Free No More

Go West Young Man

2009-06-24T22:13:00.090-04:00

The journey of 2,200 miles starts with

a really cool car, of course, but wait. This was at the END of the trip. Back up, jack.

ROAD TRIP!!!
Is that a really big McDonald's?

Wind farms and buffalo and semi's and what could be more road trip than that.

A rest stop near Tulsa.

A layover in Albuquerque.

My BFF...Oreo.

Chillin' with the O-man

Some caves in Sante Fe.

My peeps

Back on the road....

you don't see this in OHIO....

Relief in AZ

A windfarm in Sedona

Left behind
in a Super 8 in Flagstaff...or was it a Motel 6?

A big hole somewhere... el hole' de grande!
Amazing.

Breathtaking.

Raw simple beauty.

I'm all three rolled into one.

Seriously. It was a BIG hole.

This is the Hoover Dam, so we must be close to....

Vegas, babaay!

Ready for the strip - in my American Apparel t-shirt.

No i'm not kidding.

What a town...

Whoa...

clowns scare me.

Is the car on fire?

Need ... to... go... home...

The day after...

...and fit as a fiddle at Red Rock

with smiley.

Go west young man

Murphy

2009-06-02T21:15:00.005-04:00

OK...so it's been awhile. I seriously do not know where the time goes. Do you find yourself saying the same thing? All I know is that when you get a puppy, it's kind of (only kind of) like having a new baby in the house. Days kind of blur together in a series of repetitive events....get up, go outside, come in for cheerio treat, play, chew, eat, go outside, cheerio treat, sleep, play, drink, chew, go outside, oops! an accident, go outside again, play, chew, bite, ouch! sleep, play...okay so you get the picture.

We have really fallen for the little guy. He was 1 pound 10 oz when we brought him home , and now he is a whopping 3 pounds 7 oz. He has loads of personality, and he is quite precocious. (I remember working in a bookstore for kids, and just about every grandparent, parent, aunt and uncle was buying books for a "precocious" child. It's amazing how many of them there are running around out there.) And so it is with pets, too.

For your viewing enjoyment, here are a few photos of the little pup. We are preparing to take off for a trip out west - 2,000 miles to Vegas, baby (with Murphy in tow). More to come.

Coming home....it's kind of hard to tell them apart, but Puppy Dog was with him on the ride home and has since become his best buddy.

Murphy vs. the Flip Flop.

The flip flop won this time.....

Spring

2009-03-22T08:21:00.005-04:00

It has sprung around here - the beautiful sun filled sky, the warm breeze coming through the window screen, the 32 degree nights, the frost in the morning, the bags of mulch that have replaced the bags of salt at the corner gas stations - all these things reassure me that nicer weather is around the corner.

And with that, a whole list of things to do. Because our yard (as I've already mentioned) is hard as cement, my dream - my gardening vision if you will - is to create a container garden that defines all others. It will be full of....containers. And in these containers will be container plants - herbs, flowers, tall grasses, a small tree or bush perhaps? This garden will transform my wide open un-private, sun beaten deck into a garden oasis. Life sustaining vegetables will abound right outside my door; humming birds and butterflies will flock to feed on the nectar filled flowers cascading out of the many.... containers that adorn my private sanctuary.

So the blog muse has been absent in my life for the past several weeks. Perhaps I will now start to document a bit of what's going on around me. And this project may be a good start.

Step One: Buy Some Containers.

P.S. We visited this little guy yesterday - and plan to bring him home in about two weeks. He is more the size of a small hamster at this point - and will not grow to be much bigger than 8 pounds. I've never had such a small dog before but along with warmer weather, spring also tends to bring new love - love that defies the odds. So, here we go again.

Tuffers (part two)

2009-02-24T20:59:00.006-05:00

For years I have noticed a small sign on a road I've frequently traveled that reads: Pines Pet Cemetery. Like something out of a Stephen King novel, it has always conjured up rather dark, unsettling thoughts.

After Tuffy died, I called my vet to find out where I could take him. We live in a subdivision, and it would not go unnoticed if I began digging a grave for my dog in the middle of the day, let alone the fact that the ground around here is like cement. They said I could bring him to their office or take him directly to a place called "The Pines Pet Cemetery."

"I know right where that is." I replied.

So, we wrapped Tuffy up, placed him on his pillow in the car and took him for his last ride. (He used to love holding his head out the window, smelling all the smells dogs like to smell.) Since I had called for more information prior to, I knew the sign had toppled in a recent storm and was no longer there to mark the way. I was told to "turn left just past Hidden Valley Fruit Farm." And so we did, and followed a long winding farm lane. When we got to the second house on the left, we turned in.

