I won't lie. The discouragements - I haz them.
Unemployed 2.5 months, 20+ years of work experience, two college degrees, only scored two interviews out of eleventy-million job applications and both companies sent me the "thanks for playing, but you're not a winner" email. So, yes, discouragement at this point is, unfortunately, all too easy to come by.
I've already mentioned before how much the Job Dance has changed since the last time I had to look for a job. Not only that, the steps seem to still be changing on a daily basis, and the dance instructors all have different information about how to execute said steps smoothly and with style. Here's another thing I won't lie about: all this job-hunting business makes me feel older by the minute. Not just because a younger person with less experience has an advantage in the job market, but also because the seemingly timeless rules about loyalty and service are obsolete. That makes me sad.
In the meantime, grocery prices are going up and gas is still over $3 a gallon. Some economists say it's getting better; some say it's getting worse. How do we know who to believe? Things never seem to change a whole heck of a lot for me, anyway, regardless of economic conditions or who's in the Oval Office. And I can't help feeling just a little bitter when I think about how I did everything I was supposed to do, and still ended up without a job. I'm trying to make side money but that only works when people have money to spend.
BUT. . . I have plenty to eat. I have plenty to wear. (Too much, really - I need to get rid of a few things.) I have a place to live with a tee-vee and a flush terlet and a computer with an Interwebs connection. And I have a lot of friends & family behind me. (You know who you are.) That alone is worth millions and takes some of the sting out of discouragement. AND. . . I may have some temp work lined up shortly. So there's that.
In the meantime, would you please pass the brie?
Till next time ---
Wednesday, June 22, 2011
Thursday, June 2, 2011
Yard Work.
So, I'm still unemployed, going on 6 weeks now. It's certainly not for lack of trying. Those of you who have been in this situation understand the anger and hopelessness that start to set in, not to mention those few pounds that show up because you're not running up and down the office hall trying to put out everyone's little fires.
The other night after supper, I was in the kitchen making a piece of jewelry. Mister asked, "Are you okay?"
"No," I replied.
"What's wrong?"
"You mean besides feeling like a total failure and a beached whale?"
He sighed and paused for a moment, then said, "Why don't you come out and help me cut some trees?"
Not really the response I wanted, but I acquiesced to his request, and dressed myself for Yard Work. You have to understand, Yard Work isn't something I've ever done much of. Sure, we've had vegetable gardens in the past, and I've planted tulips and sunflowers before, but that's pretty much it. Our landlords are in their 70s now, though, and aren't up to doing much landscaping maintenance anymore, so we're trying to take care of things.
We had so much rain this spring that weeds and other overgrowth sprang up seemingly overnight. The azalea bushes were being overtaken by hackberry seedlings, and the side flowerbed that normally sports irises, peonies, and a rosebush was covered in some weed that looks like a parsley on steroids. An ambitious and determined Virginia creeper was creeping across the side porch and about to creep onto the door. Clearly, there was much Yard Work to be done.
Mister gave me the giant pruner and I got started on the extraneous growth around Azalea #1. He showed me how to use the electric hedge trimmer to shape the bush (you 12 year-olds can stop snickering anytime), and I was on my way.
Prune, trim, prune, trim. Hey, here's an oak seedling - so sorry you can't stay. Bye-bye. And you brambles, you definitely have to go. Don't be wantin' no brambles around here. Sampson the Giant Puppy alternately laid quietly on the sidewalk or stalked the grass for unsuspecting cicadas. Then Mister said, "Hey, this one has a bird's nest in it."
Sure enough, among the leaves of Azalea #2 was a nest with two brand new tiny pink featherless baby birds. This little discovery made the whole foray into Yard Work worthwhile. We decided to leave Azalea #2 alone till the fuzzheads leave the nest.
We made a lot of progress together in one evening. Next morning, I went out for awhile before it got too hot and started in on the overgrown flower bed. That evening after supper, we both went out again for some more hack & slash. I finished the flower bed, uncovering the myriad irises, the peony bush, and the rose bush, which had to be trimmed waaaaaaay back and freed of a brambly vine I think is a morning glory. Did I mention I hate brambles?
