Leonard Pitts is a plain speaking writer. Ok, that reads weird but it's true. When he offers up his weekly commentary (I happen to read it in the Houston Chronicle but he's out of Florida) I "get" him. Sometimes I agree. Sometimes I don't. But I always understand what he's saying.
For instance, this week he dares to suggest that teachers should be accountable and teacher unions should encourage rather than obstruct such accountability. Check it out. I'm sure there are lengthy arguments to contradict what he's stated so simply here but when you get past all the words, doesn't it make sense that those who give them should have to make the grade?
Tuesday, August 03, 2010
Monday, August 02, 2010
Precious Memories
Mother walked toward me with her hands cupped. If I were 6 and her white hair only peppered with salt, she would be clutching a doll or cookie. Since we were celebrating her 80th birthday, I was fairly sure toys and sugar were not what she was hiding.
With the mischievous grin she usually donned for her grandkids, she said, "For you" and revealed her gift.
The framed photo I had taken more than 20 years ago when she and her then new husband Doc walked hand in hand in front of me on a rainy day as we climbed a hill in the Smoky Mountains made me cry out. "Really?" was what I uttered but my own grin revealed the extent of my pleasure.
"You were always so proud of this picture and I want you to have it," she said.
I must admit I wondered if the gesture was some kind of eery foreshadowing -- like maybe she was disposing of prized possessions, knowing that there wouldn't be another opportunity. But I let got of that morbid thought fairly quickly and hugged her.
Mother was always proud of my creative side but, since she only picked up reading late in life, my writing wasn't something she kept up with. The fact that she too had valued this attempt at art on my part always made it even more precious to me.
Now, sitting in its place of honor in my Texas home, it is priceless.
With the mischievous grin she usually donned for her grandkids, she said, "For you" and revealed her gift.
The framed photo I had taken more than 20 years ago when she and her then new husband Doc walked hand in hand in front of me on a rainy day as we climbed a hill in the Smoky Mountains made me cry out. "Really?" was what I uttered but my own grin revealed the extent of my pleasure.
"You were always so proud of this picture and I want you to have it," she said.
I must admit I wondered if the gesture was some kind of eery foreshadowing -- like maybe she was disposing of prized possessions, knowing that there wouldn't be another opportunity. But I let got of that morbid thought fairly quickly and hugged her.
Mother was always proud of my creative side but, since she only picked up reading late in life, my writing wasn't something she kept up with. The fact that she too had valued this attempt at art on my part always made it even more precious to me.
Now, sitting in its place of honor in my Texas home, it is priceless.
Monday, July 26, 2010
Smiling
I've been interviewed seven times in the last few weeks. I've written twice as many cover letters -- all customized for the audience. I've made a daily ritual of checking the non-profit job boards.
I'm not fretful about having to job hunt. I'm fretful that I'm getting in too good of a groove!
To date, I've had to refrain from smiling at least once in each interview . . .
-when the exec said for the third time how much he thought of me but that he wasn't sure if the organization could look outside the box enough to hire someone with my limited qualifications in fundraising,
-when the staff was asked if they had questions for me, and they didn't
-when the board member asked if, in the chance that I didn't get the job, would I still volunteer my time (something I've been doing for 15 years!)
-when the two introverts and I were alone in a warm, white office with nothing but a few pieces of paper, a table, and the quiet between us
-when the young man with a list of questions he must have collected from his interview days asked me what my long term career objectives were (at which point I thought about my response to the older man who interviewed me for my first post-college position and said, "You know we only pay minimum wage, and you're getting your masters." To which I replied, "You know I'd like to eat.")
-when the gum-smacking admissions counselor apologized for the gum -- not for the smacking but for not offering me a piece
And the list could easily go on.
How interesting to be on this side of the desk. Reminds me of the many artists, editors and editorial assistants I interviewed through the years. I hope I always left them feeling heard and affirmed in some way. For the most part, that's certainly been true of my experiences this go around.
I've yet to try what one man pulled with me. He explained that I had to hire him because God had revealed it unto him. One of us was obviously not listening to the same God channel. He was pious, yes. He was NOT a good artist.
I am a good interview. I'm an even better employee. And someday soon, I'll be employed again. Until then, I'm still smiling.
I'm not fretful about having to job hunt. I'm fretful that I'm getting in too good of a groove!
To date, I've had to refrain from smiling at least once in each interview . . .
-when the exec said for the third time how much he thought of me but that he wasn't sure if the organization could look outside the box enough to hire someone with my limited qualifications in fundraising,
-when the staff was asked if they had questions for me, and they didn't
-when the board member asked if, in the chance that I didn't get the job, would I still volunteer my time (something I've been doing for 15 years!)
-when the two introverts and I were alone in a warm, white office with nothing but a few pieces of paper, a table, and the quiet between us
-when the young man with a list of questions he must have collected from his interview days asked me what my long term career objectives were (at which point I thought about my response to the older man who interviewed me for my first post-college position and said, "You know we only pay minimum wage, and you're getting your masters." To which I replied, "You know I'd like to eat.")
-when the gum-smacking admissions counselor apologized for the gum -- not for the smacking but for not offering me a piece
And the list could easily go on.
How interesting to be on this side of the desk. Reminds me of the many artists, editors and editorial assistants I interviewed through the years. I hope I always left them feeling heard and affirmed in some way. For the most part, that's certainly been true of my experiences this go around.
I've yet to try what one man pulled with me. He explained that I had to hire him because God had revealed it unto him. One of us was obviously not listening to the same God channel. He was pious, yes. He was NOT a good artist.
I am a good interview. I'm an even better employee. And someday soon, I'll be employed again. Until then, I'm still smiling.
Sunday, July 25, 2010
Day in the Life of a New Adventure
"What was you favorite subject in high school?" said the gum-smacking admissions counselor with the smoker's rasp.
"Anything to do with writing," I offered, smiling at the fact that the form she was filling out was based on the assumption that the person on the opposite side of her desk would be recently graduated from high school or a GED recipient.
"What was your least favorite?"
"Math."
"I could have told you that was what you were going to say. Happens all the time during these interviews. If someone liked English or writing, they are going to say they didn't like math. So, if it makes you feel better, you're predictable."
"That maybe the last time you say that during the entirety of this interview."
She laughed, coughed, and smacked some more as we made our way through the form she was adapting on the spot. At one point, she apologized for the long pauses, noting that her usual intake wasn't with people as forthcoming as me. Seems that where she frequently had to pull replies from her candidates, I answered one question with enough information to fill half the application.
For instance, as to why I wanted to receive certification in massage therapy, I responded, "I love working with non-profits but they can't afford to pay me. So I need a skill that will allow me to have the flexibility of working with them -- and thus feed my 'habit' -- while at the same time, help to pay the bills. Also, I believe my life is about rest, restoration, and refreshment for others. I can't think of a better way for me to accomplish that than through the gift of touch."
I think that must have covered questions 6-9 on the form.
She continued to apologize throughout the interview and tour of the facility. Once it was for checking her cell phone. Another time it was for the gum -- not the 'chomping' as she called it (and correctly I might add) but for not offering me a piece. Then it was for the speed at which she talked, the scattered approach, the fact that she had to comply with state rules and tell me everything about the school's offerings, the speed at which she walked. Initially, I replied with "I understand" and "No problem." But after a while, I just let the apologies go.
By the time the tour was half over and I had been introduced to my third bulletin board of students in health professions, I knew I needed to call it quits. But I continued. When she couldn't show me the mall-based storefront where interns offer cut-rate massages and underscored twice that they had increased security after five break-ins in the parking lot, I was fairly sure, I didn't really need to talk to the financial adviser. But I did. The price tag sealed it.