As we drove up the driveway, the cemetery came into view - and I was stunned at how absolutely beautiful it was. It was a country pasture landscaped with trees, walking paths, several beautiful grave stones, a memorial wall, a statue of a horse, and other assorted sculpted memorials throughout the grounds. Several flower arrangements marked the flat grave stones. It was so peaceful . . . and completely unexpected.

We walked into the office and were greeted by a woman who took our information. I asked how long the cemetery had been there and she said since the 1960's. She listed several options - a full burial with plot and coffin (not exactly for us), a country burial where dozens of animals are buried together (granted, Tuffy would not have known the difference, but it just didn't sit right with me), or cremation (yes).

Then the dreaded moment came. "Should we bring him in?" I asked.

And so I carried him into the office and held tight. The woman asked if I wanted to sit with him in a room for awhile. "No," I said. I hugged and kissed him, started sobbing and handed him over to her. I looked away as John patted Tuffy one last time, and when I looked back, I could see that she was crying, too. I knew then that I had taken him to the right place.

We will pick up Tuffy's ashes and bury them in our garden come spring, and most likely mark his spot with a flowering plant or tree. I'm sure it will be some time before I stop looking around for him, or want to yell out his name - just because. But it's already getting better.

While difficult, this simple ritual at a pet cemetery helped me to say goodbye.

Tuffers

2009-02-20T09:29:00.006-05:00

A little piece of my heart broke this morning - and for those of you who have had a faithful furry companion love you unconditionally over the years, I'm sure you can relate.

We brought Tuffy home almost 14 years ago. I remember the day as if it were yesterday. He was the cutest in the bunch - and we knew he was our pup immediately. He was able to carry a tennis ball in his tiny little mouth, and was ready to play from the get go. We drove him home - and he sat in my mom's lap the whole way. He was part of our family during such formative years - and I believe I'm mourning the passing of those in some way - as much as I am him.

He is along side of Ryan in just about every single first day of school picture, he's nestled between us in holiday photos, and looking too cute in photos of just him (see profile) and posing with his other dog buddies. He never knew a stranger....and when he went out on his adventures (unbeknownst to us) he always made new friends. He was there for me when I was going through some pretty rough times....always willing to lick my tears away. He loved Ryan, but was always quick to let him know that in spite of his small size, HE was the alpha dog.

I take some small comfort in the fact that I was home alongside him, petting him as he took his final breaths, trying to give some measure of reassurance that this was supposed to be.

But it's still a tough day to be sure. And I will miss him.

The Kindness

2009-01-29T20:01:00.004-05:00

Growing up in the 60's, I remember how easy it was to trust complete strangers. We never locked our doors (or windows), hitchhikers were common place, and door to door salespeople - complete strangers! - entered our house without a second thought (and Carol Jean still has a set of World Book Encyclopedias to prove it.) And neighbors were neighborly back then - at least in our neighborhood they were. It wasn't without its drawbacks, mind you. If you liked even the least bit of privacy, you were out of luck.

At that time, Carol Jean was raising me on her own while most of her immediate family lived about eight hours away. We would make that trek a few times a year - mostly on holidays - and I always remember sitting in the backseat (no seatbelt back in those days) jumping up and down, asking "Are we there yet? Are we there yet?" and then settling back down as day gave way to night - laying across the back seat, looking up at the stars through the rear window, feeling the steady vibrating hum of the tires just below me. I used to love falling asleep to that. And still do, when I can relax long enough to let go of being a backseat driver (doesn't happen too much, let me tell ya). But I'm getting off track here a bit.

Carol Jean always had a thing for truck drivers - not a "thing" thing, but a thing. They helped pass the time on those long drives. Most of the roads we traveled back then were two lanes, so there was lots of passing going on. She would pass a trucker, then he would pass her. Then she would pass him again, then he would pass her. And on it went for miles. On one particular night, she had "befriended" a particular truck driver via this passing game - and because she had something of a lead foot (and still does!) she must have left him in the dust hours into the drive. For some reason, she had to pull off on the side of the road - I can't exactly remember why - perhaps just to stretch or get me situated. Sure enough, the trucker she passed miles back came upon her stopped car - and instead of racing past, he slowed down his rig and pulled off the road to a complete stop - just to check on Carol Jean to make sure she was okay. (I suppose he noticed she had a youngin' in the back, too).

When the 70's came - they seemed to usher in a decade of "stranger fear." I remember hearing about razor blades in Halloween candy, and creepy strangers hanging out in play grounds, and abductions and hitchhikers being picked up and left for dead somewhere. And it hasn't let up. The fear we have of each other seems to be almost paralyzing at times.