The next morning, I felt like I'd been hit by a truck. In spite of practicing yoga (although clearly not enough!), I was sore. Really sore. But the yard looks so much better now, and hey! We have baby birds.
Maybe this Yard Work thing isn't so bad after all.
Till next time ---
The other night after supper, I was in the kitchen making a piece of jewelry. Mister asked, "Are you okay?"
"No," I replied.
"What's wrong?"
"You mean besides feeling like a total failure and a beached whale?"
He sighed and paused for a moment, then said, "Why don't you come out and help me cut some trees?"
Not really the response I wanted, but I acquiesced to his request, and dressed myself for Yard Work. You have to understand, Yard Work isn't something I've ever done much of. Sure, we've had vegetable gardens in the past, and I've planted tulips and sunflowers before, but that's pretty much it. Our landlords are in their 70s now, though, and aren't up to doing much landscaping maintenance anymore, so we're trying to take care of things.
We had so much rain this spring that weeds and other overgrowth sprang up seemingly overnight. The azalea bushes were being overtaken by hackberry seedlings, and the side flowerbed that normally sports irises, peonies, and a rosebush was covered in some weed that looks like a parsley on steroids. An ambitious and determined Virginia creeper was creeping across the side porch and about to creep onto the door. Clearly, there was much Yard Work to be done.
Mister gave me the giant pruner and I got started on the extraneous growth around Azalea #1. He showed me how to use the electric hedge trimmer to shape the bush (you 12 year-olds can stop snickering anytime), and I was on my way.
Prune, trim, prune, trim. Hey, here's an oak seedling - so sorry you can't stay. Bye-bye. And you brambles, you definitely have to go. Don't be wantin' no brambles around here. Sampson the Giant Puppy alternately laid quietly on the sidewalk or stalked the grass for unsuspecting cicadas. Then Mister said, "Hey, this one has a bird's nest in it."
Sure enough, among the leaves of Azalea #2 was a nest with two brand new tiny pink featherless baby birds. This little discovery made the whole foray into Yard Work worthwhile. We decided to leave Azalea #2 alone till the fuzzheads leave the nest.
We made a lot of progress together in one evening. Next morning, I went out for awhile before it got too hot and started in on the overgrown flower bed. That evening after supper, we both went out again for some more hack & slash. I finished the flower bed, uncovering the myriad irises, the peony bush, and the rose bush, which had to be trimmed waaaaaaay back and freed of a brambly vine I think is a morning glory. Did I mention I hate brambles?
The next morning, I felt like I'd been hit by a truck. In spite of practicing yoga (although clearly not enough!), I was sore. Really sore. But the yard looks so much better now, and hey! We have baby birds.
Maybe this Yard Work thing isn't so bad after all.
Till next time ---
Monday, May 30, 2011
The Soldier On the Square.
Here in the South, as most of you know, it's common for a town with a square to have a Confederate memorial of some kind in said town square. Franklin, Tennessee is no exception - it was the site of one of the most devastating Civil War battles in Tennessee. I've passed that soldier a million times. One day it dawned on me that he wasn't just a Confederate soldier, but more of an Everyman, at least to me.
He's every untrained backwoods militia man who died fighting for our independence from the British. He's my Union ancestor, John B. Feather, who died at Andersonville in 1864 at the age of 19, a time when he should have been smoking cigars, drinking whiskey, and chasing pretty girls. He's every Doughboy who lost his life in the Great War. He's every soldier who fought at Normandy, and every sailor on the USS Arizona. He's every 19 year-old who died in the jungles of Vietnam. He's every man and woman who's died in Afghanistan and Iran in the service of the United States.
That's what I think of now when I drive by that monument: not just the carnage of 1864, but all the American lives lost in service to their country. I hope that this Memorial Day, you will remember them all.
Till next time ---
He's every untrained backwoods militia man who died fighting for our independence from the British. He's my Union ancestor, John B. Feather, who died at Andersonville in 1864 at the age of 19, a time when he should have been smoking cigars, drinking whiskey, and chasing pretty girls. He's every Doughboy who lost his life in the Great War. He's every soldier who fought at Normandy, and every sailor on the USS Arizona. He's every 19 year-old who died in the jungles of Vietnam. He's every man and woman who's died in Afghanistan and Iran in the service of the United States.
