Just a small town girl

Greatest Hits / Journey











She never wanted to live in a small town. She had been there, done that, bought the t-shirt and felt no need to revisit. When she’d accepted the job, she knew the town population was about 5000, but that held no meaning. In sum she gave it no thought.



By the time it hit her that she was going to be well immersed in small town life, regardless of the fact that she did not live in town, it was too late. She already knew people by name. She knew maiden names, relatives and friendship networks. She knew without being told when some one said “She” in particular context exactly who was being referred to.


At first it wasn’t so bad. In fact, in many ways it was homey. Of course, there was a down side too. Such as when she arrived at the post office to be asked about her cold that she had recovered from four days previous. Another well meaning person had asked why her car was parked in the lot so late at night. And on a third occasion, she was actually called with the request of if she would mind dropping something off on her way home from work.


She had, oddly not minded these things, though they were intrusions into what she considered her personal life. What she minded was presumption. And the presumptions about town frequently made no sense. Some times people would presume she knew information that she was not responsible for. Yet other times, they presumed she knew nothing about things that were solely hers to decided. She supposed it was a positive thing when people forgot she was not a ‘native’ and presumed she knew local history, but it was hard.


What she really minded was she had no idea how to deal with these issues. And on some days it drove her crazy.

You Must, Must, Must see their DVD

Mostly Live / young@heart chorus









There are days, some times multiple days, that I must admit, my thoughts are so black, I dare not put them to paper. I don’t because, the last thing one needs on such days are well intentioned people, be them offering words meant to raise your spirits or worse, those thinking you might be a danger to yourself and others and coming to try to lock you up!



This is one of those days… though I’ve no great reasons for it. I mean, I DO have reasons, but they are not great. While I remind my self of all the ‘could be worses,’ it is a small consolation.  I know I posted earlier today - but I decided to count that as yesterday - it will at least keep my post numbers to daily - even though that's not technically accurate.  This is the form my ocd takes, so be it.


I went to the CD rack today, looking for ‘inspirational music’. Not the religious sort. That, for me, would definitely NOT be effective. But, it’s funny, that which inspires also tends to be a bit sad when such mood is present.


So, I chose the perfect selection: mostly live by the young @ heart chorus.


If you don’t know the young @ heart chorus, you must, MUST, MUST find the documentary dvd and see them. You can see a clip here: http://www.youngatheartchorus.net/


And see more here: http://www.youngatheartchorus.com/


They are a chorus from Northampton, MA. I don’t think any one is under age 68 some members well into their 80’s or 90’s. They sing rock. Not watered down, choral style Beatles. We’re talking rock – You Can’t Always Get What You Want, I wanna be Sedated, Schizophrenia, Walk on the Wild Side. I’ve seen them in concert, they are FANTASTIC.


It is inherently sad when you work with, follow or other wise get to know the elderly. The one thing that they have in common as a group, or all of us, for that matter, is they will and do die. This is sad. Heart wrenching for those of us left, but I would put to you that it is also necessary. Not only in the practical sense, imagine if we all lived forever? But necessary too for the cycle of all things. And I would ask, would you really want to live forever? I wouldn’t.


In the time that I have ‘known’ this chorus, there have been several members who have passed on, several others who’s health has deteriorated and I know that in all likelihood, none of these individuals will be with me until I am there age.


But when I see and listen to this group… that doesn’t matter. They can always make me smile through my tears and that is really the thing I think most important. They are living while they have the opportunity and pushing forward in the face of death. It doesn’t mean they don’t miss their colleagues or have any less respect, but is a tribute to there lives.


I have in my present mood, I’m sure, not done them justice. Just find the dvd, if you get the chance to see them live – do it!

Shameful

Ahhhhhhrrrgh.

I missed yesterday.  And it was a Sunday.  A day when I should have had time and abilities.  Apologies to any faithful readers. So in my defense, I offer up my creative outlet for yesterday as today’s post. Created without measurement and as an original, so it still needs some refinement, but…



Banana Curry Sauce

In a sauce pan, put a bit of olive oil (enough to roughly cover the bottom, but not enough to be greasy) put in some chopped onion and some garlic. (I used a half a yellow onion because it was what I had and two really large cloves of garlic, because we like garlic.) Sauté a few minutes then add two very ripe bananas (with brown spots so they’re kinda mushy to start) * At this stage, add curry.  I used about a teaspon and and half, to two.  Stir for a minute so it gets mixed.  Saute until the onions are translucent, then add apple juice – I didn’t measure this, but I’d say maybe a third to ¾ of a cup? Of course the more liquid the more sauce and the thinner the sauces. Simmer for a few minutes until every things is mushy. Blend in the blender until all is smooth, add salt and pepper to taste.

It is great with shrimp.  Of course I was making it to cover up chicken, and well to use up the dying bananas.

*Yes, the first time I posted this I forgot this part. Doh!

Surfs up

Surfin' USA / Beach Boys












I went to visit the ocean today. As previously mentioned, it is my favorite place. It is the place that brings calm and a feeling of belonging. With the craziness of the recent past, and in particular the past week, I thought I more than needed it.



I typically go to the same beach, a private beach on the coast of Rhode Island. I’ve been going there all my life… except in the summer. Actually, I rarely go to the beach in the summer. All that heat? Crowds? No thanks. My relationship with the beach is far more gothic.


Except….


There was one summer in my misspent youth that I have been thinking about. It was my favorite summer, still is,  after all these years. I certainly don’t remember all of it. I remember it like snap shots in a photo album, but more than that, I remember the feeling. The feeling of youth, carefree and happy, the feeling of having friends that meant the world for you and romance before you really knew what the word meant. I fell in love that summer, though I wouldn't have described it that way then.  I learned the meaning for friendship. I got my first taste of 'grown-upness'.  I rode my ten speed. We hung out. We talked. We played in someone’s pool. But at least for me, it was truly the best of times and what makes me cry at movies like Stand By Me.  It was, for me, one of the few times that I recall my life feeing "normal."