Carol Jean called me tonight with a story. She was in her den watching television when the house suddenly felt cold. She soon figured out why when she got up and discovered that the door leading to her garage was open (as was the actual garage door). And, knowing what that meant, she got on her coat and boots and went out in search of her dog, Daisy Mae - a.k.a. the "she devil."

She started down the sidewalk and, sure enough, there was Daisy a few houses down having a chat with the dogs who resided there. As my mom went up their driveway, her feet gave way, and she slipped on the ice, fell flat on her back, and smacked her head down on the hard ice. She laid there - a bit dizzy - unable to get up. A neighbor boy saw her and came racing down on his motorized tractor. A man across the street who was picking the ice off his windshield also saw her and rushed over. Between the two of them, they picked her up. The ice man took her - in his car - to her house. And the young man hoisted Daisy onto his tractor and drove her home, too. They took my mom into her house, got her settled on the couch and made sure she hadn't broken any bones. Thankfully, she didn't. But she had a mighty big knot on the back of her head. Once they were sure she was okay, they left.

An hour later, the neighbor boy came back with a man my mom had never met - must have been his father. He came in and checked out my mom and asked her a battery of questions - was she nauseous? Did she have double vision? (He must have been an EMT, Carol Jean said.) He wanted to make sure she didn't need to go to the hospital.

Tonight, Carol Jean feels very lucky to live in a neighborhood of neighborly neighbors. And I am so glad that there are people watching over her when I cannot. This isn't the first time my mom has received the kindness of strangers - and she has extended the same in her life many times over. It just makes me realize that should I do a good deed for a stranger, it's not really for a stranger, it's for someone's mom or dad or brother or sister. And someone just like me will be happy that I was there.

Instinct

2009-01-12T19:58:00.002-05:00

The hullabahloo of the holidays is behind me, and I am left with a blur of memories, a few more pounds, a messy house, and .... my most favoritist gift of all, ever!!!!! (well, other than the heartwarming moments spent with family and friends, that is).

OK. So the truth is, I'm a gadget guru. Always have been. It may have started when I got two Panasonic donut radios for Christmas when I was in the fifth grade. Or perhaps when Carol Jean purchased a Fisher stereo receiver with separate turntable and kicka__ speakers! (I know they're to blame for my post 40 hearing loss.) Seriously. No one else in my inner circle had an ala carte stereo system at the time - one that played FM stations no less. (Because who even listened to FM stations back then? Well, we did.)

We also got a microwave soon after they were released, and of course when I studied in Europe, I just had to have a Walkman (actually it was some European brand knockoff with a hideous brown Naugahyde case and it weighed about ten pounds, but still - it had relatively small headphones!) And when I went off on my own I invested in a CD player (my very smart cousin Scott said they'd never catch on...HA!), a VCR, a video camera when Ry was born, soon followed by an old school Mac, a Palm Pilot (or two), several IPods (including a video model), a digital movie camera, a DVR cable box, wireless networking, high speed router, a Kitchen Aid mixer ... so you get the picture, right?

Well, all this gadget guru-ness somehow passed me by when it came to my cell phone selection. In fact, I've only had two cell phones in ten years. My most recent was a flip up, gorgeous blue, with speaker phone ability, but I did have to manually extend the antenna - to the snickers of a few of my previous co-workers (you know who you are....LAURA!) .... but it got the job done.

So get to the point already.... right? Well, one of Ryan's most coveted items on his holiday list was a new cell phone - the Samsung Instinct. So I wandered unsuspectingly into the Sprint store with him (and Grandma in tow as she was the official gift giver of phone) over the holidays. I was totally minding my own business when he showed me "the phone"..... I looked at it....and that was it. I was in love. (To those who know me, it was kinda like when I locked eyes with Fabio years ago at the bookstore when he was signing...who cares what he was signing? He could have signed a banana peel - - but that's another post).

Seriously. The Samsung Instinct. Have you seen this phone? It's definitely inspired by the IPhone, yet it has its own distinct personality. It has a touch screen for starters. It's sleek, small, black and shiny. Yet it has weight and it vibrates in the coolest way as it performs its functions (unless you turn that part off).

Do you want to know what I can do with this phone? No? Too bad. I can text. I can give it voice commands. I can say Chinese food and it pulls up every Chinese restaurant in my neighborhood and beyond, and it will give me directions to all of them. I can ask it to "call home" "call Mom" "call John" "call Ryan" "call Anyone Who Will Answer!" and it politely asks me to confirm each time: "Did you say, call home?" "Yes! Yes I did!" And it does.

It takes pictures. And sends pictures. And takes video. And plays music. I can watch TV on it. I can listen to online radio on it. I can surf the web and check my e-mail (both home and work accounts!). At the touch of a button I can see what the weather is like in Springboro, Cincinnati, Las Vegas, Iowa, Detroit! I can even see the weather radar! It has GPS, so it can take me from here to wherever I want to go, no questions asked!! I'm FREE! Well, it probably asks me to confirm where I want to go, but no matter. About the only thing is doesn't do is the dishes!

