Finding balance after job loss

Losing your job—especially if you lose it unexpectedly and through no fault of your own—can be dehumanizing, terrifying, and can raise the stress level of your entire family in an instant.

I should know. It’s what I’m dealing with right now.

After 6 years as a contractor, and after surviving several corporate reorganizations and shifts in management, funding for my job was cut off and I’m back on the job market. What bothered me at first was that there was still work to do and people counting on me to do it. Someone made a financial decision that had nothing to do with my position. It’s not the first time. This is my third contract in 10 years with the same company. And it’s certainly not personal. But that doesn’t make it any better.

Now I certainly don’t live with the naïve expectation of a “permanent” job. I’ve been in the workforce long enough to know that there’s no company loyalty to workers anymore. Just about every position is “at will”, which is code for “we still expect you to give us 2 weeks’ notice, but we’ll fire you at the drop of a hat.” While that may sound bitter, it’s just realistic.

Being let go is particularly harsh when you work as a contractor. Suddenly you’re let go from 2 companies at once, the one you actually did the work for and the one who wrote your paychecks. Because unless they have something lined up for you, the agency is going to let you go as well.

Once you lose your job and deal with the shock of it, you have to jump into emergency mode and triage your entire life. What resources do you have? Do you have any savings? How long can you cover the rent or mortgage? How long can you keep the lights on? What’s in the pantry? Do you have enough medication or any upcoming doctor appointments? (Because, let’s face it, COBRA is prohibitively expensive.)

Once you’ve gone through all this, told your family, maybe some friends, and screamed into a pillow for a while, it’s time to start looking for a job. If you’ve been a good little worker-bee and stayed at your previous job for several years, you’ll probably have to start from scratch. You’ll need to re-do your resume and try to figure out what that’s even supposed to look like now. You’ll find it extra challenging if you were let-go without notice, unless you kept a log of the things you worked on.

Once you’ve got a resume worth posting you’ll need to set up profiles in all the job sites: LinkedIn, Glassdoor, Indeed, and other’s you may never have heard of before now. It’s exhausting and begins an endless cycle of updating your profiles over and over as you refine your resume.

Finally comes looking for a job. You comb the listings. You discover that a lot of listings you thought sounded like you on the surface are for completely different jobs. So, you adjust your resume, and all of your profiles, to weed out the words that describe the positions adjacent to, but very different from, your skillset.

Every job you apply for will ask you to enter your work history…again. You’ll get to upload your resume too. But they still want you to enter it all. Or you can pull it from LinkedIn, but then you’ll spend just as much time reformatting it.

Every one of these jobs will ask for a custom cover letter asking you to explain, not why you’re a good fit for the job, but why you excited to work for this company you’ve never heard of before today. If you’re a sarcastic pragmatist, like me, you’ll have to avoid being honest. Don’t say, “because you’re hiring” or “because I really like being able to pay my electric bill.”

I wonder how people who aren’t comfortable writing even DO all of this.

The entire process is exhausting. And then there’s the icing on the cake. People who tell you that looking for a job should be your full-time job.

I’ve had it said to me quite recently. But I have to disagree.

See, I tried it.

After losing my job on New Years Eve, I took a few days to regroup. First, I tried not to spoil the holiday for my family. Then, I jumped into triage mode. I was living, not quite paycheck-to-paycheck, but I was our household’s primary earner. Also, we’re still getting settled in our new home. So, savings were, not just limited, but largely earmarked for household projects. We had to look at which projects could be postponed, and which still had to happen, regardless of our situation. We marshaled support from family, which we are very lucky to have. I applied for unemployment. And we formulated a financial game plan. That took a few days.

After that, I locked myself in my office. From 9 to 5, Monday through Friday. I tried to keep the same schedule I’d had before. I worked on my resume. I tried to cobble together a portfolio—which I’d never needed before and which is a challenge because everything I’ve done for the last 6+ years has been proprietary. I kept on like this for weeks. 9 to 5. 9 to 5. 9 to 5…

I did what they say you’re supposed to do. I treated the search like it was my job. But it quickly became obvious that looking for a job isn’t really like having one. It’s a lot harder and required a different mindset and skills that don’t come naturally to everyone.

For one thing, I fell into my current career; I didn’t train for it. It’s work I’m naturally suited for and, over the years one job evolved into the next to the point where I’ve become rather specialized.

I write user-interface (UI) text for apps and for devices like smart phones, routers, smart watches, and those trackers you clip to your stuff so you don’t lose it. More than that, I analyze the text throughout the user-interface to make sure it’s all cohesive, that it makes sense, and that it makes the product easy to use. I also use my detailed knowledge of those user interfaces to improve user guides and the on-screen help so that every word contributes to a great user experience (UX).

Looking for a new job has been an exercise in seeing my work in comparison to more visible jobs. I know there’s a need for what I do, but it’s not the first thing managers think of when putting together a design team.

It’ sounds like a riddle:

I’m not a designer, though I’ve influenced more than a few designs over the years. I’m not a researcher. But I do take research findings and use that information to improve the text on the screen. I don’t code. Though I’m always mindful of whether a suggestion to add or remove text may impact the code by making it more complicated. Finally, while I write, I’m not a marketing writer. My job isn’t to sell the product. It’s to make sure people can use it once they buy it.
 What am I? I’m a UI/UX writer.

Some would say, go learn to do ALL THE THINGS and then apply for all the jobs. But in my experience, that doesn’t work out for anyone. The employer tries to save a dime by getting one person to take on the responsibility of 2 or more roles, but that person gets stretched too thin to provide excellence in any capacity. They don’t last at the job and what they produce isn’t very good.