That summer we did not go to the private beach of the RI coast. Or if we did, it is not the day I remember. That day we were at Ocean Beach. In my memory it is much bigger than it is, of course I was a bit smaller.  The surf was much stronger and the board walk much bigger. I remember the excitement I always get seeing a carnival ride, though I wouldn’t ride it.  I remember being teased and not minding, though I put up the obligatory complaint.  And I remember a good feeling of hunger as the aroma of concession stand hamburgers filled the air. I was spending the day with my two best friends in the world. It was an adventure. It was a day that I will always remember and makes me smile, not for the feeling of calm of the ocean, but for the feeling of a spark that holds all promise, hope and possibility.

Teach your children well

So Far / Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young









When Sam was four, she led a charmed life. Her family moved to the wealthy New York suburbs in Connecticut. The house was too large. No mind was given to this as the cleaning people came in daily. Her father’s career as bright young surgeon was on the fast track up. Her mother, couldn’t write fast enough to keep the publisher happy. Days were spent at the country club, while mom gossiped or played bridge, and Sam made friends in the children’s room.



In later years, she’d look back at those days as the clear beginning of the end. Her father’s late nights and her mother locking herself in her room for hours were surely signs. But not signs to such a young and naïve girl, and certainly not to her brother, Kevin, the golden boy.


Later, what she would remember most about this time was being carefree and happy. There were few limits, few times the answer was no. Later she’d say, if it had not been for the fact that she was painfully shy, she would have become quiet a bratty princess. Proof positive? She’d point to Kevin. Kevin was never shy. Kevin was always a selfish spoiled brat. And Kevin had definitely become a princess.


Sam always liked this idea: Kevin as princess. She’s picture her tall, athletic brother in a pink prom dress. His dark wavy hair curling around a tiara, and his broody eyes slits as he waved some kind of scepter and pouted. She liked the idea most because she knew how her brother would despise it. In fact, this was not the kind of princess she meant when referring to him as such. Prince. King. Any royalty, would have been sufficient.


Kevin also had led a charmed life, but far more so than Sam. When they moved to Connecticut he was seven. He his role as idolized leader had already been cast and he had already learned how to play the system. It didn’t hurt that he was, even then, a handsome young man.


“Such a heart breaker, like your dad.” Amanda Dessen would sigh when she looked at him. “No wonder I write such great romance surrounded as I am.” Then she would life.


In those days, Kevin didn’t know what these words meant, but he knew they were good. He also knew that if you smiled at the right time, pouted in the right way, asked with honey in your voice, you very often got what you wanted. He also very quickly learned that it was much better to be in a position where you got what you wanted then not.


Ground work had been laid early.


Back in those days, Sam had idolized her older brother. He was a god. He knew things and she was very content to exist off the mere bones he decided to toss her. After all, she was only the little sister. She was a girl. She was short. She was younger. No one told her she was a heart breaker.


This was a pattern that was embedded early and woven stronger over time.

Candy Perfume Girl

Ray of Light / Madonna









The arrogance of architects astounds me. That sentence has great alteration doesn’t it? But it’s true. Last night we engaged in the first two interviews. The first firm, the astounding one, was described by one member of the committee as a dog and pony show. I think they also had a few llamas.



They were quite a sight though, more people for the presentation than on the committee to evaluate them. Six people came for our measly project. The “lead” was a well tanned man, perfectly toned and clearly skilled at shaking hands and kissing babies. Clearly too, he was the “face.” He did not know the groovy cad program that was supposed to be a selling point. (He referred to another – the pony tail). He didn’t know libraries. (He referred to another – the blonde.) He didn’t know green design. (He referred to another – the engineer.) But he did smile well.


The blonde was the real brains. How often does one say that? He was a pale, Scandinavian looking male with one of those annoying tufty beards that appears parallel to one’s nose on the lower lip like a furry postage stamp. Very distracting. He too was way to suave, but at least knew what he was talking about. Or, at least knew the rhetoric of what he was talking about.


Clearly the presentation had been rehearsed as they had four easels with larger poster boards, each one to remove a board in sequence and switch off. The Engineer they kept in the back, trying not to have him talk, but he wanted to. The ponytail (described as project manager) also was not supposed to talk. His role was to run the laptop and the cad program, which The Face had no clue about.


Also along for the ride but not allowed to speak much (a good thing) was the old artist. He looked like a rumpled hammock. He wanted to give an art history lesson on the importance of symbols and decorative design. In the end, they let him ramble for 5 minutes and shut him down.


But the mastermind of the whole affair was a young woman identified as head of marketing. And head of marketing she was. Sitting in the back she conducted the presentation with hand singles and directions. It was an amazing thing to watch.


I’m very certain this firm could sell swamp land in Florida, the Brooklyn Bridge to a sailor and a jet plane to a little old lady. They do not have my vote.

Goodnight Elizabeth

New Amsterdam / Counting Crows










Jessie was tired. Not only physically, but weary. The kind of tired that could grow into depressed or chronically fatigued. She wasn’t really sure what any of those things really meant, but she had the sense that she could easily become them.



With a sigh she entered the room she’d come to call the den. It was the biggest room in the modest house she rented. She had rented the house initially because of the dog. But then the dog had passed away and it was too much trouble to move.


She sat in her favorite chair. A large, red, over stuffed job she had picked up off the side of the road years ago, before people told you not to do such things. The chair had seen better days, but it served her well and she’d non of the horrors that people now talked about.


What she liked most about this chair, in this particular room of this house was she could see out the window and watch the tv two houses down. Her neighbors must have an unnaturally big screen, as from these yards away, she could identify the programs and read the print on the screen. It was like being at the drive in, but in one’s own home. It was weird, but it was intriguing.


Tonight they watched the show where teams tried to debunk famous haunted houses. She wondered what it might be like to live in a haunted house. Would she be scared? Would she enjoy the company? If she lived in a haunted house, perhaps the ghost could help her? Do the dishes maybe?