I won't be going to this school.
A short ride later, I walked into a posh spa with the required bubbling brook sounds and water installations around every corner. Everyone was in scrubs. The place smelled of eucalyptus and lavender. The lights were muted. The music and water sounds created the score for the tour. Hydrotherapy, a waterbed massage table, and the fact that by becoming a student I would be given free membership to the gym, pool, and exercises classes sealed the deal. Oh, and the fact that though no financial aid is available, the cost was half the previous place and I get a massage chair when I am finished.
I felt like a snob when I resolved that I was choosing the spa over the mall. But if relaxation is what I want to be about, the decision wasn't a difficult one.
Now I await word from the fulltime position I interviewed for. If that job is offered, then classes won't begin for me until spring 2011 when the next round of night options begin. If the job isn't mine, then I can start in a few weeks.
Either way, I've settled that my next step is not a either/or option. I'm all about the both/and. And this time, I'm getting both learning and position, both education and atmosphere.
And I'm one step closer to that woman I am becoming. (No gum chewing allowed.)
"Anything to do with writing," I offered, smiling at the fact that the form she was filling out was based on the assumption that the person on the opposite side of her desk would be recently graduated from high school or a GED recipient.
"What was your least favorite?"
"Math."
"I could have told you that was what you were going to say. Happens all the time during these interviews. If someone liked English or writing, they are going to say they didn't like math. So, if it makes you feel better, you're predictable."
"That maybe the last time you say that during the entirety of this interview."
She laughed, coughed, and smacked some more as we made our way through the form she was adapting on the spot. At one point, she apologized for the long pauses, noting that her usual intake wasn't with people as forthcoming as me. Seems that where she frequently had to pull replies from her candidates, I answered one question with enough information to fill half the application.
For instance, as to why I wanted to receive certification in massage therapy, I responded, "I love working with non-profits but they can't afford to pay me. So I need a skill that will allow me to have the flexibility of working with them -- and thus feed my 'habit' -- while at the same time, help to pay the bills. Also, I believe my life is about rest, restoration, and refreshment for others. I can't think of a better way for me to accomplish that than through the gift of touch."
I think that must have covered questions 6-9 on the form.
She continued to apologize throughout the interview and tour of the facility. Once it was for checking her cell phone. Another time it was for the gum -- not the 'chomping' as she called it (and correctly I might add) but for not offering me a piece. Then it was for the speed at which she talked, the scattered approach, the fact that she had to comply with state rules and tell me everything about the school's offerings, the speed at which she walked. Initially, I replied with "I understand" and "No problem." But after a while, I just let the apologies go.
By the time the tour was half over and I had been introduced to my third bulletin board of students in health professions, I knew I needed to call it quits. But I continued. When she couldn't show me the mall-based storefront where interns offer cut-rate massages and underscored twice that they had increased security after five break-ins in the parking lot, I was fairly sure, I didn't really need to talk to the financial adviser. But I did. The price tag sealed it.
I won't be going to this school.
A short ride later, I walked into a posh spa with the required bubbling brook sounds and water installations around every corner. Everyone was in scrubs. The place smelled of eucalyptus and lavender. The lights were muted. The music and water sounds created the score for the tour. Hydrotherapy, a waterbed massage table, and the fact that by becoming a student I would be given free membership to the gym, pool, and exercises classes sealed the deal. Oh, and the fact that though no financial aid is available, the cost was half the previous place and I get a massage chair when I am finished.
I felt like a snob when I resolved that I was choosing the spa over the mall. But if relaxation is what I want to be about, the decision wasn't a difficult one.
Now I await word from the fulltime position I interviewed for. If that job is offered, then classes won't begin for me until spring 2011 when the next round of night options begin. If the job isn't mine, then I can start in a few weeks.
Either way, I've settled that my next step is not a either/or option. I'm all about the both/and. And this time, I'm getting both learning and position, both education and atmosphere.
And I'm one step closer to that woman I am becoming. (No gum chewing allowed.)
Thursday, July 15, 2010
Matter of Perspective
I once had a maid, a yard guy, a house with a home office, and . . . the constant feeling that I was failing.
Today I dropped something on the floor and realized that if I didn't pick it up, no one would. A couple of days ago, I weeded the weeds on my front stoop and was satisfied that they looked close enough to wildflowers for me to let them keep growing (at least they are green). I'm typing on a Mac permanently stained by Tanzanian dirt and plugged into the wall because the battery died and I don't want to incur the expense of replacing it. And I am happy.
Today I dropped something on the floor and realized that if I didn't pick it up, no one would. A couple of days ago, I weeded the weeds on my front stoop and was satisfied that they looked close enough to wildflowers for me to let them keep growing (at least they are green). I'm typing on a Mac permanently stained by Tanzanian dirt and plugged into the wall because the battery died and I don't want to incur the expense of replacing it. And I am happy.
Sunday, July 04, 2010
New Life, the Sequel to the Sequel
Once July got here, the reality of my situation began to sink in. I'm leaving my job (for which I'm paid regularly) because I no longer want to work in that environment. However, I have no new environment on the horizon. So I'm listening to what others are saying and trying to pay attention.
"Karen, you should let people pay you to do that."
"We'd love to have your skill sets, but as a non-profit with no steady income, we can't afford you."
"You need to be in a creative space."
"Karen gets her energy from touch."
"You're not old."
As a result of comments like these and remembering the inspiring examples of my friend Cam and Larry who both stopped the road they were on and went back to school for a new one, I'm looking at massage therapy school. A program starts Aug. 23. I could be through in six months. I could freelance at night and on the weekends to try and make ends meet but I am also looking at whether I could use my retirement funds without penalty in order to go to school.
I'm nervous, excited, maybe a little worried, and ready.
"Karen, you should let people pay you to do that."
"We'd love to have your skill sets, but as a non-profit with no steady income, we can't afford you."
"You need to be in a creative space."
"Karen gets her energy from touch."
"You're not old."
As a result of comments like these and remembering the inspiring examples of my friend Cam and Larry who both stopped the road they were on and went back to school for a new one, I'm looking at massage therapy school. A program starts Aug. 23. I could be through in six months. I could freelance at night and on the weekends to try and make ends meet but I am also looking at whether I could use my retirement funds without penalty in order to go to school.
I'm nervous, excited, maybe a little worried, and ready.
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
Writing I Didn't Want to Do but Was Honored to Complete
I was asked to write an obituary for a remarkable woman, truly what people would call a "character", someone who made my "family I've chosen" better with her presence, her candor, her unsappy approach to compassion. After writing it, I gave it to her husband Bill for him to give to the newspaper. Unfortunately, a snafu meant that it didn't appear the day before the funeral. I intervened, tried logic, then asked for humanity to prevail and unfortunately, the bottom line was the only thing the business side of the paper was interested in. At more than $800, I thought the charges were excessive when the item wouldn't appear until the day of the funeral. So I switched approaches. A call to the News Desk resulted in a feature story, celebrating her volunteerism, that appeared last night online and the day of the funeral on page 2 of the City Section and above the fold.
Carolyn would not have enjoyed the attention, but would have been thoroughly pleased that we beat the system and got it all for free. They didn't use my version of the story and as a result got a few great quotes from Bill that I didn't. But in case you never had the privilege of meeting her, here's my introduction to a great woman who loved and lived life to the fullest:
Carolyn Sharber, 75, died June 17. Her sudden death occurred as she was fulfilling one of her many volunteer roles – assisting Texas Lovin’ Cloggers prior to a performance in Branson, MO.