Oh wait, I just didn't have that function turned on.

Anyway, it's amazing, and I feel amazing carrying it. No antenna to whip up anymore....and no snickers. Just looks of awe from my fellow gadget gurus.

With apologies, Clement

2008-12-24T15:05:00.003-05:00

It’s the night before Christmas, and all through our house,
We’re doing pretty much nothing – just lazing around (but don’t get me started on yesterday! I made a sweet potato casserole, scalloped potatoes, a four-bean salad, a batch of chocolate Chex candy mix, bought stocking stuffers, finished holiday shopping, wrapped presents, prepared a grocery list, and washed tons of dishes…)

The stockings are hanging at my mom’s with care
And we’ll soon be making our annual trip there (on Christmas eve, that is…we really go there about every Sunday, because as Ryan always likes to remind me, if it weren’t for Grandma, he would have never gotten a home cooked meal while he was growing up)
Where we open the stuffers; giggle, ooh and ahhh over the typical fare…
I usually get socks, candy and something pretty to wear,
And John gets Chapstick, Pepto Bismol (and some odd car or household gadget that sits in the garage for a year)
Ryan gets cash, a pair of undershorts or two, a gas card, a bag of Sour Patch Kids and a book card for school

While we eat dinner, the doggies are nestled all snug on their faux lamb skin beds,
And visions of Dentabones dance around in their heads
(Btw, today was especially good for Tuffy, because he got leftover scrambled eggs…which is his favorite. He always knows when we make eggs, and he stands and barks at us until we give him some.)

We’ll then head back home and prepare for our nap,
And won’t wake all night - in spite of the clatter…
We’ll know it’s just Santa, trying to do his job well
So we’ll leave him some cookies and treats for his elves
Of course the reindeer will be hungry, so we’ll leave them some kibble
And be grateful for anything Santa decides to leave on our table…
(Or under the tree, but that didn’t really rhyme too well - but when you think about it, table and kibble? Writing poetry is hard work!)

We’ll awake in the morning, take our showers n' get dressed
And sit with each other knowing that we are blessed.
With good family and friends and health and good will
And a few holiday meals where we’ll eat more than our fill

We’ll think about the year behind us,
And the year that lies ahead,
Look at our son, our parents and sigh -
Totally amazed at just how quickly time really does fly…

And how important it is
For us to enjoy every minute…
Because life is for living; time is not for wasting, and
Love is something to cherish and share in our life
And with everyone in it –

So Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays, and Happy New Years, too -
I truly hope that 2009 will be very special for you.

Sugar Cookie

2008-12-01T16:24:00.004-05:00

It's that time of year - the sky darkens before dinner, wet rain turned snow begins to blow horizontally past my window, and Tuffy thinks twice before heading out the door. About now, I want to grab my pink blanket (which I've had for longer than I care to admit), hunker down on the couch (4th grade) and read a good book.

But, thankfully, this time of year also brings (it's a two tone pink, by the way) my Aunt Treva's sugar cookies.

I always look forward to going to her house for Thanksgiving or Christmas to enjoy these soft, heavenly, sugary cut-outs in the shapes of circles, stars, Christmas trees and Santa - some plain and some with white icing on top. She brings them to the table in a large container where they're carefully stacked between layers of wax paper. And I can barely contain myself. Her sugar cookies have been a constant, a tradition, for as far back as I can remember...

The year I got my driver's license? Those sugar cookies were probably taken a bit for granted. The year I graduated from college and moved out on my own and got my first big RCA television for Christmas? Sugar cookies were consumed in massive quantities. The year I got married? Sugar cookies helped to celebrate and I probably asked for the recipe.

The year I brought home the best Christmas gift of all from the hospital? Sugar cookies were about to be shared with the next generation. The year my Uncle Bud died and the year I got breast cancer? Yes, in both, sugar cookies were there to steadfastly comfort. And this year? The first year that my best Christmas gift ever was not able to come home to enjoy them? Sugar cookies absorbed a tear or two - but more for me!

My legacy to others will never involve food. And perhaps several of you are in the same boat. But to those of you who lovingly, doggedly, and without fail take the time to create once-a-year treats for the rest of us to enjoy?

Thank you. They do much, much more than quench a sweet tooth.

(and its pink satin ribbon edging has long since bit the dust)

92 Sunsets

2008-11-20T10:10:00.000-05:00

It’s been three months to the day since I left Company X, so to mark this special occasion here is a look back at my job history and accomplishments during that time (and it’s a long enough entry, I think, to make up for my recent absence). Get a cup of coffee and enjoy.