But there was no ghostly helpers. Only herself and a large red chair. Tired from the day and the dirty dishes still in the sink.

Oompa Loompa

Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory /orginal Soundtrack








There is something about Willy Wonka that always attracts. I don’t like chocolate. I don’t particularly like candy, but the imagination of Wonka and his factory is irresistible. I thought this was a good choice for today…. In part because for some reason I don’t understand, the Oompa Loompa song is stuck in my head. This has not be pretty.



I have spent the day reformatting a drive and installing windows. For those of you who are not familiar with this process, I can tell you that those tasks are not where the problem actually is. Those tasks are relatively simple. The problem comes in that once windows is installed there is set up. In my case to the network. Setting up a network never runs smooth. Today was no exception. But that is not the worst of it.


The worst of it is… well… you know how over the past…oh four years, every now and then when you go to shut down your computer it says something like “Installing updates – do not shut down….” Yeah. Well, imagine installing ALL of them in one sitting.


Not a pretty thought is it? So off I go… hi ho, hi ho…to install more update oh.





Oompa Loompa doompadee doo


I've got another puzzle for you


Oompa Loompa doompadah dee


If you are wise you'll listen to me






What do you get when your ‘puter does crash


A pain in the neck and a backache to match.


Why don’t you try simply hitting delete?


Then your hard drive might have stayed complete.






You’d have no


You’d have no


You’d have no


Updates










Oompa Loompa Doompadee Dah


If you're not greedy you will go far


You will live in happiness too


Like the Oompa


Oompa Loompa doompadee do

OP 10

Nebraska / Bruce Springsteen










 Ally, Jack and Lead climbed back into the car and circled the neighborhood of the school. Christopher was right, on the other side of campus was a cute little neighborhood that one would never have known about coming from the other direction. It included at least two coffee shops and restaurants of foreign cuisine, a luncheonette, several up scale gift shops, a used bookstore and small movie theater that were clearly noticeable. On the far side of campus were the Middle and Lower schools, clearly detonated by their playgrounds.



“You know, this could really be fun.” Jack commented from the back. He was looking out the window as the three circled the campus, noting the playgrounds of the lower and middle schools. Lead and Ally exchanged a brief look.


“Wouldn’t it be fun to be back in high school?” Jack added.


“No.” Ally and Lead answered strongly in unison, again exchanging an uncomfortable glance each communicating the other’s surprise.


“Will you guys come visit me?” Lead asked as they were heading back into the city.


“Never.” Jack said.


“Just let us know when.” Ally answered.






“How are you going to get your stuff there?” Ally asked pulling into Jack’s driveway.


“I was just going to take a cab in the morning. I haven’t figured out how to get the habitat supplies there.”


“That’s silly. Why don’t you borrow my car? I don’t need it.” Ally shrugged. “You can drive an American car, right?” Ally asked as an after thought.


“Yeah.” Lead grinned. “But I couldn’t…” he shook his head.


“Actually…” Ally turned in her seat to face the back as the three remained seated in the car. “I can take the agency car to get Harry and Paul, and you two could take this to the Lowe’s and get the stuff you need. Then in the morning, you could go with Lead and help him unload it and meet me at work.” Ally looked at Jack for confirmation.


“That would work.” Jack nodded. “Though you just don’t want to go look at lumber.”


“That too.” Ally added brightly. The three got out of the car.


“I couldn’t ask…” Lead began to Ally as they got out.


“Don’t be silly.” Ally interrupted. “Jack has a spare key.” She shrugged “It’s no big deal, I’ll take the Agency car. “ She gestured to the beat up sedan that was parked at the curb as Jack was coming around to stand next to her.


“Are you absolutely positively sure?” Lead asked, tilting his head and meeting her eyes.


“Absolutely positively.” Ally said meeting his stare.


“Thanks.” Lead smiled, it was the same sincere, warm smile that she loved of Jack’s.


“Absolutely positive about what, exactly?” Jack questioned simultaneously pleased and bothered that Ally and Lead were getting along so well.


“You and Lead will take my car and go get stuff, then tomorrow morning you can help him. I’m going to take the junker and go get the guys.“ Ally said matter-of-factly to Jack, who nodded placing an arm around her shoulder.


“Why don’t we just take the Agency’s car, and you keep yours?” Jack asked.


“Mine’s got more room, remember?” Ally answered without missing a beat. Jack nodded, remembering the last time they had tried to move things. There was no question Ally’s car accommodated more. Jack handed her the keys to the beat up sedan.

I got chills, they're multipling

Grease / Movie Soundtrack











This is the 75th day of posting.  I have to admit, I didn't think I'd make it.  But still a long way to go....  This is going to be a tough week.  I think I have food poisioning.  I'll spare you the details.  It has rained all day and will rain for the next three - meaning we won't get to the roof and progress in our ever problematic bath renovation.  I am out at least three out of the next five nights.  Our desk top hard drive has crashed, I don't ~think~ there was anything on it.... I don't think....

At anyrate, here, I just wish to post for the sake of posting  - post 75- and say - 75 WOOT!

And on to 150!

Maybe we could eat venison?

The Cranberries






 




A career change can be scary. When you are giving up a job that most people think should be good, that pays a salary rather than minimum wage, comes with benefits and allows you a lot of vacation time for things unknown, you want to be sure. You are never sure. So next, you want to know that you will at least get another job. But of course, this is no guarantee either.


So giving up what some might say was a good job, and going back to school and then being on the job market was terrifying. When I saw the ad for my dream job, I thought I was vindicated. True it was in a rural Northern New England, but one had to make some kind of sacrifice right?


As we were both in the exact same boat, both my husband and I applied for the job. It wasn’t clear if there was more than one position and it was a large company. As he had experience and I had none, I was sure he would get it and I would not, but still: nothing ventured, nothing gained.


We both got interviews. With different last names, they didn’t know we were related and we were fine with that. We set up the times in two days in a row and decided to stay over, making a little holiday of it. I was up first.


