Permanence

Twenty-four years ago today, my father passed away at 9:02 a.m.  I was 24 years old at the time, so he has been gone from my life for as long as he was in it which seems really weird.  Time passes so quickly.  Yet there are times when he is right here with me while I go about my everyday tasks.  A memory will come to mind.  A saying of his will make its way through my thoughts.  And it is like a part of him never really left me.  He was a person worthy of remembering.  A father whom I loved so very much.

Love heals our hearts.  Love transcends the things that bring us down and lifts us up.  Love, it appears, is permanent.  It is as stable and constant as my father was in life.  And it is what I feel today as I look out at the snowflakes gently falling from Heaven and swirling around like an embrace.  One from a loving father who is with me today as he was 24 years ago and he will be 24 years from now.  And I wonder how the love I'm sending back to him looks from where he is in Heaven.

The Long Goodbye

I will be moving on very soon.  After 14 months of unemployment, worry, calling, applying, interviewing, disappointment, stress and many sleepless nights, my husband has gotten a wonderful job offer from a very good company near Madison, Wisconsin.

More than 15 years ago, after my husband graduated from the University of Wisconsin - Madison, it was our dream to settle down around Madison, begin careers and start a family.  That dream wasn't meant to be at that time.  My husband found work here in the Twin Cities, and we built a life here along the beautiful St. Croix River in a sweet (if a bit small) little house.  Like anything else in life, there has been good and bad and in between, but mostly good.

And now we get a second chance at that dream of living in Madison.  Only this time we have two children to uproot from the only home they have ever known.  I am so conflicted.  There are days when tears are very near the surface and I can barely seem to manage the simplest of household chores.  There are other days when I keep thinking of getting a new (and bigger) house, and I can't help but get excited about it.

But there are a few memories of my house that I hold dear, and I can't help but replay them over and over in my head as I prepare to move on from the home I've had for 15 years.  I used to hold my tiny babies and dance with them in the wee morning hours in my living room.  During the holidays, I used to turn off all the lights and have only the Christmas tree lights on in that very same room.  I used to wake up at 5 am to shovel snow after a blizzard, and I would gaze in wonder at the snow covered trees around my house.  It is these quiet, beautiful moments that I will always keep close to my heart.

I don't know anyone who hates goodbyes as much as I do.  Lately, with every football game and apple orchard outing, I've been looking around trying to commit as much of it to memory as I can.  It hurts to know how very much I will miss my life here.  But what hurts even more is knowing that I will move on and forget much of the little things that made up the fabric of my days here in Hudson.  After awhile I won't remember them all.  I will pick up new threads and create a new life.  And while that is what I need to do now, it still makes me sad.

This last year has been a long journey.  But I am confident that the future holds good things for us.  Our heads and eyes are up, and we are moving forward.

Judgment Day

"When I tell them that I'm doing fine

Watching shadows on the wall

Don't you miss the big time, boy?

You're no longer on the ball."

Lyrics from "Watching the Wheels" by John Lennon

A couple of weeks ago I found myself in a job interview for the first time in 14 years. I had been sending out resumes for six months. I was finally contacted by a local placement firm. They had an open position for a Project Manager at a local company. The recruiter asked all the pertinent questions, and then she asked why I thought I could do the job after having not "worked" for the last four years. My inner Bitch Switch was instantly flipped. ("Hey, YOU contacted me" was the first thought in my head.) I gave her a standard line of BS about how I would be perfect for the job, and how she had to look no further than two of my past positions where I had worked for ten years and nine years to see that I was an excellent employee. She asked me to come to her office for another interview.

I went out and bought an interview suit. I polished my interview skills with my husband. I was ready. When I walked into the recruiter's office, I was a bit taken aback. It was in a very dumpy office building. Cardboard boxes lay on the floor. I glanced around mentally noting the numerous changes I would make if I worked there.

The recruiter was very young. She laughed inappropriately and constantly. Her radio was on during the entire interview, and she even turned it up at one point and explained, "I just love Billy Joel, don't you?" I resisted the urge to stand up and walk out. She seemed satisfied with my answers to a few very lame questions, and she scheduled me for an interview with her client company a couple days later.

I put the interview suit on again and made my way to the hiring company. After a short wait, a young man who is an Engineer at the company took me into a conference room. He was very young, and he looked just like the actor who plays Jasper in the "Twilight" movies, except he had shorter hair. He went into a detailed explanation about his position in the company, and I kept thinking "You look just like Jasper the vampire." He asked me about my work ethic, my computer experience, how quickly I catch on to new things, etc. Throughout the whole process, he looked entirely unimpressed with me, and to be honest, I was a bit surprised at his lack of interpersonal skills.