Work Experience

August 2008 – November 2008

• CFO/Controller – By far, this has been my most pressing and time intensive job. I have done cash flow analysis, created a Q4 budget (and reports on same) for our business and household. I’ve also prepared cash flow reports and set budgets for extended family, as well.

• Sous Chef – I have prepared more meals in the past three months than I have in the past 10 years. My goal is to live down the tale (more like an urban myth) my husband likes to share with anyone who will listen ….something about me not knowing how to turn on the stove a full year after it was installed….

• Nanny – Watching a five year old for ten hours at a stretch. I have not done this in 15 years. It’s like riding a bike however, and the skills come back quickly. Can you say “duck, duck, goose”? I can. And did. About 100 times.

• Electrician – for further details, see the 9/17 post

• Political Junkie – Ahhh yes….I watched more political commentary during this historic election than I care to admit, but it was a riveting, fascinating drama unfolding right before my eyes – I couldn’t help myself! Of course, I listened to commentary from both sides of the coin – in order to be fair and balanced.

• Dog Trainer – When we moved into our house, Tuffy (see profile picture) could not (or would not) go up and down the stairs. He was used to being carried. Well, due to my patience and dog whispering abilities, he is now able to go up and down the stairs with ease.

• Dog Walker – Like cooking, I could probably count on one hand how many times I’ve walked my dog in the past three years. (He’s a small dog, but still!) We go out just about every night, and I can tell he’s the better for it. I guess I am too.

• Dog Letter Outer – This occurs approximately 10 times a day and was handled by my husband. I have now taken over the bulk of this responsibility.

• Dog Feeder – The talent for getting down just the right mix of dried cuisine and shredded cheddar… is mine!

• Professional Downsizer – This skill has proven to be the timeliest – in terms of current economic need and perhaps marketability. If you know of anyone who needs assistance in taking what amounts to a garage shop full of paints, supplies, tools, and stuff – along with a basement office featuring desks, office equipment, boxes of files and files and more files; and some major sized pieces of art work and art supplies, perhaps some books, CDs, household goods, furniture, a shed full of garden and yard accoutrements…and fitting that neatly and in an organized fashion… into a dog sized house, well then I’m your gal.

• Blogger – I’ve been spotty here at best. Once you start, however, the blog monkey is always on your back letting you know it’s a commitment not to be taken lightly for fear of disappointing your faithful blog readers…. Or reader. Hi mom!

• House cleaner – See the 10/13 post. (Please note that this skill has not been applied to my own environs.)

Recent Accomplishments
• Mastery of crock-pot cooking – After initial unsuccessful attempts (like cooking a cut of meat for 12 hours, and it coming out harder and tougher than when it went in), I bolstered my courage and finally managed to make an edible meal using this complex appliance

• Power user: Quick Books and Quicken – I now enter invoices, write checks and reconcile three bank accounts in relatively record time (relative to someone who's never in their entire life used these applications before).

Hobbies
• Reconnecting – with my dog, family and friends

• Reading – four books relating to contemporary culture, political history and online marketing (not really…they were good mysteries, thrillers or fiction)

• Ohio Lottery (not a Lucky Dog, though)

• Movie watching – always a passion with me, faves include In Bruges (seriously…I was like “In what”? But you should really check it out) and Mystery of Picasso (this is best watched with the sound turned down, and your IPod turned up – amazing!)

• Travel – I’ve made several trips including Las Vegas, New Hampshire, and Chicago

Professional Organizations

• Not so much

There you have it. It’s been a busy three months, and I think I’ve spent my time well. As an FYI, I’ve also managed to find some work that actually pays a little: I've lined up my first consulting gig and am working with two different companies on building customer-centric voice into their marketing - along with some other tasks thrown in. I'm very excited about this direction in my work life - and may have to leave my Suede Boot Designer days behind me.

What an amazing difference....

2008-11-05T00:33:00.000-05:00

one

single

day

makes.

I am so happy that I was able to experience this day, and I am so proud to be part of this country. And Ohio rocks.

What has pink done for you?

2008-10-22T07:52:00.000-04:00

It's October, so I've come to expect that when I enter a grocery store (or any store) I will see tons of products with pink packaging, bearing a pink ribbon, or even sporting a pink reinvention of themselves. It's almost become a sort of retail holiday and, as such, it's a little more than sad seeing all that pink merchandise in the clearance bins at the beginning of November.

Even the web is filled with tons of ads, links and sites devoted to this pink merchandise, and I halfway expected to see the two "o"s in October's Google Doodle turned into...well...you can picture it, I'm sure.