I arrived, polished and on time. I got a tour of the facilities, which I found fascinating. I told them, yes, I did know their business. I had heard of them. I knew people who were their clients. Packed my belongs in their second hand boxes to move. I was very excited to see the inner workings.


I like them. I really liked the job. It was a computer processing job, essentially, probably boring in retrospect, but I adored the idea. They seemed to like me. At the end of the several hours we sat down to talk about brass tacks. The benefits were almost non existent. Well, that was okay. I had anticipated that. But the cost of living in that state was low, so as long as the salary was reasonable… Then they told me the salary.


“What?” I asked stunned, they had to be joking. It would be $10,000 dollars a year less than I was currently making at two part time jobs working 15 less hours a week.


They were no joking. They told me the hourly rate and I choked.


No, there must be some mistake I countered. I was working no skill jobs and my hourly rate was over $3.00 more. This was a skilled job. This was a professional job. It was a job that required a graduate degree.


I was heart broken. I couldn’t take this job if offered. If offered to my husband, we couldn’t move on this salary. And I knew exactly what he would say to this and it wasn’t kind.


“I’m sorry… I can’t…” I explained, nearly tearful. I explained my current work situation, the severe disparity in income. I explained less income and more working hours was not a good direction to travel in.


“But there are other benefits!” My future employer countered in what had suddenly started to feel like a hard sell, car sales events.


I was starting to get uncomfortable. I couldn’t imagine what else could be said, salary, health insurance, vacation, retirement….what else was there? But I blinked, forever hopeful.


“Well, if you live here, you get to see deer in your yard every morning and on your way to work.”


I thanked him for his time and let him know too, that the interview they had scheduled the next day would not be happening either.

I can still remember...

American Pie / Don Mclean










Some interviews are not about the interview or the place, but the road traveled to get there. I think my first interview of this nature was at a private school.

At first, I thought my memory of this interview was fabricated. The road traveled I had traveled before, and as I couldn’t recall any details of my potential employer nor the interview process, I had assumed the snapshots that lay in my memory were merely a collage of other things.

But the memory of my travels are clear. I know the highway. Know that the exit in question is the one just after the Home Depo is visible on the right. I remember it as early spring, when the air has that hint of better things to come, but it isn’t yet there. Days are still black and white and not even those little flowers that look like snow from afar have raised their heads, but the temperature is warm.

This location is not excessively far from any of the places I have lived, yet I remember driving there the evening before and staying at motel. I remember being very nervous about this, though I know it was not my first jaunt of this nature. I remember a divided highway, the motel of course on the opposite side, and my annoyance turning to pleasure as when I passed it by and headed further up, I found my quest. The place of my interview.

I remember making an illegal u turn to get back to my hotel and being tickled that my then favorite chain restaurant shared its parking lot. I ordered my favorite comfort food dish, early for dinner, but what else was I going to do? I ate it on the double bed of my room, nervous with a chair propped against the door and sniveling as I called home.

But why was I there? Why had I agreed to spend the night in a motel for what was no more than a few hours drive and I’m sure a few hours interview? I can picture the place of my interview; it is a campus. I can picture the red brick buildings, and I identify where I parked in the lot. I can even remember looking at my shoes as they clacked along the sidewalk and thinking about the weather.

And yet, there it ends. I can say with some certainty I didn’t get offered a job at this institution, though I cannot say what job I was applying for. This memory is so odd and hazy, that I had almost convinced myself it wasn’t real. Then one day, traveling for other reasons, there we were. The Home Depo on my right, the exit as I recalled. As we traveled down the divided street, there was the motel, the chain restaurant, all of which looking far less menacing then the emotion my memory still elicits. And there too, down the road, the red brick building and the parking lot I recall. It was then I confirmed the institution a private school, but I still have no idea why I was there or what happened.

As one who frequently remembers just about everything, albeit in round about ways. This disturbs me. However, I know, since I can’t remember, I’ll never know.

All that

All That You Can't Leave Behind / U2









Sometimes, it’s not the job that makes an impression or the people, but the place. It was one of those interviews that I knew, as soon as I had entered the building; I was not going to get the job. I didn’t fit in the place. A few hours later when I arrived home, I couldn’t remember what was talked about, who had interviewed me or how it went, but years later and I still remember the place.



It was a position in a small college library, located in the heart of a small city. I arrived, parking in the public parking and making my way up the marble steps expecting to enter something collegiate. However, stepping inside the building was like stepping back in time to my grade school library.


Like many poor academic institutions, the space was old, and badly in need of remolding. The indoor /outdoor, blue/green carpeting was thread bare. The social space, dotted with areas for patrons to sit, wait, and read had no two chairs or tables that matched. The metal stacks were scratched, as if they had once served in a zoo, not a college library. But the unique and striking aspect of the room was that all surfaces available for paint had been painted in differing primary colors. It was as if the library truck and the circus truck had collided and landed there.


I entered and was asked to wait. I sat on a red chair, next to a yellow table and watched students ask for assistance at a green information desk. The colors so loud, they over shadowed the various ‘cute’ posters that spotted the walls and book case ends.


“Hang in there!” A cat hanging by nails on the tree limb announced to me and I thought, ‘am I the only one to think this is strange?’


I remember sitting for a very, very long time. Long enough for me to count the colors in the room and consider just walking away, before some non descript person invited me in to the back. The back areas were not as colorful as the front, but just as makeshift. Drab, institutional grey desks, chairs, file cabinets and people.


The interview process itself took far less time than I had sat in the main library, watching its comings and goings and counting colors. Perhaps this is why I remember the place so and so little about the conversation. What I do recall of the spoken word, was during the final five minutes of my interview as I was given the obligatory tour. I remember commenting about ‘how colorful’ the main, public part of the library was, as I tried to be polite and make conversation. It was met with a puzzled look, just before I was thanked for coming in and summarily dismissed.

Hello? How are you?

