09 January 2015
How it turned out: A farewell to this blog
Just to close out this blog, which dealt with a part of my life that is now, I think, in the past, or at least has (thank the universe) turned into something else: tomorrow I am moving to Alabama. It's a strange move in many ways for this Yankee girl, but an excellent one in a lot of ways that I think will make it the right thing to be doing. Thanks to those of you who read this blog with a compassionate heart. Talk to you somewhere down the road...
19 February 2014
20 October 2013
Jerry Enright and Sacred Harp: Mutual Love
Hey y'all. WOW, time goes by fast, especially, apparently, when it's time between posts in this blog. I have to get ready for boxing class (how's that for something Karen never expected to say?), but I wanted to post something I wrote about Jerry the other day.
Last week, Karen Rollins kindly asked me for some information about Jerry and his involvement in Sacred Harp singing for an article she was writing for the Sacred Harp newsletter (http://originalsacredharp.com/newsletter/) - being asked to talk about my favorite person, I was, of course, unable to stick to the original charge and got long-winded. Below is what I wrote. Not a day goes by that I don't think about my sweetie and miss him, miss him, miss him.
Jerry Enright first heard Sacred Harp singing in the late 1980s, when he came across an LP copy of White Spirituals from the Sacred Harp in a bin of sale records, loved it, but figured it was an old form that had disappeared. He liked to tell the story of his first actual singing, in 1989: that he saw a listing for a "concert" of Sacred Harp music in Chicago, that he went expecting to sit and listen, that Marcia Johnson told him he'd enjoy it more if he sang, that someone put a book in his hands... and that he was hooked. Jerry kept a record of every song he led in his songbook, first in his copy of the 1987 update of the 1971 edition, then in the 1991 edition, with the earlier entries transferred to the later book: the earliest entry reads "142 (Stratfield) 3-19-89 St. Paul's." And so it began, shortly after his 46th birthday: Jerry's life in Sacred Harp.
Jerry started out as a bass singer, later switching to singing mainly tenor, although vocally he was naturally more of a baritone. He went to his first southern singing, at Holly Springs, on June 3, 1989, having traveled with a group of Chicago Sacred Harp singers that had had their tickets arranged by Mary Rose O'Leary, who was a travel agent: Kris Richardson, a (female) Chicago singer, was unable to go as planned, and Jerry used the ticket that had been issued in her (luckily useable by both genders) name, in that more innocent time in air travel.
Beginning the very month he sang Sacred Harp for the first time, Jerry began the travels that he kept up until the end of his life: all over the country, in his native Midwest and beyond, and, more and more frequently, as he could afford the time and expense, to Alabama and Georgia. He loved to sit by traditional singers and learn all he could from them, both about their ways of singing (raised 6th's are circled in tenor parts throughout his book) and about their lives, and loved and respected the Sacred Harp singers he met along the way. I believe they knew the sincerity of Jerry's affection, interest and respect, and I believe they loved him in return. He was always doing whatever he could to keep Sacred Harp alive and vital. It might have been mailing out a flyer to every Alabama and Georgia singer listed in the directory to invite them to the 1994 United Convention at Emmaus, which he chaired (Walter Graff, in an essay published on the Sacred Harp website at fasola.org, describes the Convention's opening this way: "With only the briefest warning, Jerry Enright, with movements that look so natural and comfortable, 'calls us to order' by launching us into the first tune."). Or it might have been putting his carpentry skills to work to help build a new roof at State Line (the same weekend he caught bronchitis, and the same weekend he recorded a cherished interview with Barrett Ashley about his life and times). He cooked for many, many singings in Chicago, often making his best approximation of Coy Ivey's barbecue, among other dishes he'd sampled and relished in the south. He traveled all over, often with a cohort of Missouri singers, driving his well-traveled Toyota Camry up and down I-65 year after year, never missing the Lookout Mountain Convention, for which he became cheerleader and PR man, and by which he was adopted as one of their own. He would travel into Chicago after finishing up the workday out in the suburbs to help assemble mailings to promote Sacred Harp singings in Chicago, and assisted every year in organizing and running the Midwest Convention, which he chaired twice.