Looking at job listings, I see a hazy line between design and writing and between different writing disciplines. While I am sure that employers would ideally want someone who can design every aspect of the UI, both visuals and text and then build and market it, each job requires a different skillset.

Designers need to be focused on the aesthetics, architecture, and mechanics of the product—the look and feel. This is visual work. Language and writing use a different part of the brain. UX researchers need to be focused on teasing information from product testers without leading them. They have to focus on the open-ended question and then compile all that data. My job as the UI/UX writer is to use that data to improve the user experience. And finally, while my writing does focus on the user experience, this is very different from the “UX writer” positions that I see out there that are all about marketing and SEO. They sell the product. I help make it work.

I’m a specialist. I know there’s need for what I do and I know it sometimes takes project managers time to see that. I’ll find that position eventually. But after weeks of spending 9 to 5, combing through job listings, the constant message of “we’re looking for someone, but we’re not looking for you,” was getting old fast.

Yet I continued because, looking for a job was supposed to be my full-time job.

I think it was a Thursday afternoon when my husband insisted that I get out of the house. It was around 2PM. I resisted because I was still “on the clock.” But he was concerned. He’d barely seen me in 3 weeks.

Being out of work and dealing with a sudden decrease in resources was hard enough, but the stress of spending all my time looking for work was taking its toll.

We had a long talk and realized that, while looking for a new job is certainly a very high priority, this was also an opportunity that I can’t afford to miss. While I’m short on money, I suddenly have an abundance of time.

So, I’ve made some changes.

If you’re like me, when you’re working, breaks are few and far between. I’ve worked as a contractor for 10 years now. That means, if I’m not working, I’m not getting paid. No paid holidays, vacations, or sick time. As a result, I’ve taken very few breaks. I’ve worked while sick. I’ve done my best to make up for every hour missed for doctor or dentist appointments, etc. Add to that a very busy year where we lost a home, bought a home, packed our lives, and moved to a new state and it’s fair to say I’m a bit frayed at the edges.

I’ve no intention of treating unemployment like a vacation, but I do need to recharge.

My plan is to keep diligently looking for work, but no longer to the exclusion of everything else.

Since Paul and I had our little chat, I’ve spent more time knitting. I’ve started writing again—as you can see. I’m trying to take more walks and even little drives to explore our new town—which I didn’t have time to do while I was working. I’ll be working to get Inclusive Ceremonies established in our new area. And I’ve also started volunteering with the local chamber of commerce.

Finally, I’ve started planning a vegetable garden and you’ll probably be hearing more about that in the coming months. The garden was always on our household to-do list. We’re starting from scratch. I knew I was going to have to buy seeds and tools and fertilizer, etc. and I considered putting it off. But the garden serves so many purposes that it’s become a necessity. It gives me a project to manage—a highly-detailed project with timelines and requirements to meet. It gives me something to write about, so I can keep my skills sharp. The garden will (hopefully) produce food. Which makes me feel a little less worried, should my lack of employment be a prolonged one. Hopefully it will produce more than we can use, in which case we might try to have a little farm stand and we’ll certainly give some away as well. Most importantly, the garden is an investment in the future, a symbol of hope, and a reminder that we have things to look forward to.

It took a while for me to stop feeling guilty about not spending every waking hour looking for work. And there are those who will still say that I should be spending all my time looking, or training to do something else (though that would take money we don’t have), or networking, networking, networking.

But for now, I say no to that. For now, I’ll seek a “looking for work/life balance” and see where that takes me.

My snow-covered garden
as seen from my office window.

We could just say NO

Today is Independence Day and I’m worried—as I often am—about the horrible things being done in our name, the freedoms being worn away bit by bit, the irreparable damage being done to desperate families, individuals, and our environment.

And let me be frank, this comes from my gut. I don’t claim to have all the answers.

But while we still have free speech and a democracy in place, I think today is good day to remember that the people “in charge” only have the power we give them.

The president can’t stand at every border crossing taring children from the arms of desperate parents fleeing violence, war, famine and persecution. Someone has to do it for him.

The CEO of a mining company isn’t personally going to strip-mine our national monuments for minerals or dump waste into rivers. Someone has to do it for him.

I can’t help but recall the saying that “Good people made the best Nazis”—obedient people who went along with what they were told and “just followed orders”. I hope we can grow to be better than that.

I think we should just say no.

I’m certainly not the first person to come up with this idea. Maybe people are afraid or forget this is an option.

And of course, it’s hard. And the people whose NO will mean the most are probably facing consequences that any one of us would dread—lack of employment, loss of benefits, or even legal consequences. They have families to support, need to eat and keep a roof over their heads.

So, the other thing we need to do is support people in a position to say NO.

Imagine if families and communities said, if you refuse to do something because it’s wrong, we’ll support you and we’re in it for the long haul.

Imagine if people knew that they would not be alone if they refused to:

•     Steal a refugee’s child
•    Create the infrastructure to dump pollutants into waterways
•    Publicly deny climate change despite the science
•   Turn firehoses on peaceful protesters
•   Stay silent when injustice is done

Imagine if, at family BBQs today and through the summer, people talked about what they would do if faced with the choice—and what they would do to support someone faced with the choice.

Families could have a plan. Neighbors could have a plan. Houses of worship and other groups could have a plan.

People could say, if you need to say no:

•      We’ll call ALCU or SPLC for you.
•      We’ll look after your family.
•      We’ll help you look for another job.
•      We’ll make sure you’ve got food on the table.
•      We’ll make sure the press knows you don’t stand alone.