That's what I think of now when I drive by that monument: not just the carnage of 1864, but all the American lives lost in service to their country. I hope that this Memorial Day, you will remember them all.
Till next time ---
Friday, May 20, 2011
Walking the Dog.
I like walking the dog - he and I both need the exercise - but I'm beginning to wonder if it's worth it.
This morning, on the way out, a fairly large dog barked at us from his porch. He was not leashed or confined. I hoped he wouldn't just charge. We kept walking, Sampson barked once and stopped, and while the other dog took a few steps down onto the side walk, he stayed in his own yard. No problem.
On the way back, the first dog had been taken back into his garage. Sampson and I trotted along quite merrily without a care in the world. I saw a little Shih-Tzu-type dog in a yard up ahead, but didn't really think anything about it - till we passed the house.
That tiny dog, who probably weighed all of 3 pounds, ran across the yard, across the street, and down the sidewalk after my 98-pound doofus, yapping all the while. Sampson started flailing around, like he does when he's excited, and I just tried to keep walking, thinking the little dog would eventually give up and stop. Sampson was making his squealy noise, not his aggressive "get away from me" bark, so I didn't think the little dog was in any danger from Sampson, but dogs are still dogs after all, and I wasn't going to take any chances.
Little Dog kept up the sidewalk after us. A lady still in her nightgown started running up the sidewalk after it. "Please get your dog on a leash!" I shouted. I don't think she heard me.
We kept walking, Sampson kept flailing, and the little dog was STILL trailing after us. I said, okay, that dog's just going to keep it up till we stop. I made Sampson sit, the little dog stopped, and the owner was able to get hold of her charge - across the street and 3-4 houses down from her own place.
"Please don't let your dog run around loose like that," I said.
"I didn't know y'all was out here," she said.
"It doesn't matter," I said. "Your dog could have run out and been hit by a car." This is a well-populated subdivision with cars going in and out all the time.
"Oh, she would never do that."
Really? Obviously she just did. I said something else; I don't really remember what it was, and it wouldn't have made any difference anyway, because clearly this lady was delusional about her dog's behavior. This time there was no harm, no foul, but what about next time?
I don't want there to be a next time. I want my outings with my dog to be pleasant without the threat of being charged by someone else's loose dog. And this isn't the first time this has happened - years ago, Mister and I were walking the two dogs we had at the time, both on the medium-to-large size, and we were charged by a Min-Pin down the street, who was literally nipping at my Elkhound's ankles. I was shocked and amazed that Zenith didn't rip its little head clean off.
Now friends, I know it's tempting to think your pets are safe going out for a pee loose and unattended in your own yard. And in some places, they probably are. But in a closely populated area with lots of other people and dogs and cars, not to mention the hawks and owls, it's probably not a good idea.
So, till next time - spay and neuter your pets, and make sure they're safe when they go out. They depend on you to take good care of them.
This morning, on the way out, a fairly large dog barked at us from his porch. He was not leashed or confined. I hoped he wouldn't just charge. We kept walking, Sampson barked once and stopped, and while the other dog took a few steps down onto the side walk, he stayed in his own yard. No problem.
On the way back, the first dog had been taken back into his garage. Sampson and I trotted along quite merrily without a care in the world. I saw a little Shih-Tzu-type dog in a yard up ahead, but didn't really think anything about it - till we passed the house.
That tiny dog, who probably weighed all of 3 pounds, ran across the yard, across the street, and down the sidewalk after my 98-pound doofus, yapping all the while. Sampson started flailing around, like he does when he's excited, and I just tried to keep walking, thinking the little dog would eventually give up and stop. Sampson was making his squealy noise, not his aggressive "get away from me" bark, so I didn't think the little dog was in any danger from Sampson, but dogs are still dogs after all, and I wasn't going to take any chances.
Little Dog kept up the sidewalk after us. A lady still in her nightgown started running up the sidewalk after it. "Please get your dog on a leash!" I shouted. I don't think she heard me.