Jerry even made it onto the small screen several times because of Sacred Harp singing. At his very first southern singing at Holly Springs, his visit happened to coincide with that of a camera crew working on Bill Moyers' documentary about "Amazing Grace" - and in the final film, you see Jerry approaching the table during the dinner hour. My own first visit to Holly Springs, in November 1998, a few months after Jerry and I met at Lookout Mountain, coincided with Matt and Erica Hinton's first attempt at documenting Sacred Harp singing, for Erica's documentary film class, and if you look closely, you'll see Jerry in that as well. He appears in the Sacred Harp-related extra features that were filmed for the DVD release of Cold Mountain, too, up there with Nicole and Jude and David and Rodney on the stage in Hollywood.
Jerry wanted the old singing recordings to be preserved and made available, too: his energy and love resulted in CD releases of singings caught on tape in 1968 on Lookout Mountain and in 1972 in Henagar. Kelly Beard gave Jerry his collection of reel-to-reel tapes, old minute books, and other Sacred Harp memorabilia, knowing they'd be in good hands. The collection has been passed on, now, to other singers who will treasure and preserve it. And Jerry purchased the 1911 James book printing plates for 442, one of his favorite songs, a fact which I discovered when I found the heavy metal plates while going through boxes in our house after his death. If he'd been able, I know he'd have bought the plate for 77t, too - it was, as anyone who sang with him knew, his "Sunday song," the song he loved best.
What did Sacred Harp singing mean to Jerry? I think his actions over the years say it better than I ever could in words. Sacred Harp brought Jerry joy, friendship, comfort, peace, purpose, and, to my eternal gratitude, me. Jerry brought Sacred Harp his energy, dedication, respect and love. The weekend we held a memorial for Jerry at Pine Grove, Bud Oliver told me that Jerry had always parked across the road, up the hill, and Bud had always watched him, "the little bearded fella" he always addressed as "Enright," coming down the hill to the church. We scattered Jerry's ashes up on that hill, in a place we knew meant the world to him. Those that knew him will never forget the little bearded fella who loved Sacred Harp and Sacred Harp singers.
Last week, Karen Rollins kindly asked me for some information about Jerry and his involvement in Sacred Harp singing for an article she was writing for the Sacred Harp newsletter (http://originalsacredharp.com/newsletter/) - being asked to talk about my favorite person, I was, of course, unable to stick to the original charge and got long-winded. Below is what I wrote. Not a day goes by that I don't think about my sweetie and miss him, miss him, miss him.
Jerry Enright first heard Sacred Harp singing in the late 1980s, when he came across an LP copy of White Spirituals from the Sacred Harp in a bin of sale records, loved it, but figured it was an old form that had disappeared. He liked to tell the story of his first actual singing, in 1989: that he saw a listing for a "concert" of Sacred Harp music in Chicago, that he went expecting to sit and listen, that Marcia Johnson told him he'd enjoy it more if he sang, that someone put a book in his hands... and that he was hooked. Jerry kept a record of every song he led in his songbook, first in his copy of the 1987 update of the 1971 edition, then in the 1991 edition, with the earlier entries transferred to the later book: the earliest entry reads "142 (Stratfield) 3-19-89 St. Paul's." And so it began, shortly after his 46th birthday: Jerry's life in Sacred Harp.
Jerry started out as a bass singer, later switching to singing mainly tenor, although vocally he was naturally more of a baritone. He went to his first southern singing, at Holly Springs, on June 3, 1989, having traveled with a group of Chicago Sacred Harp singers that had had their tickets arranged by Mary Rose O'Leary, who was a travel agent: Kris Richardson, a (female) Chicago singer, was unable to go as planned, and Jerry used the ticket that had been issued in her (luckily useable by both genders) name, in that more innocent time in air travel.