The other side is loud and the sheer volume of the hate and fear they spout makes them seem like they outnumber everyone. But quiet conversations of support may be a way to turn the tide. And later, concentrated efforts to make sure that people who are courageous enough to say no to doing wrong are not left to face the consequences alone. Imagine if people felt empowered to do what’s right because of example upon example of people who said no and came out—if not unscathed, at least shielded as much as possible.

I think a lot of us go to bed at night thinking, “there just has to be more of us than them.” And “someone has to DO something.”

Maybe this is something we can do. We can start today at BBQs meant to celebrate all we’re supposed to be.

Hot Weather Tip: Frozen Towels

SEE UPDATE BELOW 

It's dangerously hot this week. If you're like me, you want to be prepared.

One thing I did today was make some frozen towels, because today it was in the low 90s and tomorrow is supposed to be even hotter.  I made one for each member of my household and that includes pets. I'm not suggesting you wrap a cat in a frozen towel, but the towel could be used to cool off a place your cat like to lay down. Even just cooling off an area of the floor and then removing the towel can give your pet someplace to lay down and dump some heat. For humans, a cool towel on the face or head is refreshing. Draped around the neck, it can cool your pulse points, which helps you feel cooler.

Setting things up was easy. I recommend doing this in the kitchen sink or bathtub.

1. Get some decent sized towels--I like something thin enough to fold but large enough to drape over a person's shoulders. You'll also need large freezer bags. I find 2.5 gallon bags work great.
2. Fold the towel so that it can fit flat in the freezer bag. (One towel per bag is my rule.)
   
   
   
   
   
3. Put enough cold water into the bag to saturate the towel. 
4. When you're sure the whole towel is wet, role the bag to ring out the excess water.
5. Fix the towel so that it lays flat in the bag again and close the bag, leaving just about an inch open.
6. Roll the bag again and give it another squeeze. This time seal the bag and leave it rolled up.
   
7. The bags will be wet so I suggest laying them on a towel in your freezer, so they don't stick to the shelf.
   

If someone get's overheated, you'll have a handy way to cool them down. 

And if you're thinking, "I don't need this, I have air conditioning", so did we until about 8:00 last night. It doesn't hurt to be prepared.

One word of warning though, if it's already hot, getting these towels wrung out can take a bit of exertion. Take your time. Take it slow. And cool off if you need to. (I know I needed to!)

Stay safe and have a great summer!

UPDATE

Rolling the towels turned out not to be a great idea. When I do this with washcloths, they are pliable after a minute or two.  But I wasn't able to get the towels wrung out enough. The rolls froze to be rock solid. So, you may want to skip that step.

These Realtor.com ads are everything that's wrong with America and the world

I've been looking for a new home for my family, so commercials for the various real estate websites and apps have been catching my eye. Some are touching, some surreal, some try to be funny. But there's one particular set of ads that I find disturbing in their message—and the message isn't about finding a house.

The ads in question are Realtor.com's Not You series of ads. They center on the idea that you had better use their website before someone else gets the home you want. It's the way those other people, the not yous, are depicted that's the problem.

Over the course of several ads, we learn that the not yous: 

•  have no respect for your boundaries
• are not as attractive as you
• want what you have and will take it
•  are odd or different
• are off-putting or possibly disturbed
• are unpredictable
• are sometimes threatening
• are possibly violent
• are a possible threat
• outnumber you
• are less worthy than you
• are not worth your empathy
• are someone to ignore
• are not as smart as you
• are not as human as you

In truth, the not yous are just people who were also looking for a home and roof to put over their families' heads. But the ads dehumanize them.

Sadly , this is a message we hear constantly. It's this idea that there is you and them—and anyone who isn't exactly like you is the "other" and is therefore, a threat to you. If a person's skin color, gender identity, marriage, religion or even income level doesn't look just like yours, they are a threat. And in the Realtor.com ads, even the people who DO look almost just like you are "other" so really no one is safe.

This is the last idea we should be investing in today. There's a problem with this way of thinking and that is that we are ALL not yous to someone. So if this is how we insist on seeing the world, then we will always be divided, always outnumbered, and always threatened. . If we constantly fear new ideas, different viewpoints, and the rich diversity that is humanity, then we will be forever stuck—unable to truly reach our potential as human beings.

Frankly, that's the way some people want it, because it preserves their position. If we're constantly worried about people getting "what's ours"—when all they're really trying to get is basic human dignity—then we won't notice that people in power are taking away our right to speak freely, to worship as we choose, to control our own bodies, love those to whom we're called to love, educate ourselves and children, be safe in our jobs and in our schools and homes, and have a clean environment to live in, and even just clean drinking water.

Every one of those things is inconvenient to those who would prefer we be docile worker bees, just filling their coffers.

We were taking baby steps toward a better world—a better world for everyone. But then too many people bought in to the idea of the not yous. They gave power to those who would have us divided. Since then, families have been torn apart, clean water has been threatened, free speech is constantly under threat, people who have put their lives on the line to protect us have been made unwelcome in the military, and now other people who have done nothing wrong are facing the threat of expulsion from the only home they've ever known, and from a country that benefits every moment of every day from their presence.

You may not be worried about any of this, because it's not happening to you. But, as I said, we're all not yous to someone. Even you. And someday it will be you crying out for dignity and respect, because the people making the decisions see you as a not you, because even though you may look like them, you don't have the power or resources they do. So you are not the same as they are and therefore not worthy of respect, consideration, or dignity.

So what can we do?

We can stop and look for what's common between us.

We can see that the other people looking for a house share your need to find a home. We can see that the person in the grocery store who doesn't look like you just needs to feed his family. We can see that woman on the street whose clothes are more modest than yours, or more revealing, is just a person who wants to be comfortable in the world.