We kept walking, Sampson kept flailing, and the little dog was STILL trailing after us. I said, okay, that dog's just going to keep it up till we stop. I made Sampson sit, the little dog stopped, and the owner was able to get hold of her charge - across the street and 3-4 houses down from her own place.
"Please don't let your dog run around loose like that," I said.
"I didn't know y'all was out here," she said.
"It doesn't matter," I said. "Your dog could have run out and been hit by a car." This is a well-populated subdivision with cars going in and out all the time.
"Oh, she would never do that."
Really? Obviously she just did. I said something else; I don't really remember what it was, and it wouldn't have made any difference anyway, because clearly this lady was delusional about her dog's behavior. This time there was no harm, no foul, but what about next time?
I don't want there to be a next time. I want my outings with my dog to be pleasant without the threat of being charged by someone else's loose dog. And this isn't the first time this has happened - years ago, Mister and I were walking the two dogs we had at the time, both on the medium-to-large size, and we were charged by a Min-Pin down the street, who was literally nipping at my Elkhound's ankles. I was shocked and amazed that Zenith didn't rip its little head clean off.
Now friends, I know it's tempting to think your pets are safe going out for a pee loose and unattended in your own yard. And in some places, they probably are. But in a closely populated area with lots of other people and dogs and cars, not to mention the hawks and owls, it's probably not a good idea.
So, till next time - spay and neuter your pets, and make sure they're safe when they go out. They depend on you to take good care of them.
Wednesday, May 11, 2011
The Search Continues.
So, I have been unemployed now for almost a month. I can't even tell you how many jobs I've applied for. I had one interview for a one-year grant-funded position with a $9000 pay cut. I signed up with a temp agency who hasn't called me with any assignments. The university I graduated from twice won't call me for an interview for love nor money. I do have an interview this Friday (yes, Friday the 13th) with a data research company.
I've discovered, of course, that the job search world has changed immensely in the last 15 years, and that the "experts" provide conflicting information. Dumb down your resume, because if you have an advanced degree, people think you won't stick around. (Really? Even if I was at my last job for 15 years?) Don't dumb down your resume, because your education is important. Don't include any dates that might allude to your age if you're over 40. (Never mind that age discrimination is illegal.) Call the company. Don't call the company. Go visit in person. Don't go visit in person.
You can see how a prospective employee might get easily confused.
I grew up during a time when the prevailing philosophy was "get a job, stick with it till you retire, and you'll be rewarded for your loyalty and dedication." That's just not true anymore. I visited with a career counselor a week ago and he said they're now telling people to be prepared to have 4-6 different jobs during their careers and 3-4 different career paths. Well, all righty then. That would be great if I were just getting out of college, but I'm 43 years old. How many other career paths can I expect?
I've also noticed that nearly everyone wants a background check and a drug test. The background check I can deal with, but the pre-employment drug test? I'm not crazy about that. I don't have anything to hide - I'm a real goody two-shoes where that's concerned - but it's the principle of the thing. I feel like it is a violation of my 4th Amendment right against unreasonable search & seizure. Why would you ask someone for evidence of wrongdoing without just cause? Isn't that against our philosophy of innocent till proven guilty? They're assuming I might be guilty and I have to prove myself innocent. Not only that, I'm not real crazy about having to discuss any medications I do take with anyone other than my healthcare professional. That's just not anyone's business.
But apparently that's the way of the world now. If you want a job, you have to take a drug test, whether it's relevant to the actual job description or not. So be it. If that's what they want, I'll do it, but I don't have to like it.
In the meantime, I'm enjoying taking Sampson the Giant Puppy for walks, and having naps in the afternoon. But I do want to go back to work. I have bills to pay, and the dog has to eat. I have to eat. Maybe, if a miracle occurs, I can finally get the clutter in my house under control.
Or not.
Till next time ---
I've discovered, of course, that the job search world has changed immensely in the last 15 years, and that the "experts" provide conflicting information. Dumb down your resume, because if you have an advanced degree, people think you won't stick around. (Really? Even if I was at my last job for 15 years?) Don't dumb down your resume, because your education is important. Don't include any dates that might allude to your age if you're over 40. (Never mind that age discrimination is illegal.) Call the company. Don't call the company. Go visit in person. Don't go visit in person.
