I am weighing my personal value. It weighs less each day. Unlike my girth which seems to grow uglier and rounder by the day. I left my job. I walked away from my career which had fizzled down to a pitiful job as a desk jockey. Sure, I did the right thing. Sure, it was going to make my health better. Sure, it was going to sooth my wounded soul. Right. Sure. Really? So I spend a summer rattling around my house. I managed to paint one small cupboard and put new door pulls on it. What a marvelous, spectacular remodel project! I cleaned the bathrooms. I never did transplant the lilies. I never got around to moving the peonies from that too shady spot. I did not get around to starting that short story that is rattling around in my head. Oh wait, yes I did start it. Then I deleted it because it sounded incredibly pedantic. I put on my elastic waistband pants and got ready to be a substitute teacher. I compiled supplies to take with me on my sub jobs. I read materials about sub survival. I got my licenses up to date, set my preferences in the substitute software module. And when the job finally came to me, I turned it down. I screwed up my courage and did finally take a day's work and nearly threw up in the morning. As I drove to the school my hands were clammy. I was afraid to do this. But I went into the building after several serious moments thinking I'd just turn around and go home. I survived the day. I probably did OK. I don't know. I will only know if I blew it -- if the teacher requests that I never sub in her class again. Haven't heard that... hope that won't happen. I need structure and order. I need to know what I'm going to be doing each day. This waiting to hear my laptop go BING! to let me know there is a job I can take a look at accepting is crazy. I need to make a living. So I have put in applications at the university and more applications at the school system. But will I even get an interview? I have become a sorry sad sack. I am feeling pitiful. It is horrible to feel this way. It is stupid and self serving and useless. Useless I say. Useless. that's how I feel. I clean the litter box, do the dishes, put out the trash. Check emails, do some correspondence. Wind down some of my volunteer stuff. I made a short speech in front of a full auditorium - and I managed to get laughs in the places I intended. That was great. That felt great. I met my daughter's teachers and really enjoyed the evening going from class to class. Her media literacy class looks like a gas. I wish I could sit in on that one... Being in the school makes me happy. So, I have to find myself a niche - and figure out a way to get a paying gig in the school system. Subbing is going to send me over the edge. Somebody give me a classroom!! Or a clerical job... You have no idea how good I can be... hope no one reads this. it is pitiful. but it's no longer inside me and that's what counts. Better out than in.

I dodged the boulder. It went rolling past me. I gathered up my backbone, and thumped the papers on my boss's desk and resigned. Of course, that was over 2 months ago. Only in the last two weeks have I begun to experience freedom. What I can't quite escape is the feeling that I need to check in with (former) customers to see if "we" did their projects correctly. I can't imagine that those projects went at all well... but I can do nothing about it - and it is not my problem anymore. Still and all... I left them without saying anything. I just disappeared. Which was what I was told to do. Now, if I contact these people it could be construed as violating a non-compete clause. (mistype it as non-complete cause - starts to become poetry)

So the next step is... find that lost aspect of myself. Begin to enjoy my brain and find my creative soul again. I have spent too many years plodding along. I am dulled. I am witless. But I see glimmers of my former self. I am beginning to let me shine through again. I can immerse myself in "Lear," or Ginsberg's poetry. I can read. I can think.

This just might be a really good time!

Enough Already

On Wednesday I had conversations in my head all the way to the office. Who would I speak to, and what would I say to them? "sorry, boss, can't take any more. I quit." What actually happened was a blur. Something snapped and I pounded past HR's office. He asked me if I needed anything. Asked if I wanted to give him those reports or papers or whatever was in my hand. I swerved into his office and said "the only thing I'm going to give you is my resignation!!" and I burst into tears. That was professional.

I sat in that office, and put it all on the table. That was it. I am done. I resign. I am giving notice. I really had not planned to go this way. I wanted to be professional. Instead I was a blubbering fool. Note: if you are in HR, you should always have a box of kleenex in your office.