With just a little empathy we can show ourselves, our friends, our neighbors and our kids that there are no not yous. We're all just people trying to get by. We can show our leaders that we won't tolerate walls or division of any kind. Show them we want to help each other. Show them we insist on respect and basic human dignity for everyone.

We can make the world a better place if we stop this not you nonsense and just realize we're all in this together.

I Miss My America

The following is raw and unedited and will probably get revised an infinite number of times, hidden, reposted, and what not in the coming days. But I am feeling sad, scared, disappointed, angry, and betrayed and I just want to get it all out of my head.

I believed we were better than this. Or at least, we were trying to be.

For a very long time, I carried with me a image of America forged in my childhood.

I believed America was a place where you could be yourself, where the color of your skin or where your family came from were just interesting parts of you, but didn't change how you should be treated.

Growing up, I went to a magical school. My classmates were black, white, Asian, Indian, Jewish, gay (though I didn't know it at the time) and probably a few other things I can't remember. Down the hall, kids with special needs were going to school right alongside us. It all seemed perfectly normal. I never saw anyone treated differently or as less of a human being because of who they were. We were all growing up together.

And as far as boys vs. girls was concerned, I could do anything boys could do, so we were already equal in my eyes.

I thought it was like that everywhere. We lived in the land of the FREE. A country where some people went to church, some went to synagogue, some to temple and some didn't go at all, and it didn't change how we played together. It didn't mean we didn't have to be fair to one another.

I didn't realize back then what a luxury that was and what a blessing. As happens, when you grow up, the tint on my rose-colored glasses was scratched away bit by bit over the years. I became aware of the injustices and bigotry that existed outside my happy little bubble. But I still hoped.

I could see us inching our way, sometime clawing our way, towards making my childhood experiences a wider reality. Society as a whole was becoming more accepting--at least I thought so. Our laws were catching up with that too.

Then last year some "good" people voted for a bully. I'm told they felt left out. I'm told I should hear their concerns. But where I grew up, talking like their candidate would get you sent to the corner, not rewarded. Spewing hate was not accepted, nor was the idea that it was fine to get what you wanted for yourself by trampling on someone else.

Now I sit stunned and dumbfounded, watching as every bit of progress that has been made in my lifetime, everything that was designed to try to make America great for everyone is getting systematically unraveled. Laws promoting fairness are being threatened, our free speech is under attack from all sides, even the very air we breathe and water we drink is at risk.

The "good" people who voted for this wanted a better life, and I get that. But when you seek those things at someone else's expense, everyone suffers. When you put your faith in a bully, no one is safe. The bully and his friends don't serve you. They serve their own interests.

So here's your wake-up call. I hope you're happy.

When you want to be able to discriminate against others because of your beliefs, you open the door to being discriminated against for yours.

When you decide that it's too hard to care about the environment, because doing so costs you money, you better understand that your own air, water, food, and even your home are also at risk.

When you decide you don't want to pay for someone else's health care, you family is at risk from the next epidemic.

When you decide other people shouldn't have the right to control their own bodied because of YOUR religion, you better start worrying about the day someone else's religion is favored by those in power.

When you decide you don't care if everyone's kids get a good education, you better prepare for a world where the people around you aren't smart enough, or prepared enough to help you and yours in a time of need.

The people you put in office, the ones you are so glad WON, don't care about you. They don't care about your kids or your future. They don't care if there are no green spaces left or if every animal is slaughtered for trophies on their walls. They don't care that you just realized your own health care is at risk, they're all going to be fine. They don't care if you can't afford your medication or if the condition your wife, or mother, or child has been living with is now a "pre-existing" condition, so not covered by insurance.

They don't care that you don't have a job. Their corporate friends are the ones who chose automation over your skilled hands and who took their companies overseas so they could pay less for things they're going to turn around and sell to you for more. That was their choice, not some uncontrollable phenomena.

They don't care that your home will flood or be blown down by the next storm. See, they'd rather keep making money than have to change what they're doing to alleviate our role in climate change.

They don't WANT to help you, to lift you out of your troubles or trickle down wealth upon you.

They have what they want and they will keep you in your place now by taking education from your children, making it harder for you to earn a living wage, making clean water something you have to BUY from THEM, and making you so focused on what the other guy has or what some terrorist may do to you, that you can't see that in spreading their hate, they are proving the terrorists right and giving them all they need to recruit the same desperate human beings that we could have helped.

And so, yeah, you've made the whole world a more dangerous place for everyone.

I have to say that in these times I am struggling to hope. I am struggling to see a bright future in all this. I am struggling with my anger at the people who cheerfully made this happen and who sing as once flawed but beautiful ship, sinks beneath us.

I am struggling to find my ways to #resist. But I will. Even if doing so is just insisting on living the way I was taught growing up. Treating people fairly and with compassion and celebrating their differences instead of fearing and resenting them.

How Freddie Mercury Helped Me Find True Love

Before I worked from home, I hated commuting. More specifically, I hated the long slog home. It didn't matter if I was driving for 2 hours or fifteen minutes. The journey between my office and my apartment was always a drudge.

Until, that is, a period of Tuesdays around 2003...when it was magic.

My thirties had brought with them the realization that I was lonely. It was a feeling separate and distinct from the nagging depression that had clung like a wet blanket around my shoulders since college. I was living alone for the first time (not counting the cats, of course) and I really felt like something...or rather some ONE was missing.

After a few unsuccessful office flirtations, I let my friends convince me to start online dating. The early results were little disasters in their own rights, but I hung in there...searching. I wanted love and I was willing to put in the work and take some risks to find it.