I was trying to figure out what he thought of my answers. I had the feeling the entire time that I was trying to get back on a bike that I hadn't ridden in a very long time, and I couldn't quite get my balance. I used to rock interviews. I knew what people wanted to hear, and I delivered. But during this interview, I kept wanting to jump out of my skin. I would hear myself answer a question, and it was almost as if I were listening to someone who wasn't me. I was on auto pilot.

A second Engineer joined us half way through the interview. He was friendly and a bit loud. He put his hands behind his head and leaned back in the chair all the while complaining about his 16-hour days. He really didn't look at me at first. He was much nicer and asked questions about my previous jobs. He would smile and nod, and we had a good exchange of information.

At the end of the interview, I asked them if they had any other questions for me, and the Second Engineer leaned back, put his hands behind his head and said, "So, what have you been doing for the past four years? I see you haven't been working." I was ready for the question. I explained how I had some personal essays published; I had tutored second graders in reading; I was on my Neighborhood Association Board, and that it was the right decision for my family to stay home, but now I'm ready to return to work. The Vampire Engineer narrowed his eyes a bit. The Second Engineer looked down at the table and leaned back further in his chair. He pressed his lips together, raised his eyebrows and dismissed my answer with something to the effect of "Well, okay then. I guess we're all done here" and they showed me out. The Vampire never looked back or said goodbye. The Second Engineer showed me to the door and walked away quickly.

As I expected, I got the phone call three days later that they would not be hiring me. When I asked the recruiter what the reason was, she said it was because I had not "worked" for the last four years. I let it go.

So, since I am in the habit of using this blog as an outlet for my emotional catharses, here goes:

In my role as a stay-at-home mother, I have supported two young children and a husband every single day. They always have clean clothes, prepared food, and just about anything else they could ever want or need.

I have held my children when they were screaming from vaccinations. I have held a small boy who was getting the open gash in his knee stitched by a doctor. I have slept upright in a chair while holding two sick, feverish kids the entire night.

I make sure the homework is done, the permission slips have been signed, the activity fees are paid, and the library books are returned. I have helped with every school project, chaperoned many a school outing, worked to put together and hold holiday classroom celebrations. I have baked for bake sales. I have signed-up and accompanied my children to a myriad of sports and extracurricular activities. I am the Mom on the sidelines that cheers her kids on loudly.

I have helped children learn to read when they were way behind their classmates because they transferred to our school from some crappy inner city school where they fell through the cracks. I have gotten into the face of a little girl with a tremendous chip on her shoulder and made her realize that she is too smart not to be able to read. I celebrated every little milestone with the kids I tutored. And I felt a "happy sad" when they no longer needed my help. I cried out of frustration when one little girl who was making a great deal of progress got taken from her home and sent to Iowa (after her mother was arrested for prostitution and dealing drugs from her apartment) and I knew I would never get to see or tutor her again. I pray every night that she has kept on reading and has found someone who would care about her and would teach her well.

I do mountains of laundry and dishes each week because I love my family, and I love being a wife and mother. So, if someone feels that the last four years of my life have been some sort of "Mom Vacation", they can kiss my a$$. I can only hope that I will have the opportunity to interview with and work for more enlightened people in the future.

"No one can make you feel inferior without your consent." Eleanor Roosevelt

There Once Was . . .

There once was a Daddy

Who had a daughter

He tossed her

And caught her

Sang to her

And swung her

He chased her

And hugged her

He taught her

He loved her

What a wonderful life he made for her

And though he is gone, he has never, ever left her

"I'll love you forever, Daddy."

From that daughter.

(In loving memory of my father who passed away 23 years ago today.)

I'll be Home for Christmas and in a Mental Hospital by New Years

Welcome to my messed up holiday season. Seriously. There has never been a Christmas that I can recall where everything has gone so terribly wrong.

It started out like every other year. Right after Halloween, I started buying gifts and making preparations. Then, suddenly, I was caught up in a tornado of orchestra concerts, choir concerts, classroom parties, my son's birthday party, etc., and found myself with two weeks until Christmas. Even then, I couldn't get my act together enough to completely decorate the house.

I knitted a lot of presents this year which was wonderful but very time consuming. I let the kids decorate the tree and my ornament box got completely messed up. There are very few things in life that I am completely obsessive about, and my ornament boxes are those very few things. Several ornaments went missing, and so did the rest of my holiday and my sanity.

In the middle of this winter of my discontent, I am mindful of the real reason for the season. I hold my loved ones close. I cherish the Christmas cards from my friends and family. I understand that it is not how many times we fall down in life, but how many times we get back up. Life goes on.