Greatest Hits / ELO










My initial college experience was not pleasant. Due to numerous circumstances I had fled my college dorm room to arrive on my father’s doorstep. My last memory of us living together I was in a crib, so we immediately set down some terms. I could come and go as I pleased, provided I did not wake him. No wild parties. I needed to have a job.


“No problem!” I replied cockily as only one with no clue could do.

The next morning, I found the career center on campus. Right next to its glass door announcing its service was a bulletin board listing local part time jobs. I scanned: Babysitter? No way. I had avoided it so far, it was my plan to continue. House cleaning. Been there, done that and had a mental list going of whose houses I didn’t want to eat in again. Who used cooking pots for floor washing? I still shudder at the thought. I scanned some more….


Telemarketing. I could use the telephone.

I scribbled down the number, making note of the company – a national travel service – and went about my day. Mid afternoon I returned “home” and told my father I was set and ready. He scoffed. I had merely one possibility? Telemarketing? He questioned and challenged. I argue, then ignored him and made the call.


The woman on the phone was quite charming. She told me the working hours would be 6 pm to 9 pm, a few week nights. Was that possible? Possible? It was perfect! She told me to come right down.


Having been born the day before yesterday, but not yesterday, I knew to quickly change into a dress to look presentable and followed the directions across town. Arriving at the building I was directed to a large room. There were no windows, but three walls lined with long metal folding tables, reminiscent of school rooms and church basements everywhere. At each table were three telephones neatly facing three chairs. The fourth wall held a long low bookcase, with an old wooden desk before it. My quest, a woman who at the time seemed to me to be fairly old, she was probably in her thirties, sat at a desk.


Not exactly sure what telemarketing was, aside from it clearly involved talking on the telephone, I didn’t know enough to be nervous. I approached the woman, who greeted me like an old friend. Pulling up a free chair from one of the empty surrounding ones, I sat with proper posture before her.


They did telemarketing, she explained. In sum, we were to call people and ask them to purchase the travel protection the company offered. Was I familiar with the service? Of course I was. Not only did it have name recognition, but thanks to my mother’s nervousness, I was a card carrying member! Despite the fact that I actually knew nothing about the services, the woman before me was delighted. Could I start the next night?


I had taken fifteen minutes. The interview was over and I had my first true part time job.


I arrived home an hour later, quite pleased with myself. I scoffed back at my father that his fears were silly. How easy to get work – I had merely walked in. He frowned, asking me a series of questions, among them, didn’t this woman ASK me ANYTHING? Yes, of course, had I heard of this company? Could I start the next night? My father and I stared at each other. He was dumbfounded.


The next night when I arrived, I was handed my script and instructions. If the voice on the other end of the line sounded male, follow path B. Elderly? Path C. Female, path A. Unsure, go with D. The supervisor, the same ‘older’ woman whom I’d spoken to the night before reached behind her to the bookcase, which I now recognized as containing more phone books then I’d ever seen in my life. She grabbed one randomly. Opened it randomly, and tore a page out. I was to skip businesses.


Two hours out of my four hour shift later, I left in tears to go home to some humble pie. As I was quitting, tearfully explaining I just ‘couldn’t do this’, I learned why I’d been hired to begin with …


“A shame,” my supervisor sighed, “you’ve got a great telephone voice.”


I must have, because I’ve always gotten telemarketing jobs instantly with no questions asked.

Solitude stands by the window

Solitude Standing / Suzanne Vega










Suzanne Vega’s second album Solitude Standing hit it big with Luka and Tom’s Diner. Both songs I dislike. I guess because they are too intimate, show too much of the personal side of things. Ironic isn’t, that a person who generally wants to keep their cards close writes not only a blog but often autobiographically? Yeah, well…  



More irony? One of my favorite songs for highly personal reasons is on this album.


Back in the day, when the dinos roamed and I was in high school foreign language class, we all had our “foreign language name.” It was prized and often it was what we called each other outside of language class. The French teacher and the Spanish teacher handed out versions of given names. John became Jean, Steven, Etienne, Richard’s were Ricardo’s. It was very dull and predictable. But the Latin teacher was brilliant. She named each student after a different god, goddess, nymph, hero, etc. No name was reused during the four year cycle of students or even longer. But most of all she had a knack to hit the name so perfectly it was as if she knew her students better than they knew themselves.


I took four years of Latin in high school (cough-geek-cough.) I really enjoyed it and liked the teacher a great deal. Latin was like a little family. A group of us that was slightly left of center, who for an hour four times a week could at least related to each other. We had a bond; we were all in Latin together. Our Latin teach was also the girl’s track coach, as a result, I spent three years on the track team, though I was abysmal at everything.


The result though was that my “Latin name” was quite a hit. Most knew me by it and I suspect there were some who knew my ‘Latin name’ and not my real one. My Latin name was Calypso. 


I do admit I’ve never been overly thrilled at that notion that my name sake trapped this guy on an island for years and wouldn’t let him go back to his wife. Grrrrrrr. And I often thought Odysseus was a complete jerk. Though I am a hopeless romantic. And …. it IS true that once you’re “in,” my devotion and loyalty is fierce. I am also a Pisces, and very partial to the ocean and all that is in it. Most people go to the sea, look out at that vast expanse, waves crashing and feel small. For me, it’s the place I don’t feel small. It’s the place I feel I belong, thus to be named after a sea nymph always seemed apt.


There were things I didn’t appreciate about my name sake, much like there are probably things I’d dislike about a sister. But she’s strong, she’s loyal, she does what she needs to; she’s family. I think the song, Calypso, understands that.

Monday, monday, can't trust that day

The Mamas and the Papas Greatest Hits










It’s funny how you just know a day is going to be “one of those.” The signs were all there this morning. It was rainy and grey when I awoke. And although, with the help of Tylenol PM I had slept like a rock and woke up rested, I didn’t want to get up this morning. It wasn’t so much I wanted to sleep, I just didn’t want to get up.