You can see how a prospective employee might get easily confused.
I grew up during a time when the prevailing philosophy was "get a job, stick with it till you retire, and you'll be rewarded for your loyalty and dedication." That's just not true anymore. I visited with a career counselor a week ago and he said they're now telling people to be prepared to have 4-6 different jobs during their careers and 3-4 different career paths. Well, all righty then. That would be great if I were just getting out of college, but I'm 43 years old. How many other career paths can I expect?
I've also noticed that nearly everyone wants a background check and a drug test. The background check I can deal with, but the pre-employment drug test? I'm not crazy about that. I don't have anything to hide - I'm a real goody two-shoes where that's concerned - but it's the principle of the thing. I feel like it is a violation of my 4th Amendment right against unreasonable search & seizure. Why would you ask someone for evidence of wrongdoing without just cause? Isn't that against our philosophy of innocent till proven guilty? They're assuming I might be guilty and I have to prove myself innocent. Not only that, I'm not real crazy about having to discuss any medications I do take with anyone other than my healthcare professional. That's just not anyone's business.
But apparently that's the way of the world now. If you want a job, you have to take a drug test, whether it's relevant to the actual job description or not. So be it. If that's what they want, I'll do it, but I don't have to like it.
In the meantime, I'm enjoying taking Sampson the Giant Puppy for walks, and having naps in the afternoon. But I do want to go back to work. I have bills to pay, and the dog has to eat. I have to eat. Maybe, if a miracle occurs, I can finally get the clutter in my house under control.
Or not.
Till next time ---
Wednesday, April 27, 2011
Art Class Modeling.
For the last few years, Mister and I have picked up extra pocket money now & then by modeling for art classes at our friend Pat's studio. It's really amusing when I tell someone I'm going to model for an art class, because it's almost guaranteed that their first question has to do with whether I will be clothed or not - as if there are no paintings of clothed people, anywhere, in the history of the universe. Mister and I model for portrait classes, which means Clothes On, and we show up in a variety of costumes. I especially like to dig into my hat collection. This is what I wore to last Monday's class:
Black pillbox veiled hat with a feather boa. You can't see it in the picture, but the hat has a really interesting texture to it. Last week when I modeled, I wore a smart black spring cloche, made of paper (yes! paper!). I've also modeled in 19th century clothes, 18th century clothes, sometimes with knitting, sometimes with a violin, and sometimes in belly dance garb. And one time, Pat said, "Just come as yourself. I don't think you've done that yet."
Figure modeling is when the model shows up in his/her birthday suit. Personally, I don't have any aversion to this, since 1) they keep the door closed; 2) all the participants are over 18, and 3) it pays $20 an hour instead of $15. I told Pat if they ever needed a sub for a figure class she could call me, but she hasn't yet. Ah well.
Being prone to fidgeting and restlessness, I was unsure at first how this would work out. It's 20 minutes of sitting perfectly still with a 5-minute break, for about 4 hours. (The day class does break 30 minutes for lunch, and the night class takes a 15-minute break in the middle, so it's not as monotonous as it sounds.) Well, this is when all that yoga practice came in really handy. I discovered that sitting still for 20 minutes at a time is a lot like meditation. It's actually pretty relaxing. The trick is not to get so relaxed that you want to fall asleep, which is sometimes a challenge. Plus, staring at the same spot gets your contact lenses all foggy no matter how much you blink, but that's another story.
The most interesting thing, besides seeing if I can stay awake and still for 20 minutes at a stretch, is to see how different painters interpret me. They all have their own style, and I've come to recognize a few of them who have their work on display in the gallery there. Some of them are excellent portrait painters, others, not so much, but that's why they're there - to perfect their skills. Painting takes practice, after all, and it doesn't magically happen overnight.
