in the old days, it was so easy. You went in, filled out an application, and if they liked the way you looked, you got an interview right then and there, often walking out with a job offer. Boy, how I wish those days were back!
Today, you email or fax your resume. If you are ambitious, you cross check the email address to see if they have a website, and then find them in the Yellow Pages to see what you can find out about the company. You list your resume and job requirements on job boards and services like Monster or Hot Jobs. And then you wait. Heaven forbid that you should walk into a company to introduce yourself to put a face to the resume you faxed. You wait and pray that somebody will call you for an interview.
So, while I have been doing my share of waiting, I decided to pull out a lot of our old family photos. We are having our first "cousins" reunion in several decades, and there ought to be a ton of us. One of our ambitious cousins is organizing it, and she wants to prepare a power point presentation with all of our pictures. I thought that would be easy and quickly completed.
But it wasn't and it is going to take some time. Why? Because each photo is a memory. A memory of the person, how you know him or her or what happened to cause that picture to be taken in the first place. Then your mind wanders to all that you remember about that person and the rest of the family. Which takes your mind to another memory, and you search your old photo books for the picture you remember seeing years before.
Another cousin was in Port Aransas vacationing with her family. Since it was just down the road from me, we made arrangements to visit. She had just recently lost both of her parents, so I decided to bring with me several of the older photos I had of her side of the family. And with each one we found ourselves telling the "remember when" story that the picture evoked. Her grown girls were enjoying seeing us as children, and what their grandparents looked like sixty years earlier. We could have stayed a lot longer laughing and wishing for those old days, but we consoled ourselves that we did have those memories.
Her youngest grandbaby has just turned two. He was having no part of me for the longest time. But he suddenly started saying "Nanny" to me. It dawned on his mother that I looked like his "Nanny" and he thought I might be her. He was making his own memories.
When my nephew was a baby, I would lie on the floor and put him on my chest, entertaining him for hours blowing bubbles and making fish faces at him. Several months often went by between visits, and after once such time lapse, a strange thing happened. When he saw me, he reached over from his grandmother's arms, babbled something, then promptly slapped me in the face. I was stunned! I had waited so long to become an aunt, and I was desperately trying to figure out what I had done to make him hate me so. I wanted to cry.
I was sitting on the floor, and he came crawling over to me, pulled himself up, smiling the entire time. And promptly hit me in the face again. Then IT hit me! He had a memory. I made a fish face, blew a bubble, and he babbled and giggled at me all afternoon. I am happy to say that although he is a grown man, we still have a connection.
Sorry, Miss April, it may take me a while to get all these pics to you. Lots of stories behind them. Lots of pictures of those with us, and too many of those who are no longer here on Earth! Good times and bad. But all part of who I am.
So many memories, so little time.
OMG! I am one of the elder statesmen of our family. In thirty years, they will be searching for old photos of us old "geezers" and talking about the olden days!
I hope those memories will bring them pleasure and laughter.
Thursday, June 30, 2011
Sunday, June 19, 2011
To All the Fathers
One of my favorite pictures of my dad and me was actually taken not far from where I now live. It is one of us at the seawall, Daddy steadying me as I stand next to him on the wall. We both have on baseball caps, and it must have been winter because we both have on coats. Just like my dad, I have my hands in my jeans pockets.
My dad loved me, and although he treated me as a little lady most of the time, he was perfectly willing to let my tomboy side shine through. Being in the fire department, his shift work went from noon to noon the next day, so every third day he was not home in the evenings. He made sure he spent quality time with me, and later on my brother, to make up for that missing time.
Daddy loved to tease and play practical jokes. I guess that was the fireman coming out of him! But his teasing taught me a lot about life. Like, when and where it was okay to poke fun and when it was an absolute no-no. It was perfectly okay when we were playing board games that he would gloat when he was winning, and groan about how we were cheating when he was losing. We laughed a lot when we played a board game called Pollyanna and we captured his piece. His reactions were always pretty dramatic with lots of raucous laughing!
He taught me how to not smoke. I used to go around picking up his cigarette butts and pretend I was smoking just like him. He caught me once, and promptly told me that if I was going to smoke I had to do it "right" and showed me how to really puff ala "weed" style. I was sick very fast and for a long time. But it cured me for a lifetime.
One summer, Daddy came home from work and gathered my brother and me up for a trip to the museum. Mom was at work, and I thought how cool it was to go someplace with just him.
He would take us to the movies. Or when at the drive-in, he would let us sit outside on lawn chairs, with his speaker slightly turned so we could hear. He would play in the river with us, or take us skiing at the lake. He hated it, but he did it because he knew how much we loved it.