Born in Elizabeth City, NC, Carolyn spent 39 years in classrooms in New Orleans and Houston. She and her husband, Bill, recently celebrated their 54th wedding anniversary. Childhood sweethearts, they attended grade school and high school together and graduated from East Carolina University.
Upon her retirement from teaching physical education, Carolyn began a second “career” of volunteerism. Her commitments included Braes Interfaith Ministries, Omega House (an AIDS hospice), Interfaith Care Partners, and the Livestock Committee of the Houston Livestock Show & Rodeo. She was a member of Willow Meadows Baptist Church where she faithfully did whatever task needed to be done.
Known for her sense of humor, compassionate spirit, and practical approach to work and play, Carolyn was able to bring a lighter side to many of the serious issues connected to her volunteerism. Fifteen years ago, upon being told that hospice volunteers were needed for cooking, cleaning and patient care at Omega House, Carolyn quickly acknowledged that she would happily do the laundry but since she kept her cookbooks in her oven at home, she wouldn’t be cooking anywhere else either. At the church, her aversion to cooking prompted other volunteers to capture her one experience in the kitchen on film.
Upon hearing of her death, numerous friends and acquaintances began recounting their experiences with Carolyn’s selfless acts of befriending the outcast and recruiting of others to join her in her volunteer activities.
“Carolyn gave her life to service, caring for everyone but herself,” said her husband Bill. “You would never find a better friend. I could never have found a better partner.”
Carolyn is also survived by a sister, Mary Ann Knight of Garner, NC; two nieces Sheryl Holbrook and Donna Barefoot; a nephew Randal Hardesty; and close friend Buncy Nemec.
The funeral will take place Wednesday, June 23, at 10 a.m. at Willow Meadows Baptist Church, 4300 West Bellfort. In lieu of flowers, the family requests that donations be made to the church youth programs to scholarship youth activities.
Truly a sanitized version, the best things about Carolyn were her approach to doing good deeds, her aversion to cooking, her total disregard for anyone who didn't want her smoking in the church parking lot, her willingness to do ANYTHING except cook, the way she approached anyone she didn't know and made them her friend in minutes, and the way she never saw what might keep others from lending a hand -- dirty clothes and hair, a shady past/present, a furrowed brow that looked menacing -- and instead just treated humanity as humanity.
I, and many others, will miss her.
Carolyn would not have enjoyed the attention, but would have been thoroughly pleased that we beat the system and got it all for free. They didn't use my version of the story and as a result got a few great quotes from Bill that I didn't. But in case you never had the privilege of meeting her, here's my introduction to a great woman who loved and lived life to the fullest:
Carolyn Sharber, 75, died June 17. Her sudden death occurred as she was fulfilling one of her many volunteer roles – assisting Texas Lovin’ Cloggers prior to a performance in Branson, MO.
Born in Elizabeth City, NC, Carolyn spent 39 years in classrooms in New Orleans and Houston. She and her husband, Bill, recently celebrated their 54th wedding anniversary. Childhood sweethearts, they attended grade school and high school together and graduated from East Carolina University.
Upon her retirement from teaching physical education, Carolyn began a second “career” of volunteerism. Her commitments included Braes Interfaith Ministries, Omega House (an AIDS hospice), Interfaith Care Partners, and the Livestock Committee of the Houston Livestock Show & Rodeo. She was a member of Willow Meadows Baptist Church where she faithfully did whatever task needed to be done.
Known for her sense of humor, compassionate spirit, and practical approach to work and play, Carolyn was able to bring a lighter side to many of the serious issues connected to her volunteerism. Fifteen years ago, upon being told that hospice volunteers were needed for cooking, cleaning and patient care at Omega House, Carolyn quickly acknowledged that she would happily do the laundry but since she kept her cookbooks in her oven at home, she wouldn’t be cooking anywhere else either. At the church, her aversion to cooking prompted other volunteers to capture her one experience in the kitchen on film.
Upon hearing of her death, numerous friends and acquaintances began recounting their experiences with Carolyn’s selfless acts of befriending the outcast and recruiting of others to join her in her volunteer activities.
“Carolyn gave her life to service, caring for everyone but herself,” said her husband Bill. “You would never find a better friend. I could never have found a better partner.”
Carolyn is also survived by a sister, Mary Ann Knight of Garner, NC; two nieces Sheryl Holbrook and Donna Barefoot; a nephew Randal Hardesty; and close friend Buncy Nemec.
The funeral will take place Wednesday, June 23, at 10 a.m. at Willow Meadows Baptist Church, 4300 West Bellfort. In lieu of flowers, the family requests that donations be made to the church youth programs to scholarship youth activities.
Truly a sanitized version, the best things about Carolyn were her approach to doing good deeds, her aversion to cooking, her total disregard for anyone who didn't want her smoking in the church parking lot, her willingness to do ANYTHING except cook, the way she approached anyone she didn't know and made them her friend in minutes, and the way she never saw what might keep others from lending a hand -- dirty clothes and hair, a shady past/present, a furrowed brow that looked menacing -- and instead just treated humanity as humanity.
I, and many others, will miss her.
Sunday, June 20, 2010
A Saturday in Houston in June
The fan on my VW is belching hot air and hot air only. I can't make up my mind as to whether I should put the windows down where the temp is already near 90 before 9 a.m. or keep waiting for the cold air to come.
I drive the almost empty freeway to my workplace where I am greeted by similarly clad folks in campaign t-shirts. I'm thinking that this will be my last blockwalk and while that pleases me the thought of the next few hours does not. The interns have the situation well in hand and I await my marching orders. A volunteer (who came to us in the last campaign and worked as she subsequently got the news she had lymphoma and then began treatment) and I have four streets to cover in Bellaire.
We take her car.
The process of blockwalking is well thought out. I have a clipboard of papers for one side of the street. She has the other. We knock. We wait. We greet. We tell what we are doing. We offer the brochure. We smile and go to the next house. Simple.
I HATE IT!
Who wants to be bothered by politics on a Saturday morning? Especially when the election isn't until November and this is a hot day in June. I did encounter one woman eager to hear me and even though she votes the other ticket most of the time, seemed to be open to what I had to say. AND she offered me water.
Two hours into it and I'm wet all over. Now, not only would I not open the door to me, I would be fearful of the sight if I happened to check out my window!
Finally, we've covered the route and head back to the office. Then I head to my next gig -- babysitting.
Brian asked me to come over because he now has twins and a 2-year-old -- plus he's giving a party that afternoon. I get a quick orientation as the moment I enter there's crying and changing and feeding to be done. They are big dollops of cuteness and despite my lack of experience with small versions of humanity, I walk away without traumatizing anyone.
Next up is a phone call that lasts two hours. Interesting ... Intriguing ... Not enough to write about yet.
And finally I head to see what Fiona needs. She's a friend who is a on a similar journey of discovering the next thing for her life. I wind up filming her on a graveled path with a great view of the city behind her (this after trying a rooftop and then climbing through a stranger's window to check out her "patio" view). She does several takes describing her passion for equal rights, equal respect, and equal responsibility. Then we head for a brief catch up that turns into a lengthy discussion of options, possibilities, and passion.
I realize that passion is addictive. I love the fire it puts in someone's actions, the light it brings to their eyes, the sense of purpose it provides. I want passion in my life and I am beginning to realize that mine is ignited by others'.
Nice day in the life of me . . .
I drive the almost empty freeway to my workplace where I am greeted by similarly clad folks in campaign t-shirts. I'm thinking that this will be my last blockwalk and while that pleases me the thought of the next few hours does not. The interns have the situation well in hand and I await my marching orders. A volunteer (who came to us in the last campaign and worked as she subsequently got the news she had lymphoma and then began treatment) and I have four streets to cover in Bellaire.