One week, an artist painted me in all neon colors, while I was in 19th century dress. Last week, a woman did a black & white pastel rendering that was completely art deco, and I absolutely loved it. It didn't necessarily look like me, but it had a definite style about it, unlike anything anyone else in the class was doing. My favorite painting, though, is one Pat herself did of me a couple of years ago. It's a black & white oil portrait of me in 19th century clothing with my violin. Once she was finished displaying it in the gallery, Pat gave me the portrait, and I cherish it.
Monday night, one artist was having trouble getting my face the way she wanted it. The beauty of oil paints is that if you don't like something, you can scrub it out and start over, which she did - several times. On one of the breaks when she had me faceless, I said, "You know, there's days when I feel exactly that way." But by the end of the class, she had a fine portrait.
Sometimes that's how it is. We have to scrap our work and start over - and over, and over, and over. If Plan B doesn't work, we go on to Plan C, and if we've got the fortitude and determination, maybe we're on Plan Z before we get it just right. But that's okay. We owe it to ourselves to endeavor to persevere.
Till next time ---- anybody need a portrait model?
Black pillbox veiled hat with a feather boa. You can't see it in the picture, but the hat has a really interesting texture to it. Last week when I modeled, I wore a smart black spring cloche, made of paper (yes! paper!). I've also modeled in 19th century clothes, 18th century clothes, sometimes with knitting, sometimes with a violin, and sometimes in belly dance garb. And one time, Pat said, "Just come as yourself. I don't think you've done that yet."
Figure modeling is when the model shows up in his/her birthday suit. Personally, I don't have any aversion to this, since 1) they keep the door closed; 2) all the participants are over 18, and 3) it pays $20 an hour instead of $15. I told Pat if they ever needed a sub for a figure class she could call me, but she hasn't yet. Ah well.
Being prone to fidgeting and restlessness, I was unsure at first how this would work out. It's 20 minutes of sitting perfectly still with a 5-minute break, for about 4 hours. (The day class does break 30 minutes for lunch, and the night class takes a 15-minute break in the middle, so it's not as monotonous as it sounds.) Well, this is when all that yoga practice came in really handy. I discovered that sitting still for 20 minutes at a time is a lot like meditation. It's actually pretty relaxing. The trick is not to get so relaxed that you want to fall asleep, which is sometimes a challenge. Plus, staring at the same spot gets your contact lenses all foggy no matter how much you blink, but that's another story.
The most interesting thing, besides seeing if I can stay awake and still for 20 minutes at a stretch, is to see how different painters interpret me. They all have their own style, and I've come to recognize a few of them who have their work on display in the gallery there. Some of them are excellent portrait painters, others, not so much, but that's why they're there - to perfect their skills. Painting takes practice, after all, and it doesn't magically happen overnight.
One week, an artist painted me in all neon colors, while I was in 19th century dress. Last week, a woman did a black & white pastel rendering that was completely art deco, and I absolutely loved it. It didn't necessarily look like me, but it had a definite style about it, unlike anything anyone else in the class was doing. My favorite painting, though, is one Pat herself did of me a couple of years ago. It's a black & white oil portrait of me in 19th century clothing with my violin. Once she was finished displaying it in the gallery, Pat gave me the portrait, and I cherish it.
Monday night, one artist was having trouble getting my face the way she wanted it. The beauty of oil paints is that if you don't like something, you can scrub it out and start over, which she did - several times. On one of the breaks when she had me faceless, I said, "You know, there's days when I feel exactly that way." But by the end of the class, she had a fine portrait.
Sometimes that's how it is. We have to scrap our work and start over - and over, and over, and over. If Plan B doesn't work, we go on to Plan C, and if we've got the fortitude and determination, maybe we're on Plan Z before we get it just right. But that's okay. We owe it to ourselves to endeavor to persevere.
Till next time ---- anybody need a portrait model?
Sunday, April 17, 2011
My first 24 hours of unemployment.
As of 5:00 last Friday, I officially joined the ranks of the unemployed. This is a strange feeling for me, because I have never once been unemployed in all my adult life. From the time I started working full-time at age 21, I've always had a job. And now I don't.