Perhaps the reason I go through periods like this is to make me appreciate the wonderful life I lead. And while I'll soon put away the Christmas gifts and decorations and regret that I didn't have my picture perfect holiday this year, I know that (God willing) I'll have another chance at it next year. Life goes on.

Until then, there will be so many things to look forward to: birthday celebrations, the other yearly holidays, a summer filled with baseball and softball, planting flowers, kids moving on to the next grade in school, football season, and all the ups and downs on that rollercoaster ride that is my life.

But in my basement, there will be boxes of ornaments just waiting . . .

Merry Christmas everyone.

Be Careful What You Wish For (For 37 Years)

I may have mentioned that I have a "bucket list", and I've had one before they were popular or even referred to as "bucket lists". I accomplished one of the things on my bucket list today.

My list is very prosaic compared to one of my friend's lists. She wants to do things like live in another country. I want to do things like learn to swim (which I tried - unsuccessfully - in my 20s); learn to skate backward (which I tried last year but have not quite perfected); learn to play piano; learn a foreign language; and I've always wanted to learn to ride a horse.

When I was a young girl, there was a neighbor girl who had been riding her horse (a beautiful white horse named Wendy) when a crop dusting plane spooked the horse and dragged and killed her. That incident gave my parents all the ammunition they needed to shoot down my requests for riding lessons.

Flash forward 37 years. I had mentioned to my husband that I had always wanted riding lessons. So, my darling husband bought the kids and I two lessons each at a local horse stable. I made the appointment for the first lessons, and the kids and I arrived at the horse arena this afternoon. I was so excited, I was almost giddy. I watched the lessons before us, and I was beside myself with excitement when it came our turn for lessons.

The kids had very gentle smaller young ponies. I had Nick. The trainer had pulled Nick into the arena just for me. He was not happy. He kept jerking his head back and forth. He refused the trainer's peppermint treats. He had a wild look in his eyes. By the grace of God, I was able to get him saddled and get on him just fine. The problem was that Nick refused to move when I would cluck and nudge him gently in his sides. He wanted to put his head down and make a "whinny" sound. I got him to walk around the arena. I worked on my posture, my place in the hunt saddle, the position of my feet and where I was looking. Nick did nothing but fight me the entire way. I tried to get him to trot. He trotted up to a mirror on the side of the arena and stopped and looked at himself. The second time I got him up to a trot, he started to take off, and I lurched forward before remembering that I had to sit back to keep my balance. I hated Nick. He kept trying to bend his head down to the ground, and I pulled back on the reins. That made him walk backward. I was so frustrated. I couldn't even get this horse to walk around the area without having problems.

At long last, the class was over, and I was able to get off Nick without any problems. The trainer helped my kids take their horses out of the arena, and I was supposed to stand in the arena with Nick. The minute the trainer was out of sight, Nick nudged me with his head. I tried to pet his head, and he almost knocked me over. I started to walk away from him, and he reached over and bit my shirt and pulled on it. I hated Nick even more.

Finally, my daughter came back in the arena and led Nick away. He followed her gently glancing back at me every once in awhile to give me a dirty look. Nick hated me right back.

We have one more lesson at the horse farm. I'm hoping to get any other horse but Nick. He should have been named Satan. I have to admire the intelligence of this horse though. He was able to see right through me and show me who has the upper hand. He stands way taller than me, and he weighs over 1,200 pounds. No doubt about it, he has the upper hand.

So, the moral of this story is not really "be careful what you wish for", but rather "try not to anticipate things so much". It's too easy to get disappointed. The other moral is that no one can make you feel inferior without your consent. Yet another moral is that there is almost always some SOB ready to stand between you and your dreams, and you have to learn to deal with them. I guess I got more out of these lessons than how to make a horse walk, stop and trot.

I know I have to get back in that arena and get back on that horse. I'm just hoping it's a different horse next time. If not, I'll be prepared this time.

Just Another Wednesday - a Tale of Rabid Raccoons and Cheetos

There is just no controlling the course of a typical day in the summer around our house. Most of the time, I feel like a cartoon that I once saw of a woman who was hanging onto something for dear life, and she was going so fast that the rest of her body was waving in the air like a flag. You just have to hang on and go with the flow around here.

Late in the afternoon last Wednesday, my son came in the house and announced that our neighbors across the street had a raccoon in their garage. Their teenage girls were getting it out of the garage with a baseball bat. I told my son not to go near the raccoon, and I didn't think anything else of it. About ten minutes later, I heard a commotion in my front yard. I opened the front door to see kids from all over the neighborhood all looking at a raccoon in my driveway.