It was about that time I that began carpooling on Tuesday evenings...with Freddie Mercury.

It wasn't a regular thing at first. The local classic rock station had "Two for Tuesdays" where they would play 2 songs in a row by each band for the day. Queen had a regular slot and it seemed I could count on them to come on around 5:30. The first time they played Somebody to Love, I sang along. I've always loved that song and the way it makes the hairs on my arms stand at attention. Freddie knew my pain.

Before long, it became a weekly ritual. I would make sure I was in my car and on the road by 5:15. I never took note of the other song the radio station chose by Queen for that week. I waited eagerly...some days desperately for my song. It was always part of the set.

Inching through rush hour traffic, Freddie and I put forth our petition. Can anybody find me somebody to love?

It was a cry of hope. It was a prayer. It was sympathetic magic. The rest of Queen were in the back seat singing backup in complete agreement that I worked hard every day of my life and at the end of the day I took home my hard earned pay all on my own.

By the time we got to that part... you know it...where the song repeats again and again Find...Me. Somebody to loooove. Find...Me. Somebody to loooove... every ounce of my soul was behind the words. The widows of my car were tinted by the raw color of my desire as Freddie and I called out to the very Gods for the one thing that would make the daily grind worth grinding.

In the end, Freddie would hit that high note...and I'd reach for it too!

And then it would be over.

The spell cast, the ritual over, I'd crack open the card windows to let the cooling autumn air carry our wish out into the universe. And then I'd start thinking about what to make for dinner.

In the cars around me, other drivers inched by, never knowing the great act of sorcery that had taken place in the Taurus next to them.

This went on for a couple of months at least. That is, until I was just about to give up on the whole online dating thing. That was when I got an email without a picture. He was funny enough that I emailed back. His picture, when he did send one, made me smile. He said he loved me on our first date. 18 days later we were engaged.

I didn't wait for Two for Tuesdays anymore. My commute home was shorter some days as my Wookie and I bounced back and forth between his place and mine. It was a rare thing for me to drive back to my place alone, but then one day I did. And Queen came on. And I waited for the song knowing I'd already found my somebody. But the song didn't come. Instead Freddie sang We are the Champions and I thought, yes we are Freddie.

And I sang along.

Courage

If a kid shows courage in the woods, but no one sees it, was she brave?

I was nine, caught up in the raw beauty of the blazing bonfire. The heat on my face competed with chill of night air on my back. My eyes watered from the dusky smoke when the breeze shifted my way. The crackle and pop of damp kindling sent bright orange sparks into the crisp night air, like tiny fireworks. I knew to keep my distance.

My eyes tuned in to the bright light of the flames, making the darkness beyond the fire impenetrable. I could see the faces of the other campers gathered for the sing-along.

Everyone kept a safe distance from the flames.

Except for the kid across from me.

He was part of a loud group that had been disturbing my peace with nightly parties and loud music since their arrival a week before. Just after the sing-a long started, I noticed that his parents had left him sitting there and gone back to their party.

Finding himself suddenly alone, he stood searching.

He stepped forward.

He was wearing those footsie pajamas every little kid seemed to have in the 70s and I could see the white plastic sole of his foot, outstretched, and searching for a place to set down in the narrow space between the singers and the fire.

He threaded his way through; his gaze fixed on his cabin in the distance.

The pace of the music picked up. The neck of a guitar bobbed in time. Everyone clapped along.

The boy squeezed between the guitar and the fire. The guitarist swung his body with the music.

The kid lurched out of the way and into the flames.

Sparks flew up as the boy came down.

I looked for movement from the adults around the fire, but nobody moved. The clapping continued. The singers sang on.

Suddenly, a pair of hands hoisted the boy away from the blaze. His feet scraped a dark trail through the hot red coals. Flames flickered on his synthetic flannel pajamas. The hands beat down the flames and brushed away the glowing embers that clung to the melting vinyl soles of his pajama feet.

I looked down and realized that those hands were my own.

The kid scampered away without a word or a look back.

In his wake, the cool night air washed over me. Music again filled my ears.

I brushed the grey ash from my hands and was shocked that they were not burned. I sat there for a while, mouthing along with the singing. When the music and the fire finally tapered off, I headed to our cabin.

I didn't tell anyone until a few weeks later.

"Gramama," I whispered. "I was a hero!"

We stood alone in her dining room with only my play-dough sculptures watching us from a midst her treasures in the china cabinet. I admired her simple cotton dress knowing that she'd probably made it herself--a skill she'd begun to share with me. We'd just finished another one of her incredible meals and it filled my belly like courage.

I thought she would be proud.

"But Crissy,” she said, “if no one saw you, how do you know you were a hero?"

My throat tightened and I turned away so she couldn't see me biting my lip. I had been brave and fast—that was a hero in my book. No, I thought, it didn't matter that no one had noticed.

Years later, I Googled myself and was surprised to find my name, along with my husband's, in a police blotter column. It briefly mentioned how we had stopped to give aid at a car wreck. Had my grandmother been alive, I might have shown it to her and shared the story of another night when I battled fire, this time with a fire extinguisher and witnesses. I wonder what she would have said.

I can't ask her about it now.

Manspreading

I took a rare trip into New York City today. I had heard that manspreading was an issue, but I didn't realize how long it's been one. This building is practically a monument to it!

At Midnight...

Paul and I were watching At Midnight. They were playing #FML or #YOLO.

Paul: What's YOLO?

Me: You Only Live Once. I'm not sure what FML means.

Paul: Fuck My Life... You see, between the two of us, we're cool.