We take her car.
The process of blockwalking is well thought out. I have a clipboard of papers for one side of the street. She has the other. We knock. We wait. We greet. We tell what we are doing. We offer the brochure. We smile and go to the next house. Simple.
I HATE IT!
Who wants to be bothered by politics on a Saturday morning? Especially when the election isn't until November and this is a hot day in June. I did encounter one woman eager to hear me and even though she votes the other ticket most of the time, seemed to be open to what I had to say. AND she offered me water.
Two hours into it and I'm wet all over. Now, not only would I not open the door to me, I would be fearful of the sight if I happened to check out my window!
Finally, we've covered the route and head back to the office. Then I head to my next gig -- babysitting.
Brian asked me to come over because he now has twins and a 2-year-old -- plus he's giving a party that afternoon. I get a quick orientation as the moment I enter there's crying and changing and feeding to be done. They are big dollops of cuteness and despite my lack of experience with small versions of humanity, I walk away without traumatizing anyone.
Next up is a phone call that lasts two hours. Interesting ... Intriguing ... Not enough to write about yet.
And finally I head to see what Fiona needs. She's a friend who is a on a similar journey of discovering the next thing for her life. I wind up filming her on a graveled path with a great view of the city behind her (this after trying a rooftop and then climbing through a stranger's window to check out her "patio" view). She does several takes describing her passion for equal rights, equal respect, and equal responsibility. Then we head for a brief catch up that turns into a lengthy discussion of options, possibilities, and passion.
I realize that passion is addictive. I love the fire it puts in someone's actions, the light it brings to their eyes, the sense of purpose it provides. I want passion in my life and I am beginning to realize that mine is ignited by others'.
Nice day in the life of me . . .
Friday, June 18, 2010
Hands in the Air, Anticipating the Ride
Experiential learner that I am, many of my aha moments are accompanied by "doing" metaphors. I illustrate the ying/yang of the art of leadership -- keeping the urgency taut as you move toward a vision while clearly understanding current reality -- as the motion of cross country skiing. These last few days I've been feeling the hills -- the strain of climbing, the anticipation, the release and pure joy -- of a roller coaster.
First I returned from not only a fun trip but a truly stimulating one. My time in London with friends/entrepreneurs there inspired me. I remembered how much I love helping a person of passion move toward achieving their dreams. The second day back I interviewed for a position with an organization where I have volunteered for 15 years. I enjoyed meeting the staff and could begin to see that it could really be a good match for me. I made the "cut" (5 candidates were simultaneously in this process) and met with board members the next day. At the conclusion of that one, a board member thanked me for my enthusiasm. I hadn't realized how long it had been since someone commented on that (used to be a fairly regular observation folks made about my presentations) and was optimistic but cautiously so. Seems my lack of the title on my resume for the position the director was seeking to fill continued to be a concern for him. He just didn't see how my church experiences would translate into a health non-profit fundraising and volunteer management role.
So yesterday, he called to tell me that they had gone a different direction. And honestly, I felt released. I wanted to work for a group who "got me", who could think outside the box and be ready to creatively answer questions that nagged them, who matched my passion and provided me a challenge and a playground for new ideas. If my lack of the title he wanted to see boxed him in, then that's not the place I want to be.
And if that realization weren't enough, I then got a call that a dear woman and one of the reasons I call Houston home, had died. Carolyn was an incredible force wrapped in a body that was 100 pounds possibly but only when wet. Her story will be another entry on another day when I can tell it without tearing up and jeopardizing the keyboard.
But truly, how can a concern over a career path even compare to the loss of a loved one. I called her husband Bill and simply said, "I love you and am praying" and I went to my next event with the knowledge that my chosen family here is incredible.
The event I attended for my current boss included doctors from the area. One couple heard me mention Tanzania and came back to talk. They've only been married two years. She ran a center for AIDS orphans in Namibia before coming here. I explained a bit about the work I'd done with the organization I'd known as Minnesota International Health Volunteers in 2008.
This morning I decided to see what MIHV was up to. For one thing, they've changed their name. Now Wellshare International they are currently looking for a Communications and Volunteer Manager. I sent my resume.
I've also sent my number to a friend who says her friend wants to introduce himself to me. No clue what that means except . . .
The anticipation begins again.
First I returned from not only a fun trip but a truly stimulating one. My time in London with friends/entrepreneurs there inspired me. I remembered how much I love helping a person of passion move toward achieving their dreams. The second day back I interviewed for a position with an organization where I have volunteered for 15 years. I enjoyed meeting the staff and could begin to see that it could really be a good match for me. I made the "cut" (5 candidates were simultaneously in this process) and met with board members the next day. At the conclusion of that one, a board member thanked me for my enthusiasm. I hadn't realized how long it had been since someone commented on that (used to be a fairly regular observation folks made about my presentations) and was optimistic but cautiously so. Seems my lack of the title on my resume for the position the director was seeking to fill continued to be a concern for him. He just didn't see how my church experiences would translate into a health non-profit fundraising and volunteer management role.
So yesterday, he called to tell me that they had gone a different direction. And honestly, I felt released. I wanted to work for a group who "got me", who could think outside the box and be ready to creatively answer questions that nagged them, who matched my passion and provided me a challenge and a playground for new ideas. If my lack of the title he wanted to see boxed him in, then that's not the place I want to be.
And if that realization weren't enough, I then got a call that a dear woman and one of the reasons I call Houston home, had died. Carolyn was an incredible force wrapped in a body that was 100 pounds possibly but only when wet. Her story will be another entry on another day when I can tell it without tearing up and jeopardizing the keyboard.
But truly, how can a concern over a career path even compare to the loss of a loved one. I called her husband Bill and simply said, "I love you and am praying" and I went to my next event with the knowledge that my chosen family here is incredible.
The event I attended for my current boss included doctors from the area. One couple heard me mention Tanzania and came back to talk. They've only been married two years. She ran a center for AIDS orphans in Namibia before coming here. I explained a bit about the work I'd done with the organization I'd known as Minnesota International Health Volunteers in 2008.
This morning I decided to see what MIHV was up to. For one thing, they've changed their name. Now Wellshare International they are currently looking for a Communications and Volunteer Manager. I sent my resume.
I've also sent my number to a friend who says her friend wants to introduce himself to me. No clue what that means except . . .
The anticipation begins again.
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
Paris/London Postings: Written Two Days after Arriving Home
Though I worked at least six days out of the 12 we were gone, I absolutely loved this vacation. The work allowed me to remember who I am, what I ought to be doing, and I was able to give the gift of time to friends I love. The reward was their gratitude and some of the most incredible sites (some not listed on any tourist map, some only highlighted in a footnote, and some that fall into the category of "must see").
Rather than offer up a day to day narrative, I'll provide a list of images and sensations:
- the English version should be the picture beside the definition for "rolling countryside"
- pub life cannot be compared to dropping by a bar in the U.S. . . . there's a whole culture that we don't come near to reproducing, plus the drinks aren't nearly as expensive
- when a bride and groom are both artists, their dreams of a wedding are like no other ... so if you are picking up the responsibility of ensuring those dreams are realized, it's good to get all the details before the other help start arriving
- jam jars and tea cups make for delightful drinks at an afternoon reception but removing almost 100 labels is a rather sticky job
- transforming a 500+year-old-hall into a meeting room/dining room/dance hall takes all hands on deck and it's great when many of those hands are artistic
- I'll never be able to produce dove bunting the way Rob can
- I'll never see a bride as romantically attired and beaming quite as brightly as Aimie was
- I love it when people who love to cook all wind up in a big kitchen together ... when the accents are Irish, French Canadian, Indian, Philadelphian, British, and Texan, it's even more fun
- When asked to prepare food for such an eclectic crowd be prepared to be asked if this, that and the other thing are gluten free ... several times ... with increasing levels of frustration on the part of the gluten free eater that you can do nothing for (other than suggest they eat the items that are obviously sans gluten)
- Never underestimate the ability of a Brit to hold his margarita, whiskey sour, Proseco, bellini, and wine. Amazing fortitude!