He would laugh when my best friend and I were singing loudly to the radio. His two favorites of ours was the way we sang "I Fought the Law and the Law Won" with gusto, and even occasionally sang with us when "Hang on Sloopy" blared across the radio. And my funniest memory came at the supper table one evening as we were eating supper. Dad was unusually quiet one evening, and finally about halfway through, he put down his fork and said "Okay, I wasn't snooping, I was putting something up, and I saw it. I tried seeing if it pulled out chin hairs, or if it straightened curls. But i just can't figure it out. What the heck is it?" He was pantomiming its movement. Mom and I cracked up. It turned out he discovered my eyelash curler!
My dad wasn't big on saying the words "I love you" because I don't think he heard it a lot when he was growing up. But he showed us how much he loved us by being there for us whether we needed him or not.
When I got older, I realized he loved to write little notes. I found them everywhere, each of them saying what he couldn't say out loud. I recently found a spiral notebook in which he had written all sorts of useless trivia, and things that were interesting to him, such has how to draw a perfect circle using arcs and degrees. Or his "ultimate chili recipe" which was revised and replaced several pages later and became known as "Earl's New Ultimate Chili Recipe!" And I still have the note that he wrote and stuck in one of my dresser drawers that simply stated "thank you for loving me."
I would like to take this time to say "Happy Father's Day" to all you dads out there. I wish I could say it one more time to mine here on Earth, but I can't.
I miss you, and I love you, Daddy.
My dad loved me, and although he treated me as a little lady most of the time, he was perfectly willing to let my tomboy side shine through. Being in the fire department, his shift work went from noon to noon the next day, so every third day he was not home in the evenings. He made sure he spent quality time with me, and later on my brother, to make up for that missing time.
Daddy loved to tease and play practical jokes. I guess that was the fireman coming out of him! But his teasing taught me a lot about life. Like, when and where it was okay to poke fun and when it was an absolute no-no. It was perfectly okay when we were playing board games that he would gloat when he was winning, and groan about how we were cheating when he was losing. We laughed a lot when we played a board game called Pollyanna and we captured his piece. His reactions were always pretty dramatic with lots of raucous laughing!
He taught me how to not smoke. I used to go around picking up his cigarette butts and pretend I was smoking just like him. He caught me once, and promptly told me that if I was going to smoke I had to do it "right" and showed me how to really puff ala "weed" style. I was sick very fast and for a long time. But it cured me for a lifetime.
One summer, Daddy came home from work and gathered my brother and me up for a trip to the museum. Mom was at work, and I thought how cool it was to go someplace with just him.
He would take us to the movies. Or when at the drive-in, he would let us sit outside on lawn chairs, with his speaker slightly turned so we could hear. He would play in the river with us, or take us skiing at the lake. He hated it, but he did it because he knew how much we loved it.
He would laugh when my best friend and I were singing loudly to the radio. His two favorites of ours was the way we sang "I Fought the Law and the Law Won" with gusto, and even occasionally sang with us when "Hang on Sloopy" blared across the radio. And my funniest memory came at the supper table one evening as we were eating supper. Dad was unusually quiet one evening, and finally about halfway through, he put down his fork and said "Okay, I wasn't snooping, I was putting something up, and I saw it. I tried seeing if it pulled out chin hairs, or if it straightened curls. But i just can't figure it out. What the heck is it?" He was pantomiming its movement. Mom and I cracked up. It turned out he discovered my eyelash curler!
My dad wasn't big on saying the words "I love you" because I don't think he heard it a lot when he was growing up. But he showed us how much he loved us by being there for us whether we needed him or not.
When I got older, I realized he loved to write little notes. I found them everywhere, each of them saying what he couldn't say out loud. I recently found a spiral notebook in which he had written all sorts of useless trivia, and things that were interesting to him, such has how to draw a perfect circle using arcs and degrees. Or his "ultimate chili recipe" which was revised and replaced several pages later and became known as "Earl's New Ultimate Chili Recipe!" And I still have the note that he wrote and stuck in one of my dresser drawers that simply stated "thank you for loving me."
I would like to take this time to say "Happy Father's Day" to all you dads out there. I wish I could say it one more time to mine here on Earth, but I can't.
I miss you, and I love you, Daddy.
Friday, June 10, 2011
Back on the Waiting List
I hate waiting. Hate waiting for something to hurry up and get here. Hate waiting for an expected phone call so that you can wait to have something fixed. It seems as though I am eternally waiting.
It seemed like the day of my gallbladder surgery would never get here. Trying to be a good girl, I ate very lightly and pretty much stuck around the house. On the day of the surgery itself, I endured more waiting. Waiting to be called back to the day surgery area, waiting to be taken back to the OR waiting room. Waited to have a conversation with the anesthesiologist and surgeon. Then woke up to wait to see if I was going home or staying a night.