Has anyone figured out how to get out of the way when the boulder is coming straight at your head? Sure, you can duck - but it's a heat seaking device that will track you down no matter how hard you to try to hide. That is how I feel right now. The phrase that is the chant in my head is: it keeps coming and it keeps coming and coming and won't ever stop. There isn't time for anything. I don't have time to clean my house - everyone wants me to do something for them. And when I fall short, I appear incompetent or lazy or indifferent. My professional life has moved from being a decision maker working in an office to a bruised and exhausted grunt worker stuck in the very last cubicle in the office. The very last. walled off from everyone. Right next to the humming server room and the door the garage - which is, apparently, my new domain. No, there is no statement there. I don't believe the management has the intellect to understand what they've done to me. They didn't understand or right their ship when my husband walked off the job. They didn't make any changes when another employee did the very same thing.
Am I really incompetent? Am I really unable to get the work done? I have so many doubts. The straws are adding up. My back will soon break and I will bolt too. I was scolded for not doing my job quickly enough by the 21 year old receptionist. I am humiliated. Still... I am the one meeting the clients and writing their quotes. I am the one smoothing over the ruffled feathers of the customer who are interrogated and treated so rudely by that very 21-year-old receptionist.
I would like to scream. I would like to break something. With each sentence I write I realize I have forgotten that I need to do something else.... tickets for the next weekend's show, write to the director to excuse my daughter, decorate for a reception, work on the photo book, finish my taxes, get the cruise info ready for daughter, pay the bills, balance the check book, vacuum? hahahahah. Then there is monday... three meetings, my good friend has asked to meet for coffee (and I don't have time!), the purchase reports need to be done, the warehouse needs to be cleared up, the mess in my (very last) cubicle needs to be cleared up, tickets need to be finished, customers called back, quotes written, schedules minded.
the very most telling remark made about me was accidental. James came to give me a phone call. I said - "NO! enough already!" Later when I apologized to him for being snarky he replied that he didn't think I was mad - just being sarcastic - and that he really didn't think I had any limits.
I have about reached my limit. I can't continue this path. I have never felt like this before in my life.
Oh yeah, and the other thing on Monday - the doctor's appointment at 5pm to check on why my blood pressure can't seem to be put under control.
Any guesses?

Turning Corners.

I keep talking about turning corners. I have been using this metaphor for many months now. And my hope is that sometime very soon, I will have finished with it. At least until the next major milestone occurs in life.

The good new is - my husband and business partner feels as though he has turned that corner too. My hope is that we will be happier. My hope is we will sleep better. My hope is that we will be friendlier to each other.

Reading what I last wrote in the blog I see that much time has passed and a great deal has happened. The great deal...maybe not such a "great" deal, but a deal for sure. We sold the business. We managed to negotiate a plan to keep our company operating, and continue to have jobs. We lost our bookkeeper of 22 years, who just happens to be my sister in law. That was the hardest blow. It seemed so unfair. It was unfair. But, in business, fair or nice doesn't have an item line in the balance sheet. So, I have taken on a new position at the new place. My first month there was really tough. Odd because, for the most part, the people are very nice. My sense is that the new place is attempting a growth cycle that is not allowing for good structure or training. Most of us are feeling like we're only ever getting half the information we need to follow the processes dictated by the management team. I had my tantrums. I walked out a few times. And my husband has yet to really engage with the new team. I feel, though, that I turned a corner in the last week, and have come to a better understanding of my self and what is expected of me. I still get contradictory instructions from management. I imagine we always will. So, we find middle ground in there... and do the best we can. Probably the best thing that has happened to me in this process is that I found a bit of my own back bone. I put my foot down and told them that I was no longer the go-between for them and Dave. If they want something from him, they're going to have to ask for themselves. I just can not do it any more. I have my own feelings and responsibilities to handle. I am sure it will take some time to fully realize that plan. But we have started in the right direction.

I find that I had it very easy for the last 27 years.... I never worked as hard as this crew works. Perhaps that is why we, ultimately, didn't make it.