I didn't go home moping, however. Mister and I had already planned to meet a group of folks at Monell's for dinner. (Y'all who aren't Nashville folks, I'm so sorry you don't have a Monell's in your town.) I thought there was only going to be about 6 or 7 of us, but it turned out we had about twice that many. These are ladies I met on a message board several years ago, and since then have met many of them in person, but Friday night, I finally got to meet a few more. We had a rollicking good time and stuffed ourselves with fried chicken, corn pudding, green beans, turnip greens, catfish, hush puppies, ribs, and biscuits. Oh, and banana pudding. Unemployment works up an appetite, after all.
Saturday morning I met with a friend about writing a movie script on women's suffrage. Did you know (and I'm sure some of you did) that Tennessee cast the deciding vote on the ratification of women's suffrage? And that the young man who cast that vote was only 24 years old - the youngest person in the Tennessee legislature? And that his mother wrote him a famous letter urging him to cast that "Yea" vote? So, I have an interesting research & writing project to work on while I'm looking for that job.
After that, I went to a dance class. Not just any dance class, mind you - this was a burlesque tassel twirling class, and yes, it's exactly what you think. No, I don't plan on doing this in public anytime soon, or ever, for that matter, but it seemed like a fun thing to do, so I did it. (Maybe I should add tassel twirling to my resume to see if anyone's paying attention.) Then I came home and made some jewelry, which will be available for sale on my website as soon as I can get the photos up.
This past week, I've had the great fortune to be supported by people who have been in this position before, some of them more than once. My friend Pat, who owns an art studio with her husband, told me how she'd had a nice comfy desk job with a big factory operation in Nashville. It was a great company and she was happy with her job. But they ceased operations, and she was out of that comfy desk job. She said, "If that hadn't happened, I'd probably still be sitting there at my desk, and this studio wouldn't even be here." Yoshie, my movie producer friend, said almost exactly the same thing. She is a great inspiration because I have personally watched her reinvent herself more than once over the years when it became necessary.
Today, I have no idea what the future holds. It's scary and exciting all at the same time. So I guess now it's my turn to reinvent. To infinity, and beyond.
Till next time ---
I didn't go home moping, however. Mister and I had already planned to meet a group of folks at Monell's for dinner. (Y'all who aren't Nashville folks, I'm so sorry you don't have a Monell's in your town.) I thought there was only going to be about 6 or 7 of us, but it turned out we had about twice that many. These are ladies I met on a message board several years ago, and since then have met many of them in person, but Friday night, I finally got to meet a few more. We had a rollicking good time and stuffed ourselves with fried chicken, corn pudding, green beans, turnip greens, catfish, hush puppies, ribs, and biscuits. Oh, and banana pudding. Unemployment works up an appetite, after all.
Saturday morning I met with a friend about writing a movie script on women's suffrage. Did you know (and I'm sure some of you did) that Tennessee cast the deciding vote on the ratification of women's suffrage? And that the young man who cast that vote was only 24 years old - the youngest person in the Tennessee legislature? And that his mother wrote him a famous letter urging him to cast that "Yea" vote? So, I have an interesting research & writing project to work on while I'm looking for that job.
After that, I went to a dance class. Not just any dance class, mind you - this was a burlesque tassel twirling class, and yes, it's exactly what you think. No, I don't plan on doing this in public anytime soon, or ever, for that matter, but it seemed like a fun thing to do, so I did it. (Maybe I should add tassel twirling to my resume to see if anyone's paying attention.) Then I came home and made some jewelry, which will be available for sale on my website as soon as I can get the photos up.
This past week, I've had the great fortune to be supported by people who have been in this position before, some of them more than once. My friend Pat, who owns an art studio with her husband, told me how she'd had a nice comfy desk job with a big factory operation in Nashville. It was a great company and she was happy with her job. But they ceased operations, and she was out of that comfy desk job. She said, "If that hadn't happened, I'd probably still be sitting there at my desk, and this studio wouldn't even be here." Yoshie, my movie producer friend, said almost exactly the same thing. She is a great inspiration because I have personally watched her reinvent herself more than once over the years when it became necessary.
Today, I have no idea what the future holds. It's scary and exciting all at the same time. So I guess now it's my turn to reinvent. To infinity, and beyond.
Till next time ---
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