- An English countryside "hill" is a Texas mountain ... when climbing up it, take note and walk with the woman with the cane because you look good for "helping" and you are allowed to stop and breathe without looking like a fat wimp
- Weddings planned by spiritual artists who love visual and word art as well as the theater are quite spectacular
- You probably can't imagine but you may want to try ... on top of a high and windy grassy opening, overlooking rolling countryside which make their way to the sea ... all in view as the vows are exchanged
- Items included in the service: sticks transformed into wands which form an archway through which the women walk through, oil from the Holy Land, binding cloth, bread/wine, a girl wearing her fairy wings and a boy clad in a kilt to deliver the rings, a dog running through the circle that surrounded the couple and an embarrassed teen apologizing, biodegradable dove balloons released, and audience participation
- When the hall is stone and includes a smoke-stained Rueben, there's pretty good bones for a breathtakingly beautiful dining experience but add in garland and wildflowers, glass decanters and tealights, and 90 friends and family and it's beyond description
- Brits like written speeches rather than toasts at their weddings
- 1st course: lentil soup; 2nd: meat/veg/gluten free pies with 5 salads served family style; 3rd: cheescake for all and choices of 8 homemade cakes (including 3 which were gluten free)
- The barn dance reminded me of contra dancing ... and Rob and Aimie's friends like to spin . . . a lot
- Releasing biodegradable Chinese lanterns toward the stars . . . WOW
- The realization that the hired help had put in a 14 hour day and I had shared overseeing duties for at least 17 as I made my way to bed
- Listening to the sound of storytelling and singing by the fire through my open window . . . completely spent but pleased at having given the gift of peace of mind to my friends.
Rather than offer up a day to day narrative, I'll provide a list of images and sensations:
- the English version should be the picture beside the definition for "rolling countryside"
- pub life cannot be compared to dropping by a bar in the U.S. . . . there's a whole culture that we don't come near to reproducing, plus the drinks aren't nearly as expensive
- when a bride and groom are both artists, their dreams of a wedding are like no other ... so if you are picking up the responsibility of ensuring those dreams are realized, it's good to get all the details before the other help start arriving
- jam jars and tea cups make for delightful drinks at an afternoon reception but removing almost 100 labels is a rather sticky job
- transforming a 500+year-old-hall into a meeting room/dining room/dance hall takes all hands on deck and it's great when many of those hands are artistic
- I'll never be able to produce dove bunting the way Rob can
- I'll never see a bride as romantically attired and beaming quite as brightly as Aimie was
- I love it when people who love to cook all wind up in a big kitchen together ... when the accents are Irish, French Canadian, Indian, Philadelphian, British, and Texan, it's even more fun
- When asked to prepare food for such an eclectic crowd be prepared to be asked if this, that and the other thing are gluten free ... several times ... with increasing levels of frustration on the part of the gluten free eater that you can do nothing for (other than suggest they eat the items that are obviously sans gluten)
- Never underestimate the ability of a Brit to hold his margarita, whiskey sour, Proseco, bellini, and wine. Amazing fortitude!
- An English countryside "hill" is a Texas mountain ... when climbing up it, take note and walk with the woman with the cane because you look good for "helping" and you are allowed to stop and breathe without looking like a fat wimp
- Weddings planned by spiritual artists who love visual and word art as well as the theater are quite spectacular
- You probably can't imagine but you may want to try ... on top of a high and windy grassy opening, overlooking rolling countryside which make their way to the sea ... all in view as the vows are exchanged
- Items included in the service: sticks transformed into wands which form an archway through which the women walk through, oil from the Holy Land, binding cloth, bread/wine, a girl wearing her fairy wings and a boy clad in a kilt to deliver the rings, a dog running through the circle that surrounded the couple and an embarrassed teen apologizing, biodegradable dove balloons released, and audience participation
- When the hall is stone and includes a smoke-stained Rueben, there's pretty good bones for a breathtakingly beautiful dining experience but add in garland and wildflowers, glass decanters and tealights, and 90 friends and family and it's beyond description
- Brits like written speeches rather than toasts at their weddings
- 1st course: lentil soup; 2nd: meat/veg/gluten free pies with 5 salads served family style; 3rd: cheescake for all and choices of 8 homemade cakes (including 3 which were gluten free)
- The barn dance reminded me of contra dancing ... and Rob and Aimie's friends like to spin . . . a lot
- Releasing biodegradable Chinese lanterns toward the stars . . . WOW
- The realization that the hired help had put in a 14 hour day and I had shared overseeing duties for at least 17 as I made my way to bed
- Listening to the sound of storytelling and singing by the fire through my open window . . . completely spent but pleased at having given the gift of peace of mind to my friends.
Paris/London Postings: Written as Email Update to Family
Thought I would at least tell you that I am alive and very well in London. Roger and I had not one single international incident while we were in Paris! We found our apartment (small though it may have been) and it was in a 300 year old building with a window overlooking a charming courtyard. Within minutes of arriving, Roger made friends with the chef at the restaurant beside us and he not only gave us water (we were a little surprised by the heat), his wife/partner allowed us to leave on bags at their flat when we had to vacate our place on the last day.
We took in all the iconic structures of Paris -- on foot, on bike, by bus, and by boat. We learned the Metro and were able to traverse from the highest hill to the highest building. We fell in love with our bike tour guide who gave us the best tip of the trip -- an entrance into the Louvre that had NO lines on the free day. While the rest of Paris stood in the sun in a entrance line that was at least the size of a football field, we walked right in, took two flights to the Mona Lisa, went into the catacombs to see the Roman antiquities and were back out on the streets in less than an hour. I know that some of you probably think we should have spent the day there but we had miles to go before we could say we had seen and done Paris.
Thanks to great input from my buddy Jocelyn, we were well prepared for the food situation and enjoyed light and inexpensive fare while we were there.
The train ride to London allowed us to meet an interesting woman now living in London but originally from Morocco. A Muslim, a teacher of French, and brilliant conversationalist, Roger and I enjoyed her immensely.
When we arrived at the airport, Rob and Aimie were waving giddily and had flowers for us. We hugged and kissed and hugged some more then they went south to the wedding location and we got in the cab they set up for us and headed to Shannon's. She was finishing off a chicken marsalis and quinoa dish that was delicious. We slept well and on Monday I worked with her and her team while simultaneously biking to some of her favorite spots. Roger took the Big Red Bus to lots of different tourist attractions. We met up for drinks at the city's oldest pub and sat in a cave lit only by candles. We then headed back to her neighborhood and enjoyed live music with members of her team and then prepared a healthy salmon and veggie dinner.
Today, Roger took a boat ride as Shannon and I worked on more strategy. We have a park to visit and some Indian curry to enjoy before the day is out. Tomorrow we head south to Devon to meet up with folks for the wedding. We are looking forward to making homemade salsa for 90 people as part of our requested contribution to the weekend -- that and talking Southern so all the couple's friends can enjoy our accents.
So that's it for now. Love to all. Cathey and Kelly, please share with Mom.