But something I need to keep in perspective: while I raised my children I had great freedom to come and go at will. Both my girls are fairly autonomous now - and they don't need me to the same degree as they did growing up. So, really, I am lucky to have had that time - those many years of great freedom. I guess now it's time to pay for it.

Every day I think about sitting here and pouring out feelings. I might start a sentence...but then I read how puny my thoughts are. I think about what goes on with me in comparison to the bigger picture out there. And, really - can I be serious that I am upset about anything? My house was not flooded into oblivion, my shores are not oiled, my business, though it suffers from recession, has options. I don't have cancer. My children are smart, funny, beautiful, and healthy. I have a marriage that lasts.

I have a great life. Let's face it. Here's one reason why:

Last night I met up with a crazy bunch of Iowa City friends. We met at George's to have a chance to say hello to a friend who is in town for a short time. She and her family live in China. So, yeah, it was kind of a big deal. We all gathered and kibbutzed while waiting for our friend. She ambled in relatively quietly - which was funny because everyone was watching for the doors for her entrance. Each time someone would walk in we'd all be ready to jump up and say hello. And time after time it was someone else who entered. Finally she strolled in. She caught the eye of one friend and was surprised. Then she caught the eye of one after another of us - and the look on her face was priceless. I think it must be a fabulous feeling to know that, after many many years, there is a CROWD of folks who have fond memories and can't wait to make more with you. We drank a few toasts. I looked around the room and recalled days so long ago when all of us were either waiting tables, tending bar, cooking, or washing dishes. And look at us all now -- some are retired from "real" jobs, and all are real live, full fledged grown ups with lives and families. We chatted about our children (flying off to Italy for soccer camp... finishing college..) and home grown raspberries made into syrup for ice cream. We mourned our own parents recently passed. We made fun of each other. We borrowed each others reading glasses because none of us can see anything anymore!

I have to smile. It is required.

Life gives us signs.

I came home tonight having spent an hour or so talking with Dave about what on earth will we do with this business. We have options. We can sell it. We can take new jobs with the buyer. We can go live in a cardboard box. (maybe slight exaggeration). As we talked over a beer and 3 whiskeys we came to a (possibly temporary) conclusion that we really are not willing to roll over and let someone else dictate the rest of our professional lives. We may change our minds tomorrow, or when we see what the other offer might entail.

But then we got home. There was a big yellow envelope - return address was my mom. I quickly opened it - and there was one small note, " With love, mom." And there was a picture of my dad. A beautiful picture of this beautiful man. Casually leaning on the rail of the porch of the beach house we rented in the Outer Banks of North Carolina. A glass of wine in his hand, and that famous impish smile across his face.

I dissolved into tears. This gift from my mother is so very amazing on so many levels. One: my mom loves me and wants me to know that she and my dad are very proud of my endeavors as an entrepreneur - even during these hard times. Two: she loves me and wants me to call her - as I have been very distant recently due to my business problems. Sending this picture would break down my wall - crumble it into a bleary eyed mess. Three: I needed to be broken down a little so I can see more of the bigger picture. Four: I need to remember where I come from and that "you can't fail if you don't try." (something my dad used to say a lot).

This moment made that terrible grief wash over me again: I miss my dad so very much. He died on November 8, 2009. So I type and I weep.

And I think I may need to rethink my retreat. I may need to continue to move forward. With Dad here egging me on - what else can I do?

I began several sentences this morning. All of them were in a passive tense. I immediately deleted them. I have several ideas swirling around in my head. I have had an idea for a story bouncing around for a few years. Time to start putting it together. I have been away from creativity for a very, very (very) long time. I do not know where to start. I found myself starting sentences in a passive tense - which I thought was an interesting bit of subconscious behavior.

I will interject here: I've not been away from creativity. I experience creativity vicariously through my children and husband. I thought that was enough. I always claim, "I drive the car and write the checks." So I sing quietly in the shower or just enough to remind someone what the lyrics are to the song they're trying to remember. I write a nice turn of phrase and create a slogan for my company. I volunteer for everything.