(Originally posted on March 13, 2014 on Lifeat30Feet.blogspot.com.)

The Yearly Tree Post

Tis the season to post about my Christmas Tree. As I've mentioned before, the tree has been up since 2009 and up until this year, it existed relatively untouched with the exception of adding new ornaments.

This is what it looked like.

That was before Roger.

Roger...or ROGER! as his name is properly pronounced, came to us in February. It was the morning before a huge snow storm. I was awoken from a sound sleep just before sunrise by the sound of a cat wailing. I thought one of our pride had gotten stuck somewhere, or locked in the hall, or maybe sick. But when I went downstairs to make a headcount, I found our cats safe and sound and Paul getting dressed to go out and investigate.

He didn't have to go far. This young cat—no longer a kitten, but not full grown—was huddled under our car. By the time I got to the kitchen window, the cat had come out and was circling Paul's legs.

What followed was this quick conversation.

"Should we?"

"You know what that means."

"The storm's coming, we can't leave him out here."

"Do you think he belongs to anyone?"

"He's friendly."

I passed some food out the window to Paul and the cat went for it.

"He's hungry."

"Should I open the back door?"

"The rule applies."

"I'll go open the door. We'll see what he does."

When I opened the door the cat came right in...and became ours—or we became his. You see, the rule is, if we let the pet cross the threshold, it's found a home.

We brought him up to my office, he looked around and (I swear) he sighed with relief before settling down for a nap.

What does all this have to do with the tree?

Well, at first Roger was docile. Probably because of the wound we found in his side. But once he healed he turned out to be every bit the energetic adolescent boy. He was always hungry, always getting into trouble, and always trying to get the other cats to chase him.

And once he healed completely, we learned he's a climber. That's when we learned that his name isn't "Roger" it's "ROGER!" as in ROGER! GET DOWN!

Over the last year, Roger has explored the joys of our Christmas tree. He's climbed every limb, cherry picked balls, and chased them around the house—don't worry, they're plastic.

I've taken all of our more fragile ornaments off, and the special ones that were gifts were placed in a box.

Finally, with little left to pull down from the tree's branches, Roger began taking down the branches.

Here's what our tree and Roger look like today.

I don't have the heart to take it down just yet. Roger enjoys it so much.

Maybe once the holidays are over...or maybe I'll just put it back together so he can start again. After all, it makes every day Christmas for Roger.

Because it's that time of year again...

The holiday hype started early this year. I was seeing Christmas in stores and TV commercials alongside Halloween costumes. I keep thinking back fondly to when the holiday hype didn't start till after Thanksgiving and I wonder if that was really in my lifetime.

Before the yearly opening salvos of "War on Christmas" bull start inundating the airwaves, I thought I'd share this post I wrote back in 2011.

Because "Happy Holidays" is a NICE Thing to Say...

Oh, and in case you don't follow me on Facebook, I've been plugging my Zazzle shop, as I do this time every year. I hope you'll come and check it out.

Zen and the Art of Toast

I incinerated my lunch...again.

This is a common occurrence. In fact, Wookie has more than once arrived home to find the still-smoking remnants of a melted cheese sandwich, bagel, or reheated pizza slice in the back yard.

Luckily, our toaster oven is right next to the kitchen window—making for easy disposal of burnt offerings before the kitchen fills with smoke.

While ours is a very old toaster oven (it was old when I brought it from my apartment nine years ago), the fault lies with me. The problem is that I lack the ability to be still and do nothing, and this greatly impacts my ability to make toast.

From the moment I push that button down, the time it takes to lightly toast a bagel stretches before me like an unproductive eternity. To distract myself, I find some way to fill the time, whether it's folding laundry, writing a blog post, or checking my email.

Inevitably, I become focused on that more interesting activity until that nagging feeling that I've forgotten something...or the smell of smoke...or Wookie's voice calling, "are you burning something?!" sends me rushing back to the kitchen.

This doesn't happen so much when I'm cooking on the stove-top. That's a more active endeavor—checking the flame, stirring, adding ingredients and tasting tend to be enough to keep my attention. Toast, on the other hand, is my nemesis.

I envy people who can be still. 

I often joke that the only time I'm not multi-tasking is when I'm underwater. There, amidst the fish and the sound of my own bubbles I manage to escape my need for more input. Of course, we always get breakfast out when we dive, so I don't have to worry about forgotten toast.

Happy Blogging Birthday!

Just a quick post to wish a very happy blogging birthday to one of my favorite blogs, The Reedster Speaks.

Cindy is my good friend, teacher and mentor. But most of all, she's courageous, honest and damn funny.

You'll laugh, you'll think, you'll shoot your beverage from your nose. (Best not to drink while reading the Reedster!)

Congratulations Reedster on an amazing year of blogging!

A New Year, A New Way

My first New Years Eve with Wookie was a cold night in 2003,standing on the New Jersey side of the Hudson River with a couple of cups of hot chocolate. The skies over the Hudson were quiet. And at midnight when the ball dropped in Times Square, I was shocked to find that I could hear the cheers of the city erupt with the new year.

It was magical and as fireworks lit the sky, I told Wookie I loved him too. (He'd been saying it since our first date, a week before on Christmas.)

This became our New Years Eve ritual for our first eight years together. Standing near that spot, on some very cold nights, waiting for the ball to drop, reflecting on our year and looking toward the future.

Over the years it became harder to hear the cheers. The night sky has become a buzz with low-flying helicopters. The skyline has changed. And our reflections have changed as well. We've had a few rough years and our conversations, as we've looked out over the black waters of the Hudson have turned to tales of survival.