Beginning the very month he sang Sacred Harp for the first time, Jerry began the travels that he kept up until the end of his life: all over the country, in his native Midwest and beyond, and, more and more frequently, as he could afford the time and expense, to Alabama and Georgia. He loved to sit by traditional singers and learn all he could from them, both about their ways of singing (raised 6th's are circled in tenor parts throughout his book) and about their lives, and loved and respected the Sacred Harp singers he met along the way. I believe they knew the sincerity of Jerry's affection, interest and respect, and I believe they loved him in return. He was always doing whatever he could to keep Sacred Harp alive and vital. It might have been mailing out a flyer to every Alabama and Georgia singer listed in the directory to invite them to the 1994 United Convention at Emmaus, which he chaired (Walter Graff, in an essay published on the Sacred Harp website at fasola.org, describes the Convention's opening this way: "With only the briefest warning, Jerry Enright, with movements that look so natural and comfortable, 'calls us to order' by launching us into the first tune."). Or it might have been putting his carpentry skills to work to help build a new roof at State Line (the same weekend he caught bronchitis, and the same weekend he recorded a cherished interview with Barrett Ashley about his life and times). He cooked for many, many singings in Chicago, often making his best approximation of Coy Ivey's barbecue, among other dishes he'd sampled and relished in the south. He traveled all over, often with a cohort of Missouri singers, driving his well-traveled Toyota Camry up and down I-65 year after year, never missing the Lookout Mountain Convention, for which he became cheerleader and PR man, and by which he was adopted as one of their own. He would travel into Chicago after finishing up the workday out in the suburbs to help assemble mailings to promote Sacred Harp singings in Chicago, and assisted every year in organizing and running the Midwest Convention, which he chaired twice.
Jerry even made it onto the small screen several times because of Sacred Harp singing. At his very first southern singing at Holly Springs, his visit happened to coincide with that of a camera crew working on Bill Moyers' documentary about "Amazing Grace" - and in the final film, you see Jerry approaching the table during the dinner hour. My own first visit to Holly Springs, in November 1998, a few months after Jerry and I met at Lookout Mountain, coincided with Matt and Erica Hinton's first attempt at documenting Sacred Harp singing, for Erica's documentary film class, and if you look closely, you'll see Jerry in that as well. He appears in the Sacred Harp-related extra features that were filmed for the DVD release of Cold Mountain, too, up there with Nicole and Jude and David and Rodney on the stage in Hollywood.
Jerry wanted the old singing recordings to be preserved and made available, too: his energy and love resulted in CD releases of singings caught on tape in 1968 on Lookout Mountain and in 1972 in Henagar. Kelly Beard gave Jerry his collection of reel-to-reel tapes, old minute books, and other Sacred Harp memorabilia, knowing they'd be in good hands. The collection has been passed on, now, to other singers who will treasure and preserve it. And Jerry purchased the 1911 James book printing plates for 442, one of his favorite songs, a fact which I discovered when I found the heavy metal plates while going through boxes in our house after his death. If he'd been able, I know he'd have bought the plate for 77t, too - it was, as anyone who sang with him knew, his "Sunday song," the song he loved best.
What did Sacred Harp singing mean to Jerry? I think his actions over the years say it better than I ever could in words. Sacred Harp brought Jerry joy, friendship, comfort, peace, purpose, and, to my eternal gratitude, me. Jerry brought Sacred Harp his energy, dedication, respect and love. The weekend we held a memorial for Jerry at Pine Grove, Bud Oliver told me that Jerry had always parked across the road, up the hill, and Bud had always watched him, "the little bearded fella" he always addressed as "Enright," coming down the hill to the church. We scattered Jerry's ashes up on that hill, in a place we knew meant the world to him. Those that knew him will never forget the little bearded fella who loved Sacred Harp and Sacred Harp singers.
14 July 2013
Dear Anonymous
Dear Anonymous,
I can't believe how long it's been since I last posted here. And starting a post at 11 pm when I have to get up for work in seven hours - probably not smart. So let me just say, first off, thanks for checking in on me all these months. And second off, I'm still here, I'm still working (although, sadly, in some ways, the workplace is regressing back towards what it was when I left - perhaps it's the nature of the organization itself?). I'm still in my house and still dealing with the ongoing need for repairs (next up: remodeling of the constantly clogging drain in front of the garage and replacement of the roofs on the garage and the house - waiting for an estimate for the former, already signed a contract for the latter, which will happen some time in September).