We took in all the iconic structures of Paris -- on foot, on bike, by bus, and by boat. We learned the Metro and were able to traverse from the highest hill to the highest building. We fell in love with our bike tour guide who gave us the best tip of the trip -- an entrance into the Louvre that had NO lines on the free day. While the rest of Paris stood in the sun in a entrance line that was at least the size of a football field, we walked right in, took two flights to the Mona Lisa, went into the catacombs to see the Roman antiquities and were back out on the streets in less than an hour. I know that some of you probably think we should have spent the day there but we had miles to go before we could say we had seen and done Paris.
Thanks to great input from my buddy Jocelyn, we were well prepared for the food situation and enjoyed light and inexpensive fare while we were there.
The train ride to London allowed us to meet an interesting woman now living in London but originally from Morocco. A Muslim, a teacher of French, and brilliant conversationalist, Roger and I enjoyed her immensely.
When we arrived at the airport, Rob and Aimie were waving giddily and had flowers for us. We hugged and kissed and hugged some more then they went south to the wedding location and we got in the cab they set up for us and headed to Shannon's. She was finishing off a chicken marsalis and quinoa dish that was delicious. We slept well and on Monday I worked with her and her team while simultaneously biking to some of her favorite spots. Roger took the Big Red Bus to lots of different tourist attractions. We met up for drinks at the city's oldest pub and sat in a cave lit only by candles. We then headed back to her neighborhood and enjoyed live music with members of her team and then prepared a healthy salmon and veggie dinner.
Today, Roger took a boat ride as Shannon and I worked on more strategy. We have a park to visit and some Indian curry to enjoy before the day is out. Tomorrow we head south to Devon to meet up with folks for the wedding. We are looking forward to making homemade salsa for 90 people as part of our requested contribution to the weekend -- that and talking Southern so all the couple's friends can enjoy our accents.
So that's it for now. Love to all. Cathey and Kelly, please share with Mom.
Wednesday, June 02, 2010
Pre-Vacation Ramblings
Ever met one of those all-or-nothing-kids? Usually a phase, they focus on one item of clothing, food, or action. For instance, they can't go out without their scarf -- even if it's 90 degrees. Or they must have peanut butter for breakfast every day.
I don't recall being that fixated as a child. But I have grown into some peculiarities as an adult.
Like an artist in his blue period, I have had months of PBJ starts to my day. Lately, I've started the mornings with the ritual -- Facebook Scrabble, email check, enter two online sweepstakes, check the job openings. Every day, the same.
Even this blog comes in phases.
Not sure if there's a direct correlation but a good therapist might point out that my tendency to dwell and then move on explains my relational tendencies. If you are in my life, you are central, critical, foremost. But when you're not, you're not. No worries. No anger, No pain. Just here and then gone. Perhaps it's why I understand the news of a 40 year marriage in the public eye now ending. Life goes on and sometimes in different directions.
Sometimes balance is better and striving for more would be advisable. But the ebb and flow have taken me to some pretty radical places (both figuratively and literally) through the years. However, I'm pretty excited about a bit of change coming my way. I KNOW that the feeling of being trapped has caused me to make some pretty unhealthy choices in the last year. So I'm ready to breakaway, to startle myself, to redeem the childlike wonder.
Now ... where did I put my scarf?
I don't recall being that fixated as a child. But I have grown into some peculiarities as an adult.
Like an artist in his blue period, I have had months of PBJ starts to my day. Lately, I've started the mornings with the ritual -- Facebook Scrabble, email check, enter two online sweepstakes, check the job openings. Every day, the same.
Even this blog comes in phases.
Not sure if there's a direct correlation but a good therapist might point out that my tendency to dwell and then move on explains my relational tendencies. If you are in my life, you are central, critical, foremost. But when you're not, you're not. No worries. No anger, No pain. Just here and then gone. Perhaps it's why I understand the news of a 40 year marriage in the public eye now ending. Life goes on and sometimes in different directions.
Sometimes balance is better and striving for more would be advisable. But the ebb and flow have taken me to some pretty radical places (both figuratively and literally) through the years. However, I'm pretty excited about a bit of change coming my way. I KNOW that the feeling of being trapped has caused me to make some pretty unhealthy choices in the last year. So I'm ready to breakaway, to startle myself, to redeem the childlike wonder.
Now ... where did I put my scarf?
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
Puttin On the RRRRITZ
Do good and good comes back to you. Most days I live that. Now, mind you, I don't do good things ONLY because I want good returned to me. I simply have seen the truth of the statement over and over again.
Last night is an example. I volunteered with the Bayou City Arts Festival a couple of months ago. Previously, I was a "day-of volunteer" but this year I upped the ante and dedicated a few vacation days to learning what the Artist Support Committee was all about. I had an incredible experience and met some very nice folks.
One of those hard-working individuals was a staffer. Kelly is in charge of many things -- including my committee. Last week she asked if I wanted to be her guest at a performance of Young Frankenstein. They had gotten some tickets and were sharing the bounty.
Of course, I said yes. Not so much because I'm all about the musical but it sounded like a fun night and it included an after party with the cast.
The musical is pure Mel Brooks. That being said, if you like him, you'll like the musical. If burlesque isn't your thing, don't go. The fun part for me was remembering all the great performances from the movie. 'Cause, really, everything is just a caricature when the original nailed it the first time.
I spent the whole night feeling like I was in the middle of a series of jokes where the teller keeps saying, "Wait for it... wait for it" and then the payoff came time and time again. Frankestein's dance with the top hat and the shouted line, the big knockers, the moving hump on the back, and of course ... Oh sweet mystery of life.
Perhaps it's not such a mystery but I'm glad I found that positive things we do with good intentions can surprise us with their results. I didn't expect a night on the town when I offered a weekend of my time. I didn't know that good friends and interesting new stories would introduce themselves. I just did what needed doing.
That's the good life.
Last night is an example. I volunteered with the Bayou City Arts Festival a couple of months ago. Previously, I was a "day-of volunteer" but this year I upped the ante and dedicated a few vacation days to learning what the Artist Support Committee was all about. I had an incredible experience and met some very nice folks.
One of those hard-working individuals was a staffer. Kelly is in charge of many things -- including my committee. Last week she asked if I wanted to be her guest at a performance of Young Frankenstein. They had gotten some tickets and were sharing the bounty.
Of course, I said yes. Not so much because I'm all about the musical but it sounded like a fun night and it included an after party with the cast.
The musical is pure Mel Brooks. That being said, if you like him, you'll like the musical. If burlesque isn't your thing, don't go. The fun part for me was remembering all the great performances from the movie. 'Cause, really, everything is just a caricature when the original nailed it the first time.
I spent the whole night feeling like I was in the middle of a series of jokes where the teller keeps saying, "Wait for it... wait for it" and then the payoff came time and time again. Frankestein's dance with the top hat and the shouted line, the big knockers, the moving hump on the back, and of course ... Oh sweet mystery of life.
Perhaps it's not such a mystery but I'm glad I found that positive things we do with good intentions can surprise us with their results. I didn't expect a night on the town when I offered a weekend of my time. I didn't know that good friends and interesting new stories would introduce themselves. I just did what needed doing.
That's the good life.
Saturday, May 22, 2010
Still learning ....
Once the line in the sand was "Where were you when Kennedy was assassinated?" I was in my 20s then and the women with whom I worked would speak of the 60s and early 70s as formative years for their youth/young adulthood. I knew I was but a child and had much to learn because the answer to the question for me was "in a crib."
Now I've become the woman on the other side of the new timeline (though the question varies and is not nearly as dramatic, there's still some point in history that reminds me, "OMG, they don't remember _________" .... and maybe it's when we didn't speak in OMGscript). I spent today with some incredible young adults and I smiled when I realized they were listening to me and working alongside me just as I had my mentors almost 25 years ago. In fact, most of the people in the office today weren't born when I first got into the professional realm.