We watched the fireworks saying "screw you Twenty-(Ten/ Eleven)! We survived!"  We faced the new year battle-scarred, exhausted, and more uncertain that hopeful.

Twenty-twelve was a hard year as well. We had our high points and triumphs, but we are not anywhere near where we'd like to be,

As much as I loved that we had created a holiday tradition for ourselves, I felt that to welcome the new year in the same way would be to invite more of the same. It was time for a change.

Yesterday was an amazing day.

It started with lunch with my college roommate Aimee. We had not seen each other since graduation—twenty years ago. Looking across the table at the diner was like looking back in time, except I had Wookie sitting next to me.

Aimee and I picked up where left off. Twenty years wiser, and with families and careers of our own. Two adults, but certainly not "grown-ups"—which I am certain is something we swore never to become. So one college goal well met!

After a very fun lunch and promises to see Aimee again soon, Wookie and I set off for our next stop—my last wedding of 2012.

Patricia and Larry had been together for 45 years and were finally tying the knot in an intimate ceremony at the Grounds for Sculpture in Hamilton, NJ at The Rat's restaurant. As we gathered and got ready, I heard them say that we were actually at the site of their first date. That just made the celebration more magical.

It's hard to beat a wedding where the groom breaks out into a dance after he kisses his bride. That kind of joy is why I love being a Life-Cycle Celebrant. Wookie was by my side, and sharing that moment made it all the more special for me.

We had one more stop for the night. Instead of our usual celebration alone, Wookie and I would celebrate with friends. We continued our southerly trek through New Jersey to meet friends Rich and Debbie.

I'd never been to Atlantic City, though I'd flown over it many times. Debbie and Rich had a fabulous night planned for us. We started with a buffet at one of the casinos. Wookie and I often have very different food preferences and this place had us both very happy.

Rich has his own buffet rules. I think he summed it up as "all protein, no salad, no veggies." But I couldn't resist laying some gorgeous baby carrots (real ones with a little bit of the tops still on) and a few fingerling potatoes next to the lovely lobster I chose for my first course. When I met Wookie back at the table, he had chosen some beef medallions, that were tender enough to cut with butter knife.

Sitting across from Debbie and Rich, we had a great time. Our troubles forgotten for the night. I worked my way through two lobsters and a small bowl of duck soup (which I highly recommend!) before moving to the amazing deserts. There was chocolate mousse served in the delicate petals of a chocolate tulip—so thin that the heat of my hand holding the plate started the chocolate melting. But I really loved the tiny chocolate cup-cake with icing that I think was infused with rose essence.

I had such a good time, I didn't even stop to take pictures!

As a food coma descended across the table, we made our move for the boardwalk. Wookie and I haven't been on many double dates. I loved walking down the boardwalk, two couples, chatting and people watching.

Rich promised us good people watching and AC certainly delivers! The four of us were fairly well bundled up. I wore several layers against the winter chill, but everywhere were girls in dresses that covered about as much as my bathing suit—no coats, not even a scarf. It might have been an old fogy moment for me, but I can't remember being so impervious to cold when I was young. Though someone in our group theorized that the mass quantities of alcohol in their blood might be acting as anti-freeze.

Midnight came—celebrated prematurely by some people around us and a little late by others. At Wookie's request, we met the new year outside, looking this time out toward the dark waters of the Atlantic. We compared cell phones with Rich and Debbie. When both phones agreed it was midnight, we wished each other a happy new year!

I kissed my Wookie and as he wrapped his arms around me, I greeted the new year with hope.

This morning I learned of an African proverb, "If you want to go quickly, go alone. If you want to go far, go together."

Wookie and I will go far, accompanied by good friends.

Happy New Year, everyone! I hope your 2013 is full of good friends, good health, joy, prosperity, and love.

This is a test...

Just a quick test post as I do some year-end clean up.

But while I'm at it, here's a little piece of inspiration. I drive past this regularly and it makes me smile every time.

Anatomy of a Scam Email

I get a few of these a year. 

Scam emails are an inevitable hazard if you do business on the Internet. 

They tend to be more subtle than your typical personal scam letters, which usually appeal to greed. "Hi, can you help me get money I'm not supposed to have. I'll give you a huge cut." OR "There's a pile of money here that you know really doesn't belong to you. But if you give me your banking information (and everything else I need to steal your identity) I'll make you rich!"

Scam letters aimed at your business tend to look like more legitimate queries. But if you look at them carefully, you can see the telltale signs that they mean trouble. 

There are a lot of hints to indicate that you're dealing with a scam email. Among them, vague references to your services and location without showing that they have ever read your website. Often the recipient's name or the name of his/her business is not even used.

Typically these scams include an offer to send you a check in excess for your fee, which you're supposed to either distribute among other vendors or refund the difference.  The scammers' goal is for you to deposit the check so they can somehow cancel it and suck the funds from your account.

This isn't just for wedding professionals. Anyone with a business could be targeted. Here's an email I received recently. Hopefully this will help you avoid a scam.

Ever Green

In case you've been wondering, our tree is still up.

As I mentioned last year, it's been up since 2009. I am sure this seems ridiculous to most people, but it's become a bit of a totem for me.

The tree has stood through job loss, an earthquake (albeit a tiny one) and two massive storms, the loss of two of our beloved cats and bills, bills, bills.

As the pressures of adulthood (which at 42 years old I have decided I will never get used to) continue to mount, the tree stands in defiance of it all.

Somewhere, deep in the recesses of my mind is a much younger me, probably in footsie pajamas, wishing the tree could stay up all year even as pine needles littered the carpet like prickly confetti.