As a living beneficiary of one of the most exciting breakthroughs in breast cancer research, I'm all for raising research dollars and building awareness of this devastating disease. I've said on several occasions that if I had to get breast cancer, I sure lucked out on the timing. So many advances have been made in just the past few years, and five-year survival rates continue to rise. This is great news! But I also look around and wonder..."Is all this pink doing anything? How much of each dollar spent on these products actually goes to research, and by seeing pink everywhere are women (and men) inspired to take better care of themselves?" I have no clue. I did find a site however that seems to take these questions to heart.

But there's another part of this explosion of pink that bothers me. Cancer is cancer. It all sucks. Since my own diagnosis, I've watched several of my brothers and sisters succumb with quiet bravery, and leave this earth way before they should. It's heartbreaking. Why can't pink be their color too? ALL cancers need funding for research.

I guess if I ruled the world, I'd dedicate the month of October to (Not Just Breast) Cancer Awareness ... and the color I'd use? This one. (But yellow is OK too, Lance.)

Until then, I'll continue to encourage every woman out there to get regular screenings and to get very familiar with her ~ ( . ) ( . ) ~. And if you think something is wrong, don't take no for an answer. As much as I love pink M&Ms, it was a mammogram that saved my life.

I am America(n)

2008-10-14T04:41:00.000-04:00

Taking liberties, Mr. Stephen Colbert, but givin' you credit. Thank you.

Lately, I've been hearing about myself on the news just about every night. It all started when they covered my layoff in August. Around the same time, they headlined the story of my foreclosed home (make that three foreclosed homes), and everyone is now very up to date on why our real estate business has taken such a devastating blow in the past 13 months - our tenant's credit dried up, as did their jobs on Main Street. Missed payments, no cash outs, empty houses, no cash flow, and staff layoffs of our own equaled a perfect storm. Nothing is sacred with these intrepid reporters, and our dirty laundry has been exposed - our substantial credit card debt has made national headlines, as has our weakness for having bought a house that was probably more than we could afford.

Now every single newscaster is broadcasting the terrible state of my 401k. And they're even telling me (some even yelling at me) to tighten up my belt, get my finances back in order, live within my means, and start saving. They're letting me know that the next president really cares about me and wants to make sure that my preexisting condition is covered, that I can continue to get loans for my son's college education, and that should we continue along the path of small business, we'll be encouraged to do so - because that's about as American as it gets.

I see no evidence that my phone has been tapped or that I'm being followed, so I have absolutely no idea how they found out so much private, personal information about me. But in the end, the one story about me they haven't yet shared with the nation is that, in spite of all these challenges, I still have it better than about 98% of the people on this earth, and that I know I will get beyond it all by just prodding ahead and doing my best.

And so can you.

Carol Jean the Cleanin' Machine

2008-10-13T16:27:00.000-04:00

When I think about my childhood, and how I spent my time as a young girl, I have bittersweet memories about weekends - especially Saturdays. The huge plus was that there was no school, but there was a huge minus as well - my mom's penchant for weekend cleaning. Carol Jean seemed to love everything about it. And she attacked it with the determination of a bull fighter - putting on her cleaning dress, scrubbing the floors, cleaning out the closets, wiping down the insides of the cupboards, fridge and stove, washing the windows, sweeping out the garage, porch and sidewalk. No dust bunny was safe in her path. I, in contrast, was happy to be their friend.

Each Saturday it was my job to dust and vacuum the whole house, and being an only child, there was no room for chore negotiation.

My mom would give me a gold dust cloth that somehow magically attracted and held the dust. I vividly remember gliding it rather nonchalantly over every inch of our piano, the kidney shaped walnut and glass coffee table (if only I still had that...my mom was a 60s hipster and didn't even know it), the really, really ugly round dark Mediterranean end table with a door that held all sorts of crap (no one was hip with their 70s stuff actually in the 70s - 70s stuff only looked hip from the next century), wooden window shutters, stereo receiver, turntable, tape player, speakers, guest bed and dresser, my mom's bed, vanity and chest of drawers (her bedroom had leftover Chinese red walls with black wrought iron light fixtures, and when she finally got her way it was painted mint green), dining room table, china hutch and of course my bedroom set with its corner desk, dresser and hutch filled with collectible dolls from different countries and points of time in American history, horse figurines, bright yellow Peanuts garbage can, and other assorted important girl treasures. The frame holding my giant print of Man o' War (the horse, not the band - who even knew there was a band?) also required dusting according to Carol Jean. And that was before I even made it to the basement with the "Make Love not War" and "Tomorrow is the First Day of the Rest of Your Life" and "What If They Gave a War and Nobody Came?" wall hangings.