Clearly, this is no longer enough to satisfy me. I have to turn inward and grab hold of what might be left of my creative drive. Time to pull it out of mothballs (see - how old is that image?? I may be suffering creative atrophy!)

I thought I could begin writing again if I gave myself a clear focus. Trouble is: I am having a helluva time deciding where to aim the lens. Plenty of things upon which to focus.

Something that strikes me as very funny. When I last thought about writing for creative ends, I was writing pen on paper or on a small, portable, electric typewriter. There was no "delete" key. In this post this morning I have deleted far more than I've left on this page. No evidence left of my stumbling. No more filling up the wastebasket with crumpled paper. I am a green writer. Yes, there are two ways to read that sentence.

stay tuned.

Ladies in Lavender (2004) stars Judi Dench and Maggie Smith, along with Daniel Buhl. Adapted from a short story by William J Locke, written for the screen and directed by Charles Dance, this quiet near-fairy tale takes place at the English seaside during the 30's. I confess, I have not read the short story. I did need to figure out the title - as the women never wore lavender during the film. (I often look for the overtly obvious and when I don't find it, I start searching for answers)

The ladies are sisters, growing old together in Cornish. Their sweet and idyllic lives are interrupted when a beautiful young man washes up on the coast. They take on the task of nursing him back to health. Janet, the older sister (Maggie Smith) is the pragmatist. Ursula (Judi Dench) is ruddy faced, youthful and naive. Their names alone help depict their personalities.

The film employs the standard cast of small village characters you see in most all period pieces set in European countrysides. Fishermen and old men who sit by the roadside and murmur commentary. Great and not so handsome women who cook and clean and also murmur commentary. Listen closely: the banter is colloquial and at times hard to understand for us American types.

The color palette for this film is soft, and feels filtered like a Sisley (English impressionist) painting. The interiors are full of fabulous details -- wonderful to notice if you like those kinds of ancient European homes (the stove and the drying rack that lift up over it must be hundreds of years old).

(Alfred Sisley -Bridge at Villeneuve -a -Garenne, 1872)

Ursula spends part of each day standing on her widow's walk, watching the sea. I think if I lived near the seaside, I would build one of these pulpits to stand and watch for miracles.

There are many wonderful humorous moments. The sisters' housekeeper, Dorcas (yes, Dorcas) shops for special fish and creates a pie - with tails and heads popping out of the crust - that appears to be a favorite dish. English culinary delights. Ew. And porridge seems to figure greatly.

This is a story about love without being a love story. It steps close to breaking your heart, but pulls back just in time. It offers a little intrigue that simmers but never boils over. It is satisfying even though it does not have a fairy tale ending.

And the lavender? - Turns out, that lavender was often used to keep belongings fresh over the years when stowed away.

Good morning. This is my first blog. I will start with a confession: I tend not to read blogs. The blogosphere has made everyone who can type and figure out how to set up a blog account a published writer. Let's face it: just because I have an idea and I know how to type does not mean I'm a writer. Same goes for you.

I am 52 years old. I am in the midst of various mid life crises. I need an outlet. So, this morning, I set up my first blog account. Yea, I am now a published writer.

I would like for this blog to maintain a theme. So, for the time being, those of you who come to read this blog will read about movies. Perhaps I should say "Films." I am obviously qualified to write film reviews as I took that one film class in the French department at Miami University back in 1978. It was an awesome class. Other qualification: in my household we have an ongoing competition. If you walk into the room and a movie is playing on the TV you are obligated to Name That Film in 4 Seconds. Many of our family members can do this. I, of course, maintain superiority. I have even impressed my teenage daughters' friends on occasion.

I have set up my blog space. I have created a theme. I have spelled out my qualifications for this particular vocation I seek to try out. I think that is a tremendously productive morning.

Stay tuned.