But of course I did. Moving slowly and without enthusiasm. M. didn’t want breakfast, at least not anywhere that I wanted and he too was moving slow, not feeling well, haunted by bad dreams and dreading the day. I made the executive decision to leave without him. Besides, today is L.’s last day and I wanted to stop and get her chocolate cake. I could make one stop rather than two. So, after readying and gathering lunch I headed out.


I was starved. I did stop for sandwich and cake, then stopped again for a doughnut, which I immediately felt guilty about after it was consumed. I hit the my corner, my one big turn on the way to work and thought something is wrong here. It took a moment to realize the traffic light wasn’t working. No cops though. That was odd. It was after I made the turn when I thought oh no…. no lights, no power…. This was not good.


Arriving at work, my assessment confirmed – no power. Have you ever noticed that as soon as the power goes out – this is when you automatically reach for the light switch and think of all the things you need to do, that of course, require electricity? With no power not only were my plans shot, but it inevitably means we will have computer problems all day. I was about to be annoyed when I realized, I was supposed to have a meeting that started five minutes before. Well, not that it mattered; I couldn’t do as I planned anyway, so I headed off to a meeting.


The has come back. The computer problems are abundant. Monday has begun.

This ain't no party

Fear of Music / Talking Heads










It was a crisp autumn day. The best kind really, the leaves just starting to turn reds and the air cool while the sun still warm. It was late in the day though, three-ish. Clark and I just out of work, we’d met at the car and as I was ranting and raving as usual, he drove.



Traffic was just starting to pick up. It would be parking lot later, even on the city streets we traveled. If we crossed town quickly, though, the bit of highway we needed to travel to our place in the suburbs would be do-able. It was all a matter of timing.


Since I was upset, voice raised, hands flying about over the days events, it was better to let Clark drive. It meant he wouldn’t necessarily hear all I was saying, but that didn’t really matter. But it would mean we’d get home quicker and THAT was worth almost anything.


“So, she actually says to me, ‘oh yeah, the security guys tackled him, held him down and he died.’ Like it was nothing! She wasn’t even upset. I mean, yeah I know it was over a year ago, and you acclimate, but …. It was one of her students! She KNEW him. And then, when I said, ‘You had him in class? Were people scared oh him?’ Ya know what she says? She says, “oh no, he was huge, but really a quiet guy.” A quiet guy! But because he was big and couldn’t hear the security guard call to him, they tackled him. C’mon on! And you know what else? They didn’t even fire the security people…”


I was livid. I think that Clark was probably a little scared to speak, as he grimaced and looked at me sidelong as we pulled out of campus an onto the street. He might have said that he didn’t know what to say, but I was on a tear again by the time we were in motion.


A mile down the road was the major intersection. This would be the one that hung us up if we hadn’t timed the traffic.


“Oh my…” said Clark as we both noticed first that the car in front of us was empty. He shifted to the left lane as both lanes turned. The middle lane was better to turn left from, but it appeared no one was doing that.


As we pulled around the car, we both noted a person that had to have been the driver standing in between traffic. He was a round faced Black man in jean, grey sweat shirt holding steady a handgun at the driver of the other car, another beater that was stopped before his. Inside that car sat a Hispanic man, his hands raised in surrender, seeming laughing. The man with the gun was shouting for the other to get out of the car, the other was not moving, but was saying everything was cool.


The light caused us to stop parallel to this scene. I glanced at the two outside my passenger seat window and sighed.


“You think that's a real gun?” Clark asked. What was he thinking?


“Yeah.” I answered with what sounded to me as resignm but might have been a little snippy. It seemed a rather silly question.


“You think he’s a cop? He’s a cop right?”


I looked back at the empty car. It was an old, American model. Silver or grey in color and had clearly seen better days. Still, it was the kind of car that even new, didn’t inspire. I looked at the man. There was nothing about his clothes that suggested law enforcement. He was not holding a badge. He was not screaming, ‘police get out of the car.’ He was screaming ‘get the f**** out of the car.’


“No.” I glanced back at Clark. “I don’t think he’s a cop.” I shrugged as if this were merely matter of fact and went on, “So I asked if he was a good student and she said…”


The light turned green and we made the corner leaving the scene behind. Clark glanced to his left at the car wash we passed daily, each day we read the large sign posted in the window: “Thou Shalt Not Kill.”


“You need a new job.” He answered. He, of course, was right.

Say a little prayer or lulu's field trip

Going driftless : an artist's tribute to Greg Brown











I hate closed doors. If they’re closed, there must be something really, really good on the other side, or else, why are they closed? The bane of my existence is the office closet door. It didn’t used to be closed. It used to be such that I could go in and out as I wanted. I could sit in there, in the dark, surrounded by office supplies. I love that closet. But then, the door was shut. It was okay, though, because I could still open it when I wanted. Then the rug came. Damn rug. It blocks the door, so now I have to paw the rug out of the way and still the door won’t open. I hate that.


For over a week now, the bathroom door has been shut. This is so wrong. Worse, there are very, very odd noises from the other side and He goes in and out, and I used to go in and out, so I know there is something up. Some times I’m busy so I forget to check things out. But today, I happened to be in the hallway, just hanging out. There’s a rug in the hallway and if I lay on it, my fur stays when I leave, that is so cool, because then I can come back later and eat it, if I’m hungry or something.


Anyway, I was laying on the carpet today. Really I was staring at the stairs waiting for my brother. He comes up these stairs. And I heard the noises so it reminded me about the door. It wasn’t long when He opened the door. This was my chance. I snuck in.


This is tricky business you know. I knew I wasn’t supposed to be in there. But if He didn’t see me, then it was cool. So now that I’ve ducked in, I needed to find a place to go. I scampered. There as a dark spot and I was going to take it. Carpe darkspot!


My thought really was just to head into the dark, where I could see, but not be seen. It’s sort of like you should be seen but not heard, one step further. So, there I was in the shadow, but holy ick batman! This was not your normal dark spot. For one thing, where the heck was the floor? There was no floor, this was like a balance beam and that’s fun. And it went on, a long, long way. So I figured, I could watch Him any old time. I was on an exploration.