I thought that when my turn to be the "sage" came due, I'd be bothered by my age. I'm not. I celebrate it. I've managed to do a lot of living and pack in an incredible variety of experiences in a little over two decades. I might wish my curves weren't multiplying and my skin wasn't sagging but other than that ... I'm all good.
So I'm wondering what lessons I've learned that I'd like to pass on to my newest recruits in the "I have to work with Karen so I might as well make the best of it" team. I'm thinking . . .
- When you suspect that life sucks, realize you've got your hand on the air valve. Change is always possible; maybe not practical but definitely possible.
- Go somewhere where they don't eat like you do and chow down. Then, if you must know, ask what you just ate. You'll be a better person for culinary adventures outside your culture. And if getting to that table involved a plane ticket, you get extra points.
- Don't commit to a career; find a path. I am so glad that one day I realized I was more than my resume.
- Grace isn't just a word in an amazing song. Grace offered on a regular basis will forge friendships that feed your own soul. Hard thing is releasing the right to judge quickly and hold grudges. Reward is that grace can be both given and received.
- Keep laughing.
Don't know if I should start making t-shirts or cross-stitching on pillows or if maybe that's not a bad start to some lessons I need to capture in some form. But since countdown-to-the-next-version-of-me has now begun I thought I would at least remind myself of why I like me.
Now I've become the woman on the other side of the new timeline (though the question varies and is not nearly as dramatic, there's still some point in history that reminds me, "OMG, they don't remember _________" .... and maybe it's when we didn't speak in OMGscript). I spent today with some incredible young adults and I smiled when I realized they were listening to me and working alongside me just as I had my mentors almost 25 years ago. In fact, most of the people in the office today weren't born when I first got into the professional realm.
I thought that when my turn to be the "sage" came due, I'd be bothered by my age. I'm not. I celebrate it. I've managed to do a lot of living and pack in an incredible variety of experiences in a little over two decades. I might wish my curves weren't multiplying and my skin wasn't sagging but other than that ... I'm all good.
So I'm wondering what lessons I've learned that I'd like to pass on to my newest recruits in the "I have to work with Karen so I might as well make the best of it" team. I'm thinking . . .
- When you suspect that life sucks, realize you've got your hand on the air valve. Change is always possible; maybe not practical but definitely possible.
- Go somewhere where they don't eat like you do and chow down. Then, if you must know, ask what you just ate. You'll be a better person for culinary adventures outside your culture. And if getting to that table involved a plane ticket, you get extra points.
- Don't commit to a career; find a path. I am so glad that one day I realized I was more than my resume.
- Grace isn't just a word in an amazing song. Grace offered on a regular basis will forge friendships that feed your own soul. Hard thing is releasing the right to judge quickly and hold grudges. Reward is that grace can be both given and received.
- Keep laughing.
Don't know if I should start making t-shirts or cross-stitching on pillows or if maybe that's not a bad start to some lessons I need to capture in some form. But since countdown-to-the-next-version-of-me has now begun I thought I would at least remind myself of why I like me.
Friday, May 21, 2010
Sweet Notion
Last night I attended an event focusing on "up-cycling" rather than recycling with proceeds going to social change. The group -- Sweet Notions -- is on to something. They do what they do with high quality, even though some of the donations don't always look that way when first received. They also have a conscience and a plan to ethically make an impact on lives and the environment. (Here's their link ... http://www.sweetnotions.org/)
I'm having a sweet notion moment in my own life. I will soon be upcycling my skill set and embarking on a new career path. I want to pursue development at a non-profit. Trouble is ... just as some of the potential guests I tried to explain the evening to only heard "donated jewelry", thought "chains-a-la-Madonna, circa 1985" and couldn't fathom the beautiful art old broaches and belts can become in the right artist's hands ... so goes it with trying to translate the two decades of experience I've had in the church world to execs and HR folks in my new targeted work realm.
My new notion is to start offering my services on a trial run. "Satisfaction guaranteed in 60 days" with no commitment required. Seems to me I could show my stuff in 60 days.
The irony in much of my hunting to date ... and I've been out there, believe me, is that most of the groups I'm applying with make specific mention of faith communities as being part of their target audience. Wouldn't a former communications consultant TO churches make sense then?
So if anyone is out there still reading this from time to time, and if you are so inclined to pray/think positive thoughts/pitch my plea out to the Universe, then I think that is a very sweet notion and thank you in advance.
And by the way ... once I'm no longer tied to the very public realm as I am now (i.e. when I no longer work for the state's best representative but in a job that is not quite right for me) I will return to a more frequent updating of this blog.
I'm having a sweet notion moment in my own life. I will soon be upcycling my skill set and embarking on a new career path. I want to pursue development at a non-profit. Trouble is ... just as some of the potential guests I tried to explain the evening to only heard "donated jewelry", thought "chains-a-la-Madonna, circa 1985" and couldn't fathom the beautiful art old broaches and belts can become in the right artist's hands ... so goes it with trying to translate the two decades of experience I've had in the church world to execs and HR folks in my new targeted work realm.
My new notion is to start offering my services on a trial run. "Satisfaction guaranteed in 60 days" with no commitment required. Seems to me I could show my stuff in 60 days.
The irony in much of my hunting to date ... and I've been out there, believe me, is that most of the groups I'm applying with make specific mention of faith communities as being part of their target audience. Wouldn't a former communications consultant TO churches make sense then?
So if anyone is out there still reading this from time to time, and if you are so inclined to pray/think positive thoughts/pitch my plea out to the Universe, then I think that is a very sweet notion and thank you in advance.
And by the way ... once I'm no longer tied to the very public realm as I am now (i.e. when I no longer work for the state's best representative but in a job that is not quite right for me) I will return to a more frequent updating of this blog.
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
New Vision to Pull Me Forward
I want to open up a place in a community frequented by travelers and call it "The State of Grace." All who enter will know that they are welcome and will be heard and well fed.
I'm now contemplating the decor. License plates come to mind. Wonder what our State plates could look like? Hmmmm . . .
More to come.
I'm now contemplating the decor. License plates come to mind. Wonder what our State plates could look like? Hmmmm . . .
More to come.
Sunday, March 07, 2010
Dream Dies but Hope Remains
The dream home will not be mine.
I visualized it. Meditated on it. Imagined it for the greater good. But alas, if the New Mexico prize HGTV is giving away were mine, I would have had a call by now. The reveal of the new owner is this week and since no camera crew is at my door to tape my astonished expression upon hearing the news, the news, for me, is not good.
Still, the hope generated by living within the dream remains. I hope for something better. This morning I probably went so far as fantasizing when I read of an artist who, because of a spouse's income, was able to give up a paying position to stay at home with her child and in so doing discovered the artist within herself and now has a different, self-prioritizing career. I must confess that there are times when the fact that there is no socially acceptable or financially viable reason/way for me to quit my job, stay home, and create is just a bit tedious for me. But then I recall the number of parents I know who are ready to trade in their teens for a new model and the number of husbands/wives who feel trapped and I know that my life is my life and I'll find my way.
If folklore is based in some reality, the "in between" places are filled with trolls and darkness that can easily overwhelm. Doorways, window sills, and the midnight hour are those locations and times in between where the unseen can cause havoc. But there is invisible good at play as well says the story books -- fairies and light ready to provide a glimmer of hope. I choose to focus on the fairy dust possibilities as I live in my "in between" state at the moment. Some days I battle with the trollish babble of "you're stuck," "you've lost your edge," "you can't always enjoy what you do to make a living, but you have to do something." But for the most part, I keep pushing toward the light and the call of "you have much to offer," "you can make a difference," "listen to your drum and keep marching."