In a great moment of insanity, the neighborhood kids (mine included) decided that the raccoon looked like he needed something to eat. Someone had strewn Cheetos all over my driveway, and there in the middle of the onlookers, surrounded by Cheetos was Mr. Raccoon.

I noticed something odd immediately. The raccoon was off balance when he would try walking. He would walk toward the kids, who would immediately run away. He sat and looked at me, and white foam was dripping from his jaw. I told the kids to immediately get away and stop feeding it and that it was rabid. The kids just stood there transfixed and not moving. I got the phone and dialed the non-emergency police number for our city. I explained the situation to the dispatcher and was told that I would receive a call back and to stay put. About four minutes later, an officer called. Again, I explained that I was staring at what I believed to be a rabid raccoon who had now sat himself down right in front of the door to my van in my driveway and was staring at the Cheetos. The officer explained that if he came by, the raccoon would likely run away. He couldn't shoot it in the residential neighborhood. And he asked me if my husband had traps or a bow and arrow. I inquired about animal control, and was told that we had no one in charge of animal control, only a small humane society. I explained that I wasn't looking for anyone to adopt the rabid raccoon in large part because it was a danger to a great many children in the area. He laughed.

Seriously.

This was annoying. The small town I grew up in in Central Wisconsin had animal control. Men would come with poles that had nooses on the ends and they would dispose of unwanted critters in cages. No one was ever hurt to my knowledge. You called them and they did their job.

I reiterated to the officer that I was standing in my driveway surrounded by children and across the street from a city park with even more children, and we were in close proximity to a rabid raccoon. I thought surely that would prompt him to get his rear over here and deal with this problem.

He proceeded to tell me how I could buy a trap at Fleet Farm. Then I got annoyed. Through gritted teeth, I explained how I would not be buying a trap. We did not have a bow and arrow. We live in a city, and there is a rabid raccoon in my driveway. The guy was cavalier. He was joking. I hung up on him.

The neighbor across the street came home, got out of his car and assessed the situation. I was standing there with the phone, the kids were standing around with sticks, and there was the raccoon still surrounded by Cheetos. I saw the neighbor blink. He said, "Hey you kids, you should get away from that raccoon." I looked at him and said, "It's foaming at the mouth. It's rabid." He walked in his house. I stayed, surrounded by kids who weren't listening, and no one on the way.

My husband was home. We were getting ready for our son's baseball game. We arranged to have the neighbor across the street take our son along with his own son to the game while we dealt with the raccoon.

What happened next is the stuff that great slapstick comedy is made of. Our daughter became upset and was crying and screaming about the raccoon. The other kids left because it ceased being fun when the raccoon wouldn't eat the Cheetos, I guess. We had to get the raccoon out of our yard. My husband made noise and it would waddle around and try and walk toward him. I was in the yard, and it tried to walk toward me. My hub managed to get in my van and honk the horn, and the raccoon went around to the back of our house. It waddled around while I picked up all the Cheetos that were left in the driveway. I went inside our house and accidentally locked my husband outside with the rabid raccoon. He didn't appreciate that.

I decided I had to contact the neighbors. The next-door neighbors weren't home, so I called and left them a message to keep their kids inside. I called the neighbor in the back, and he got his grandsons in his house. Our other neighbor drove up, and my husband explained the situation. We went to leave for the baseball game, and the raccoon was lying in the middle of the road in front of the park. I told some mothers with small children about it. Then I left for the game. I looked, and I saw Mr. Raccoon heading through my back yard into another neighbor's yard, and then he was gone.

For a split second, I thought about trying to run it over with my van. With my luck, no city workers would come to clean up what would surely be a horrible mess, and I really didn't know if I could kill this poor creature - rabid or not.

The raccoon was the topic of conversation at the ball game that night. The next day, the neighbor in back called and explained how the police had finally come by and shot it twice. Goodnight Mr. Raccoon. My neighbors had received my phone messages about the rabid raccoon and confessed to me that they thought I must have been drinking. Funny stuff.

I feel that I brought this excitement on myself. I believe that you find what you are looking for in the universe. Just that morning, I had been wandering around the grocery store, in the meat department, listening to The Commodores over the store's music system. And suddenly, I felt so blue. It seems like I am always wandering around the grocery store listening to a Commodores song. Aimless and blue. So, I wished for some excitement. Stupid me.

And just as the saying goes, "There's an app for that". There is a Beatles' song for this situation. I'll leave you now with the song "Rocky Raccoon" performed by Jack Johnson. Jack Johnson's music is very soothing which must be why I love him so much.

And, Mr. Raccoon, I'm sorry that your last days were so rotten. Rabies doesn't look like fun. At least you don't have to put up with those kids anymore. And wherever you are now, I hope the food is better than Cheetos. Peace.