This tree stands for that part of me that thought, "some day, when I grow up, I'll keep the tree up for as long as I want."

Of course, 10 year old me wanted more from life than just to have a the tree up all year. So if anyone has a spare light saber lying around, you know where to send it.

Slow Cooker Lasagna

I haven't had the combination of time and energy to cook in ages. I just started a VERY short contract job and also teaching this year's Celebrant class. So today was my last chance, for a while to experiment in the kitchen.

I had seen some recipes online for lasagna cooked in a slow cooker. The proposed advantages being fewer pots needed and a long, slow, hands-off cooking time. I figured I'd give it a shot.

It is by no means my grandmother's lasagna. I cut a lot of corners, used sauce from a jar, didn't have some of the ingredients (tomato paste, oregano) I would have like to include. But, it is tasty.

What stands out the most is the consistency of the noodles. Because they go into the slow cooker dry, rather than pre-boiled, the consistency is different. The noodles melt into the other ingredients more. It's not unpleasant, but it's not my favorite part of the dish either.

I am thinking of boiling the noodles next time and cutting the time in the slow cooker. That way I can skip using the oven, but still get the regular consistency of the pasta.

I'd almost consider skipping the noodles altogether, but there is something way to decadent about a big pot of melted cheese and meat sauce...

UPDATE:

Rosie approves.

My Heroes of Hurricane Sandy

I am using my blog this week to give a HUGE thank you to everyone who worked so hard to keep people safe during Hurricane Sandy and those who are working tirelessly to put our little corner of the world back in order.

Dearest to my heart are the members of the BTUSAR Squad 86, of which my husband is the training officer and of which I have recently become a member. While I was holding down the fort at home, the men and women of the Squad were out in the winds and rising flood waters helping people escape to safety. 

I'll let the press release bellow tell the rest. I am just so proud of all of them.

FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE

Contact:

Richard Zeller, Assistant Chief

Berkeley Township Underwater Search and Rescue (BTUSAR) Squad 86

RPZ322@aol.com

609-661-8207

www.BTUSAR.com

Local Volunteer Dive Squad Saves over 100 People from Hurricane Sandy

Volunteer Members of BTUSAR Risked their Lives While Their Own Homes Were Being Damaged

BERKELEY TOWNSHIP, NJ

NOVEMBER 3, 2012

The first call came in about 9AM Monday morning (October 29, 2012) as winds from the leading edge of the storm system began pushing tidal waters inland, past the barrier islands and toward Berkeley Township and other Jersey Shore communities.

For the next 52 hours, as Hurricane Sandy, approached, made landfall, and passed overhead, bringing with it record tides and floodwaters that reached up to two miles inland, the members of the all volunteer Berkeley Township Under Water Search and Rescue (BTUSAR) Squad 86 worked tirelessly to rescue local residents.

Where local police and fire vehicles were unable to traverse the deepening waters and strong tidal surge, BTUSAR members came with boats and, wearing wetsuits, even waded through the chest-deep waters. They guided, carried, and ferried local residents from their flooding homes.

"We had four teams working on rotation plus our command station." Says Richard Zeller, BTUSAR Assistant Chief. "At last count, we rescued over hundred residents."

And that's not all. BTUSAR's Training Officer, Paul Skehan notes, that BTUSAR's squad house also ended up serving as a shelter for those rescued from the storm. Says Skehan, "Our team returned from a run to find a police lieutenant at the squad house with his laptop. A tree had fallen on the generators of the dispatch station and shelters were full. From that point on, the victims stayed with us until they could be bused to safety. At one point I came back from a call to find every available space filled with people sleeping or getting warm."

A tree damaged by Hurricane Sandy's winds lies beside the BTUSAR Squad house that sheltered victims of Hurricane Sandy's floodwaters Monday night.

It's worth mentioning that Sunday night, when BTUSAR went on call gathering at the Squad House to prepare vehicles and equipment they did not expect to be activated until after Hurricane Sandy had passed. Public announcements by Governor Christie as well as communications from local officials had been that first responders would not be called to rescue those who had ignored the mandatory evacuation orders, until the storm had passed.

But in the hours after that first call Monday morning, the BTUSAR team worked tirelessly and selflessly to rescue those in Sandy's path—even as their own homes were threatened.

Says Zeller, "During this storm I've seen the best humanity has to offer and some of the worst. I want to commend our officers and crew for putting themselves on the line and making the sacrifices they did to make sure that others were safe.

When asked about finding that his own home had been demolished by a falling tree Monday night when he was on duty, Zeller responded, "I don't care. My kids, family , and friends are all safe. We helped hundreds of families and that is what matters."

BTUSAR is an all volunteer organization. They meet twice a week for training sessions covering everything from first aid to under water search and recovery. For the last two years, they have also served as the safety team at speedboat races for the Jersey Outlaws racing association.

In the aftermath of Hurricane Sandy, BTUSAR, while standing down, is still serving the community. Yesterday, Zeller and other members of the squad raised a boat that had sunk in a lagoon with 150 gallons of fuel on board. The six-hour operation not only saved the boat, but also prevented the environmental damage that would have resulted from spilled fuel. Today, and in the days to come, BTUSAR members are making themselves available for body recovery efforts.

BTUSAR Squad 86 has been serving the residents of Berkeley Township and surrounding areas since 1979. They are an all volunteer unit of trained underwater rescue and recovery divers with EMTs and commercial divers on staff. Their mission is any and all marine rescue emergency response above or below the water line and to respond to mutual aid requests in any other emergency within the realm of the unit's training.

For more information about BTUSAR contact Assistant Chief Richard Zeller at RPZ322@aol.com or by phone at 609-661-8207.