Unfortunately for me, it was three o'clock on a Friday afternoon, and the discharge nurses were not in a mood to do any waiting. Within an hour they wanted me up and out. I was okay with that until my sister went to get the car and I started throwing up. Even as I was encouraged to get into the wheelchair while still upchucking, they seemed determined to scurry me along. My poor sister was trying to figure out if she should come in to see what the delay was or sit and wait to see what comes next. After about five minutes, the nurses handed me a wet cloth and told me to take my little bowl with me, and they would be glad to help me get out to the car. So I decided not to wait any longer, and off we went. I got home easily enough but when I got out of the car, I was extremely glad to still have my little bowl and wash cloth.
I had very little pain, but a lot more soreness than with the lapband. I did have forty plus stones, but I can honestly say I don't have them any more! And no, I did NOT bring them home to sit on the mantle in a jar.
But the waiting game started up again. Waiting to feel strong enough to get out of the house. Waiting to drive so I could at least go to the mall or the grocery story. Waiting for all my bruises to fade.
Waiting...waiting...waiting...
While I was waiting for the phone company to get here, I ate the rest of the sugar free ice cream. While waiting for my sister to get home each day after her training, I nibbled on whatever I could get my hands on.Today, I finally cheated a little and drove the mile down to the beach just to get out of the house. I thought about lunch as I watched the breakers. As my feet were getting wet walking along the shoreline, I was thinking that I can't wait to get some fish to eat.
Waiting can be a good thing or a bad thing. Good, if YOU can be "good" and not fall prey to bad habits out of frustration or boredom. But if you are an impatient human being as I often am, you treat your frustration and boredom as a legitimate reason to look for food to while away the time.
I go to the doctor next Tuesday. But I suspect that I must wait a little longer to get back on track with my weight loss. I have not had a fill in the band since March, and I am taking bets as to whether or not I get one next week. I am betting on a "no" since I just had the surgery.
My goal was to have under-grown my swimsuits by August. Tops are loose except around the waist. Bottoms, the same. If I wait much longer to get back on track, I will miss one of my goals that I really wanted to hit.
In the mean time, I am back on the waiting list for a job interview. I need one, but sure hope another opportunity doesn't pass me by while I am waiting for permission to drive in order to get to the interview.
I sure hope I can wait long enough to get back on some kind of normal track!
I really hate waiting around.
It seemed like the day of my gallbladder surgery would never get here. Trying to be a good girl, I ate very lightly and pretty much stuck around the house. On the day of the surgery itself, I endured more waiting. Waiting to be called back to the day surgery area, waiting to be taken back to the OR waiting room. Waited to have a conversation with the anesthesiologist and surgeon. Then woke up to wait to see if I was going home or staying a night.
Unfortunately for me, it was three o'clock on a Friday afternoon, and the discharge nurses were not in a mood to do any waiting. Within an hour they wanted me up and out. I was okay with that until my sister went to get the car and I started throwing up. Even as I was encouraged to get into the wheelchair while still upchucking, they seemed determined to scurry me along. My poor sister was trying to figure out if she should come in to see what the delay was or sit and wait to see what comes next. After about five minutes, the nurses handed me a wet cloth and told me to take my little bowl with me, and they would be glad to help me get out to the car. So I decided not to wait any longer, and off we went. I got home easily enough but when I got out of the car, I was extremely glad to still have my little bowl and wash cloth.
I had very little pain, but a lot more soreness than with the lapband. I did have forty plus stones, but I can honestly say I don't have them any more! And no, I did NOT bring them home to sit on the mantle in a jar.
But the waiting game started up again. Waiting to feel strong enough to get out of the house. Waiting to drive so I could at least go to the mall or the grocery story. Waiting for all my bruises to fade.
Waiting...waiting...waiting...
While I was waiting for the phone company to get here, I ate the rest of the sugar free ice cream. While waiting for my sister to get home each day after her training, I nibbled on whatever I could get my hands on.Today, I finally cheated a little and drove the mile down to the beach just to get out of the house. I thought about lunch as I watched the breakers. As my feet were getting wet walking along the shoreline, I was thinking that I can't wait to get some fish to eat.
Waiting can be a good thing or a bad thing. Good, if YOU can be "good" and not fall prey to bad habits out of frustration or boredom. But if you are an impatient human being as I often am, you treat your frustration and boredom as a legitimate reason to look for food to while away the time.
I go to the doctor next Tuesday. But I suspect that I must wait a little longer to get back on track with my weight loss. I have not had a fill in the band since March, and I am taking bets as to whether or not I get one next week. I am betting on a "no" since I just had the surgery.
My goal was to have under-grown my swimsuits by August. Tops are loose except around the waist. Bottoms, the same. If I wait much longer to get back on track, I will miss one of my goals that I really wanted to hit.
In the mean time, I am back on the waiting list for a job interview. I need one, but sure hope another opportunity doesn't pass me by while I am waiting for permission to drive in order to get to the interview.
I sure hope I can wait long enough to get back on some kind of normal track!
I really hate waiting around.
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