I hated cleaning. Hated it. And I made it known. I cannot tell you how inventive I became at trying to delay the inevitable - to no avail. To me there was just so much more to do on a weekend. Like lay around, watch TV, relax, draw, hang out with friends, think, stare into the mirror and try on all manner of outfits to prepare for the next week of school. I think my mom thought that if I just got enough practice I would come to appreciate the simple satisfaction of seeing a room, a home, transformed from disorder to order, from dusty tops to gleaming, sparkling shiny clean surfaces.

I did appreciate it, but not the subtle changes that came with weekly cleaning. It hardly seemed worth it. I preferred waiting for as long as possible until the cleaning REALLY made a difference. I could definitely appreciate that. "Wow! Doesn't that window sill look better without the pile of dead bugs?" "Hey, I found Pugsley (our pug)." "Bummer. I can't draw Snoopy in the dust anymore." "Mom, what's the big deal? Who cares how the house looks. It's only us!"

Fast forward about 35 years.

Carol Jean is still a cleanin' machine in spirit, but her body isn't cooperating. She just can't quite get at the corners like she used to, or see the layers of grease accumulating on the cabinet doors and drawers. She can't really get down on her hands and knees and scrub floors and baseboards or move the furniture, lamps, and rugs necessary to get a real deep clean. She can't reach high overhead, so a disproportionate number of stored items only make it up to the eye level shelf...and precariously sit there.

But here's where it all comes around. I find her dirty house to be a challenge...and for the past two weekends, I have cleaned it with the determination of a bull fighter. I have scrubbed her floors on my hands and knees, vacuumed every inch of her carpets, area and throw rugs, wiped down the baseboards, rearranged her furniture, tidied up her closets, wiped down her kitchen cabinets, and dusted all of her furniture - including that piano. And when I was done, I felt good. Real good. I was able to offer my mom something that I was never quite able to give her some years ago - enthusiastic, no holds barred cleaning. She sure had to wait long enough.

As I reflect on this, I'm wondering a few things myself.

Like...will my son ever tire of seeing his room littered with mounds of dirty clothes, soda cans, open bags of Fritos, Cheetos, and Doritos, empty cigar box wrappers and other assorted important guy treasures? Will he ever get the same satisfaction that I do from throwing it all in the trash, scrubbing down the surfaces and reveling in a day's worth of transformational physical work? I'm guessin' not so much.

And when he's 46, what in particular will he remember of the houses he's lived in, and what will comprise his bittersweet memories? What will come around between him and me? And what if they did give a war....

Branding

2008-09-24T11:19:00.000-04:00

When one is without work, one is without an easy label. And because I am now an "empty nester," I can't even really claim to be a "stay at home mom." This really hit me when I went to the local storage place to rent some space and the guy behind the counter asked me: "What do you do?"

I struggled a bit...and said something like..."Oh, I'm uh...I'm uh in marketing and do stuff, you know consulting and projects...and stuff." It was a totally off the cuff answer. As I walked away, I replayed the question in my mind: "What do you do?" And my answer..."Oh, I'm a bestselling novelist. Just home now between book tours." or...."I'm with the secret service. I know...can you imagine? I don't look the part, do I?" or... "I'm a stay at home mom. My kid is in Vegas while I stay at home."

While I hope not to actually use it, I also encountered a similar reality filling out the Ohio Department of Job and Family Services Office of Unemployment Compensation forms. Especially the part where they ask for your Reasons for Unemployment. The options were:

1) Lack of Work
2) Voluntarily quit or left your job
3) Discharged or fired

Seriously. I looked at this a very long time before I could figure out which one to select. I knew the answer had to lie in number 1, but based on my "to do" list when I was laid-off, it just didn't register.

For a blog about being laid-off, you may be wondering....is this woman ever going to start looking for some work? Shouldn't she be writing about all the resumes she's sending out, and all the people she's meeting at interviews....and...and....what her next means of income will be?

I've realized over the past few weeks, that when someone asks me that same question again, "What do you do?" I want to offer up an intriguing response...and better yet, I'd like to rattle off several things that I do. I will work to be many brands in one. A renaissance woman so to speak. Diversified. And the term "Lack of Work" will certainly never apply. Now, the key will be to get that work to support my newly downsized lifestyle.

Beer and chainsaws

2008-09-17T21:25:00.000-04:00

There have been a lot of both since hurricane Ike hit the Miami Valley, and I don't mean separately. I mean beer drinking, chainsaw toting folks - ready to conquer the many fallen tree limbs strewn all around the area. It starts out as neighbors helping neighbors and it turns into a full out yard party complete with bonfire.

There are also many drivers who appear not to understand the etiquette of a four-way stop.

At first, I thought our power may have gone out because I failed to properly install the new wall outlets in my house. (yes, i have become an electrician since i've been laid-off...it's not harvesting corn, but it's pretty darn close). Thankfully, that was not the case or I would have never heard the end of it.