I love explorations, don’t you? You just never know what you could find. Some times on explorations you have to punch things, but that’s okay. So I went investigating.


I found some treasures. There was a bug! I got to punch it. There was some wire or string or something. I got to punch it. There was soft stuff. I punched it. I slipped once, but that was no big deal. It was soft and I got back up and punched where I feel. Stupid soft stuff.


I went adventuring a long time in the dark away from Him, when I finally saw the light. It looked interesting so I had to go check it out. Leaning over very carefully what I saw was familiar, though this was certainly a new angle.


There was the table that we only go on if no ones home. It has a nice view. And right below me was a sink. All sinks are bad, that’s where wet comes from. But there, a ways away, but certainly in my sight was the food bowls. I like the food bowls. Sometime I put my colorful fish in them.


I tried to reach out, but it seemed an awfully long ways down to jump, but not too far was a ledge. Ledges even small ones are good transitions, so I eased my self over. It was pretty cool. There was the same great view and I was closer to the food bowls. But…


This was not good. There were no more ledges. The hole was too far away. I can do this, I thought. It’s okay. I tried. But no, no. Too far. Maybe the table? No, too far. The counter another transition? No. Too far. Oh no. Oh no. OH NO. And that’s when I started to cry.


I was pretty quiet at first. But then I started to think, I’m going to be here forever. And I’ll never have food or water or fishy again. And I started to cry louder, because it was forever. Then I heard Him. He was calling to me. He was walking around. Of course, I got quiet because I was trying to hear Him. But god, humans what are they thinking, he just walked away.


So I cried some more. This must have gone on for like 30 forevers until finally He found me. It was nice of him, he picked me and I wanted him to just put me down, so I could check on the food bowl and fishy, but no. He held me tight and then tried to wipe me down with a damp cloth. I mean, really? A damp cloth? It was so embarrassing.

The radio can say whatever it wants

Beethoven's Sonatas








Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata is peaceful. The same three notes repeat, then another is added, then another, then there is the steady repeat, it’s like waves, lulling against the shore. I am not at peace. But I am trying.



I used to have a bathroom. It was mostly white. Yes, it had some issues… there was a very ugly light switch plate. The mirror and light fixtures left something to be desired, but it had porcelain. It had cold AND hot running water. We now have a gutted room.


There are four people who are the front line at work. Three of them leave at the end of next week. We have hired people, but they will all need training. Our cleaning person will stop next Monday. Our vacuum cleaner died yesterday. A new cleaning company will not start until the end of next week, I faxed the contract today.


One of our most frequent volunteers and visitors at work just announced she has shingles. I feel for her. I know it’s horrible… but I’ve never had chicken pox. Thus, I am the only one at work who could catch this.


Next week three out of the five nights, I have meetings. The week after, four out of five nights, I have meetings….


The radio may have told me to just relax, but it’s not working. 

She drives me crazy

The Raw & the cooked / FYC
(Fine Young Cannibals)










Have you ever been obsessed? I mean truly, like, all you think about it this one thing or person? And you can’t possibly live without it? I think I would like that kind of devotion, but I just can’t seem to muster it. I mean, I know I’m still young and it could still come, but… I’m not optimistic.



My friends all seem to have found their obsessions. Kirk has the Beatles, which is actually very annoying. Bentley has cars. Even Le, my sister, who’s only ten has found their passion. But me? I’m apathetic. Don’t get me wrong, I do care about things. Some. Just not enough. And I do feel guilt about this, not caring. Just not enough.


I guess all this is why when Ginny sat down next to me in the café and told me that she heard from her then boyfriend Ted, who heard from his sister, Alice, that Alice’s best friend’s sister Amanda had this wicked crush on me and I should be forewarned, I didn’t really pay much attention. That was my first mistake of many.

About a week later, I started to notice Amanda being around.  I knew what she looked like from school, but we'd never spoken to each other or anything.  And Glendale is not really a big place.  So, when I saw her downtown, then at the mall, and than at the 7-11, I didn't really think anything of it.  In fact, I thought I was probably only noticing her because of that stupid conversation, that I hadn't really paid that much attention to.  This was my second mistake.

Then weird things started to happen.  I found gummy worms in my car.  I know this sounds strange, but I happen to like gummy worms.  There's something about the gross factor that appeals to me.  First, I thought I might have left them there and forgotten, but that didn't seem right.  They were on the passenger seat.   Then I thought probably oneof the guys had left them for me. 

Not that they are prone to doing nice things or leaving presents.  Guys don't do that.  But sometimes, for reasons we don't understand, people give us stuff.  Moms, girls, sisters, they are no doubt trying to be nice or really trying to bribe us.  But the thing is, they often don't really know what works, so they offer up things they think might work.  Bentley's mom is particularly clueless about such things, so it was not out of the question that she might have seen me eating gummy worms and presumed that her son would too.  Then she would buy the gummy worms and leave them in Ben's lunch or something, hoping he'd be all happy and everything and then in this good mood do whatever silly thing she wanted.

But Ben hates gummy worms.  He thinks there gross and disguesting, which they are.  But knowing I like them, he might drop them in my car.  So when i saw the gummy worms, I didn't really think it was any big deal.  That was the third mistake.

Chchchchanges

Best if Bowie / David Bowie











Isn’t funny how things come together? In keeping with recent musing, I just finished listening to John Green’s An Abundance of Katherine’s. It’s a YA novel about a geeky guy who wants to matter. Of course it raises philosophical questions and issues about change, predictability and the meaning of life, etc. etc.



I’ve been very focused this week on changes. Changes at work in staffing. Changes at home with walls and bath. Of course, by focused, I really mean stressed and by stressed, I really mean distressed. Now at the risk of publicly confirming I am a complete lunatic, there is something a little odd that occurs disturbingly often when I am in this state of being.


It is unpredictable. It doesn’t happen when I want it to or if I am seeking it out. And I know that trying to speak of it will sound crazy, but…


The radio speaks to me.