So here I sit in a home I love because of what's inside it, ready to share with any friend in need, and take a moment to remember that every day of life, love, and laughter is a day when I can easily declare myself a winner.
I visualized it. Meditated on it. Imagined it for the greater good. But alas, if the New Mexico prize HGTV is giving away were mine, I would have had a call by now. The reveal of the new owner is this week and since no camera crew is at my door to tape my astonished expression upon hearing the news, the news, for me, is not good.
Still, the hope generated by living within the dream remains. I hope for something better. This morning I probably went so far as fantasizing when I read of an artist who, because of a spouse's income, was able to give up a paying position to stay at home with her child and in so doing discovered the artist within herself and now has a different, self-prioritizing career. I must confess that there are times when the fact that there is no socially acceptable or financially viable reason/way for me to quit my job, stay home, and create is just a bit tedious for me. But then I recall the number of parents I know who are ready to trade in their teens for a new model and the number of husbands/wives who feel trapped and I know that my life is my life and I'll find my way.
If folklore is based in some reality, the "in between" places are filled with trolls and darkness that can easily overwhelm. Doorways, window sills, and the midnight hour are those locations and times in between where the unseen can cause havoc. But there is invisible good at play as well says the story books -- fairies and light ready to provide a glimmer of hope. I choose to focus on the fairy dust possibilities as I live in my "in between" state at the moment. Some days I battle with the trollish babble of "you're stuck," "you've lost your edge," "you can't always enjoy what you do to make a living, but you have to do something." But for the most part, I keep pushing toward the light and the call of "you have much to offer," "you can make a difference," "listen to your drum and keep marching."
So here I sit in a home I love because of what's inside it, ready to share with any friend in need, and take a moment to remember that every day of life, love, and laughter is a day when I can easily declare myself a winner.
Saturday, February 20, 2010
Confessions of a Confused Mourner
My friend called me late one night this week to tell me that the young woman in the news who was killed in an early morning collision was the waitress that took care of him and his buddies on their semi-regular breakfast gatherings at a local diner. She was in her 30s, he thought, and had just dropped off her two kids and was heading to work when the wreck occurred.
Tonight, while reading Facebook status updates, I learned that another mother of two small boys had passed away. She was an incredibly creative woman, volunteering untold hours to create photographic inspirational journals of mission trips, pouring her wisdom into her children, and supporting her equally gifted husband -- all from a wheelchair, or bed, or feeble stance because arthritis robbed her of ease of mobility.
I am not a mother. Never have been, never will be. But today I felt the incredible joy of having a three-year-old hold me tightly as we spun around until we were both so dizzy the world kept spinning even when we stopped. She loved every rotation and, even as she weaved and held my pants leg to steady herself, held up her hands to me, and demanded, "Do it again, KK. Do it again." Because I love her and the giggles our merry-go-rounding produced, I complied, and complied, and complied.
Later, I was overwhelmed with emotion as this precious bundle laid her head on my shoulder when she was momentarily overtaken by a coughing spurt and I comforted and quieted her. She held on that time with no doubt that I would be there for her and, secure in that knowledge ,she raised her head up, took my face in her small hands, and kissed me.
My brief experience today made the news of the loss of these two women even more confusing.
Children surrounded by love are fearless in their expectations. Children expect mothers to drop them off and be back to pick them up, to be behind the camera and in the photos, to comfort their ills and cause their laughter.
These are not unrealistic expectations.
Tonight, while reading Facebook status updates, I learned that another mother of two small boys had passed away. She was an incredibly creative woman, volunteering untold hours to create photographic inspirational journals of mission trips, pouring her wisdom into her children, and supporting her equally gifted husband -- all from a wheelchair, or bed, or feeble stance because arthritis robbed her of ease of mobility.
I am not a mother. Never have been, never will be. But today I felt the incredible joy of having a three-year-old hold me tightly as we spun around until we were both so dizzy the world kept spinning even when we stopped. She loved every rotation and, even as she weaved and held my pants leg to steady herself, held up her hands to me, and demanded, "Do it again, KK. Do it again." Because I love her and the giggles our merry-go-rounding produced, I complied, and complied, and complied.
Later, I was overwhelmed with emotion as this precious bundle laid her head on my shoulder when she was momentarily overtaken by a coughing spurt and I comforted and quieted her. She held on that time with no doubt that I would be there for her and, secure in that knowledge ,she raised her head up, took my face in her small hands, and kissed me.
My brief experience today made the news of the loss of these two women even more confusing.
Children surrounded by love are fearless in their expectations. Children expect mothers to drop them off and be back to pick them up, to be behind the camera and in the photos, to comfort their ills and cause their laughter.
These are not unrealistic expectations.
Tuesday, February 02, 2010
Things that Made Me Smile Today
-- From someone's Facebook status: Women are angels. And when someone breaks our wings...we simply... continue to fly... on a broomstick. We are flexible.
--Saw a sign at the neighborhood supermarket indicating "pork shoulder butts" were on sale and wondered why I had never before wondered about that particular anatomical perversion.
--My friend texting me after she heard my sqeaky voice (due to cold) and the two of us deciding my Muppet name should be Snotty Spice
--Everyone's reaction to calls from the District Director for the State Representative (that would be me) calling on official business today and sounding like a Muppet or Munchkin or
--Saw a sign at the neighborhood supermarket indicating "pork shoulder butts" were on sale and wondered why I had never before wondered about that particular anatomical perversion.
--My friend texting me after she heard my sqeaky voice (due to cold) and the two of us deciding my Muppet name should be Snotty Spice
--Everyone's reaction to calls from the District Director for the State Representative (that would be me) calling on official business today and sounding like a Muppet or Munchkin or
Monday, February 01, 2010
I'm a Sap ... but I've also been sick so forgive me
I cried.
Booth and Bones were expecting nothing less than a horrible Christmas. Booth's son was heading to the mountains with his ex. Bones' dad is in prison. Even though she arranges for the "conjugal" trailer to be used by her brother, his wife, their kids, and her dad, she was going to Peru for an anthropological study. But even the trailer is a bust because they can have it but no decorations.
There's also a body and a killer and blah, blah, blah.
But the last scene got me. Booth's son doesn't go to the mountains and they get Christmas day together with "two trees." We don't know what that means. Cut to Bones who doesn't go to Peru and is in the trailer with the fam. Bones calls and tells her he and his son want to give her present to her. She says, "Later." And he says, "Look out the window."
There Booth and his son stand beside a Christmas tree with multicolored lights plugged into the car battery.
I cried.
Some day some one is going to know me well enough to know that that simple act would have made it the best Christmas ever for someone like me.
Until then ... I cry. Sappy, I know.
Booth and Bones were expecting nothing less than a horrible Christmas. Booth's son was heading to the mountains with his ex. Bones' dad is in prison. Even though she arranges for the "conjugal" trailer to be used by her brother, his wife, their kids, and her dad, she was going to Peru for an anthropological study. But even the trailer is a bust because they can have it but no decorations.
There's also a body and a killer and blah, blah, blah.
But the last scene got me. Booth's son doesn't go to the mountains and they get Christmas day together with "two trees." We don't know what that means. Cut to Bones who doesn't go to Peru and is in the trailer with the fam. Bones calls and tells her he and his son want to give her present to her. She says, "Later." And he says, "Look out the window."
There Booth and his son stand beside a Christmas tree with multicolored lights plugged into the car battery.
I cried.
Some day some one is going to know me well enough to know that that simple act would have made it the best Christmas ever for someone like me.
Until then ... I cry. Sappy, I know.
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