My father-in-law came to visit about the same time Ike did. He's a true storyteller. While he does tell many of them over and over and over again, occasionally there's a new one mixed in the bunch. We sat in the dark for three nights, listening to him and to a piece of crap weather radio I bought a few years ago - and to an AM station I would never listen to normally. It was our only contact with the outside world (except for when we drove around in our car, or went to my mom's to watch cable or go online).

So, perhaps I exaggerated the isolation part a bit...but nonetheless, being without power for a few days is a lesson in patience. It's also a lesson in how much I utterly and completely depend on electricity. Thank goodness I now know how to install a small piece of it in my home.

Now I've got my eye on that chainsaw in the shed.

Lotto Zen

2008-09-09T15:02:00.000-04:00

My staff hosted a very nice Happy Hour for me last week. They are the BEST! It was so nice to see many faces that I didn't get a chance to see in my last few days at work - and several additional ex-"Company X" employees. I now hold court with that group, and hope to do 'em proud.

One of my going away presents was a cup full of lottery tickets and gift certificates to help break the monotony of moving. I promised myself that I would not scratch off those lotto tickets until I was done moving every last item out of our current house. I am happy to say that with the exception of a 1 ton art work table in the basement, everything is completely out.

So. I sat down to scratch off my tickets and ended up winning $36.

Cost of tickets? $36.

The thrill of scratching them off? You got it.

Still on vacation.....

2008-09-03T22:15:00.001-04:00

but I've not worked so physically hard in such a very long time! It feels great (and even better when the humidity is not at 100%). And as I sweat (something I never really did in my cube unless .... actually, there is no "unless" - I never broke a sweat in my cubicle) I wonder to myself...should I perhaps pursue a line of work that involves physical activity? I could lay bricks, or put on shingles, or make something with my hands.

OK. So everyone probably has these types of thoughts when they're laid off, or downsized, or fired or reorganized and restructured. FREE. It's a loud word. But I am completely free to take a step into something totally different from anything I've known. Or...I can take a step into comfort.

I won't know the answer until I get all my boxes moved, put every drawer and cupboard in order, hang some art around the house, make some visits to a few friends out of town, do some chores for my mom.......lay a few bricks, and harvest some corn.

don't put a bag of quarters in your "carry on"......

2008-08-27T21:40:00.000-04:00

....unless you want to spend time getting searched in the security line. the inspector said that i should put them in my checked luggage the next time, and i told him that i was pretty sure those quarters wouldn't be comin' back with me.

i should have just marched into the casino, gone straight back to the "cage" and handed them my sad little ziplock bag directly. but instead, i indulged in a bit of video poker, blackjack and wheel of fortune, and this allowed me to rack up a few points on my "south point casino club member card." i've never had one of these cards in my life!!! now they will know everything about my gambling habits - how quickly i press the buttons, how quickly i put money in, how much money i put in, and how many times i ultimately smack the machine.

there was no life changing gambling experience so i still need to find work. today (in between packing boxes) i sent out several e-mails to various consultants and outside vendors i've worked with just to let them know what was happening. basically, i told them i didn't even know what was happening, but that i would keep them posted.

technically, i'm still using vacation days. so i choose to think that i'm still on vacation.

Scott made me

2008-08-20T21:00:00.000-04:00

I was laid-off one week ago today from a job I've held for almost ten years. Today was my last day.

I have no clue what the future holds for me. I have no clue what my next job will be, or when it will be, or how I will find it (exactly) or who I will meet along the way.

I haven't really had to look for a job since 1984.

I do not have an updated resume. I do not own a suit. My toenails are a mess, and I'm bruised from moving. I'm leaving for Las Vegas tomorrow - not to gamble, but to take my son back to school. I made these plans before I knew that I would be laid-off. Now I am eying the quarter-filled change cup in my husband's closet just a little differently than I did just one week ago.

It will go with me.

I love documentaries. I actually took a week long documentary course a few years ago, and it was one of the most amazing creative experiences I've had in my adult life. I love how the story kind of unfolds right before your eyes. Life is an amazing director - and doesn't think twice about killing its darlings.

I am 46. I have no clue what my next job will be. I will start in earnest when I get back from Las Vegas and finish moving. Fortunately we downsized. COBRA will cost $1,500 per month. I will save $300 on gas.

I remember in English class learning that a writer should not start every paragraph with "I."

I'm gonna have to work on that.

When I self-consciously mentioned to a co-worker yesterday that I had considered blogging about this experience - in a documentary sort of way - he said I must do it, and that I had to start it today. And he told me the same thing again today. So there you go, Scott. It's a done deal.