Okay, not like those who wander around MIT or NYC with tin foil on their heads hearing messages from outer space. But more like quite circumstantially I will scan and the scan will stop on a particular significant bit of lyrics.


The first time I remember this happening I was driving home from an encounter with Mother. I was, well traumatized (another story) and the radio was on auto search.


For me, it suddenly stopped on a country and western station, the song unknown , but the lyrics horribly appropriate to the situation, while also reassuring.


I don’t listen to country and western. I had not recalled hitting the pause button. I was torn between being comforted and completely freaked. I dismissed all this as not being in a right state of mind to begin with. I rationalized that I had probably just not realized I’d stopped the scan. I probably only registered the lyrics because they had resonated with me, but it all could just as easily be explained by a lack of paying attention.


But then it happened on several other occasions. And I started to wonder.


The oddest was several year’s ago. Life was in a bit of turmoil. We were getting ready to move (yet again) from an apartment I really, really liked. It was also the place we had stayed the longest: three years. I didn’t want to move, but jobs made it a necessity.


I’d pack some. Cry. Pack some more. I knew the move was necessary, but I was still upset. Worse, I was trying not to show all my upset, so as not to make matters worse.


In the midst of this, after one of my rounds of sniveling, I was gearing up to go to packing when I heard the faint sound of voices. This was disturbing. Only the cat and I were home. The TV wasn’t on and one of the things I loved about the apartment was its sound proofing. Our neighbors had an infant, a two year old and a dog and inside, we never once heard any of them. Yet I was hearing voices and they were NOT coming from inside my head.


Distracted from the packing, I went to investigate. In our office, a room yet to be packed (I was avoiding it) on the back of a shelf was an old portable radio. To my knowledge it never worked and needed batteries. It was definitely NOT plugged in to anything and had not been on in the two years it had sat on the back of the shelf. I remembered placing it there when we moved in. We had discussed if we should even keep it, set it down on the shelf and then promptly never dealt with it again.


I had been in the room thousands of times, almost daily, sometimes more than daily. The computer was in this room and I was hooked: email, play, writing…. I’d never heard the radio.


Now, it played. Not loudly, but loud enough to be heard and call to me from the other room. With goose bumps I picked the radio up raising the volume. With perfect clarity, David Bowie responded, “Turn and face the change….”


I waited for the song to finish. When it had, I turned the volume down and with a distinct click the sound lowered and the radio turned off.


I decided then I had two choices. I could panic or do what I always yelled at the TV when watching horror movies: “Leave the house! Now!”


Or…. I could accept I had no explanation, but maybe the universe really was trying to communicate through the radio. I thought of the many times in the car and I did not leave the house. I did decide though not to verify the batteries. I wasn’t that brave.


For reasons I’ll never understand, I accepted. I went back to packing and stopped sniveling. Relatively speaking, things did work out okay. Today the radio told me I needed to relax. I am trying to take its advice.

If you build it...

Centerfield / John Fogerty









Everything I know about baseball I learned from Kevin Costner and “Jim.” Which is to say, I know not much, and most of it is nostalgic. I purport to be a Red Sox fan, but this is simply regional loyalty. I have never been to a baseball game. I did go to a local team softball game…once, my friend’s husband played. But I hardly paid attention. And…no, not even little league. Pee wee football, basketball, soccer. Even field hockey games, but never baseball. The close was going to see Field of Dreams with Jim.



Jim and I entered graduate school together and became friends in the way that people thrown into unlikely situations do. There were three of us who entered that particular grad program that year and we couldn’t have been more different.


I had just graduated college, had decided that I did not actually want to go to law school and therefore had no clue in the world what I was going to do. I was “engaged” and the deal was when I was done with school we’d marry. I wasn’t sure about that, and so, at least in part, I wasn’t done with school. The school had offered me a fair amount of money to go, all expenses paid and what at the time I had thought would be enough to live on. I was wrong about that part, but not having a better idea and no job, I went.


The second person in our cohort we’ll call Lola. Lola was shorter than I, a little less than ten years older and a radical lesbian feminist with pagan religious beliefs. Half of what I learned in graduate school, I learned from Lola. Half way through our academic experience, she decided that none of those attributes did she want any more. She stopped talking to me, and I was very upset about it at the time. I can only imagine it was because I was associated with her early days. She never gave me a clue and eventually I was hurt and mad enough not to care. Last I heard she was married (to a man) and was a stay at home mom with two kids.


The third person in our group was Jim. He was twenty years older than I and was right off the streets of New York. Already at 40-something, he had a graying beard and temples. With a stereotypical ethnic New York/New Jersey assertive manner and style, he stood out in a crowd. He’d actually worked in the field of Criminal Justice and from my perspective was quite worldly.


He’d moved to rural Connecticut a week before school started with his wife who was from Brazil. She was shorter than I, more fiery than any woman I’ve met before or since and at the time was 9 nine months pregnant. The first week of school the house he was renting was burglarized and his wife threatened to go back to New York. She didn’t at least at that point. (Ten years later, they were divorced and I had learned that they’d only gotten married one month before they arrived and their son was born.)


As Jim had age and experience and Lola had alternative lifestyle, I pretty much ranked as the wide-eyed third. I held my own academically. The advantage of this position was that I still had respect, but both parties seemed to take it as a mission to expand my horizons. I would not have described it this way at the time, but distance can some times make a picture clearer.


At any rate, Jim loved baseball. He reported stats and followed games. His wife did not. So when he asked if I wanted to go with him to see Field of Dreams, I said sure. He was also very delighted after the fact to explain to me who Shoeless Joe was and in mock horror explain the rules of the game. And this was my introduction to baseball.


At some point after that, I rented Bull Durham and learned a little more. But baseball never stuck. I’ve lost touch with Jim. Of the three of us, I finished first and got out. He did research in Africa, got divorced and became less of a man of mystery for me as I got older. I still think about him and wonder how he’s doing. And of course, whenever I think of baseball I think of Jim and Kevin Costner.