Emotionally? Still on the roller coaster. Still, after three years, feeling like I can't really be a widow. Still feeling sort of separate from the rest of the world, as if they're all living normal lives and I'm stuck in this widow's existence of loss and muddling through each day. It's not unrelenting pain and sorrow - but it still doesn't feel like life, somehow. I feel like I'm waiting for life to start again, although of course I realize this *is* life. And I still don't know where I'm going to end up.
And, of course, I'm also still, 24 hours later, stunned and furious and incredibly sad at the verdict from Sanford yesterday.
So that's the Karen Needs To Go To Bed quickie version. Possibly you've motivated me to post again, Anonymous. To be seen. But thanks again for caring.
I can't believe how long it's been since I last posted here. And starting a post at 11 pm when I have to get up for work in seven hours - probably not smart. So let me just say, first off, thanks for checking in on me all these months. And second off, I'm still here, I'm still working (although, sadly, in some ways, the workplace is regressing back towards what it was when I left - perhaps it's the nature of the organization itself?). I'm still in my house and still dealing with the ongoing need for repairs (next up: remodeling of the constantly clogging drain in front of the garage and replacement of the roofs on the garage and the house - waiting for an estimate for the former, already signed a contract for the latter, which will happen some time in September).
Emotionally? Still on the roller coaster. Still, after three years, feeling like I can't really be a widow. Still feeling sort of separate from the rest of the world, as if they're all living normal lives and I'm stuck in this widow's existence of loss and muddling through each day. It's not unrelenting pain and sorrow - but it still doesn't feel like life, somehow. I feel like I'm waiting for life to start again, although of course I realize this *is* life. And I still don't know where I'm going to end up.
And, of course, I'm also still, 24 hours later, stunned and furious and incredibly sad at the verdict from Sanford yesterday.
So that's the Karen Needs To Go To Bed quickie version. Possibly you've motivated me to post again, Anonymous. To be seen. But thanks again for caring.
16 February 2013
I'm busy
Of the past 48 hours, I worked 21.
Busy is good. Idle isn't good. Somewhere more approximately midway between the two of them would be nice.
Anyway... so far, so good with the job, love my boss, love the changes he's made at the organization, love seeing my friends regularly again, love the pictures I've seen of the newborn son of one of them (not to mention the five other newborns of various Facebook friends - one more to go!). Anxious for winter to be over, for more sunlight, for more warmth, for no more ice and snow, for leaves on the trees.
Jerry would have been 70 years old next week. I find that absolutely amazing. When we met, he was six years older than I am now. I never thought of him as "old," ever, and he never was, really. And I still don't feel 50, whatever 50 is supposed to feel like.
Anyway, rambling. Place to go, people to see, Sears repairman to await this afternoon, since the dishwasher decided to join the fun and leak last week. Hoping for repair, not replacement. Hoping for more sleep, and soon.
Busy is good. Idle isn't good. Somewhere more approximately midway between the two of them would be nice.
Anyway... so far, so good with the job, love my boss, love the changes he's made at the organization, love seeing my friends regularly again, love the pictures I've seen of the newborn son of one of them (not to mention the five other newborns of various Facebook friends - one more to go!). Anxious for winter to be over, for more sunlight, for more warmth, for no more ice and snow, for leaves on the trees.
Jerry would have been 70 years old next week. I find that absolutely amazing. When we met, he was six years older than I am now. I never thought of him as "old," ever, and he never was, really. And I still don't feel 50, whatever 50 is supposed to feel like.
Anyway, rambling. Place to go, people to see, Sears repairman to await this afternoon, since the dishwasher decided to join the fun and leak last week. Hoping for repair, not replacement. Hoping for more sleep, and soon.
05 January 2013
2013
Thank you to my faithful Anonymous for nudging me to make an appearance here! Yes, life has been pretty damn full around here lately: I am indeed back in the work force, back at the same organization as before, but it's like a completely different place, and very much for the better. It's hard to believe it has changed so much, but all hail the man who's now running the joint - it's an incredible relief to be working for someone who appreciates his staff, takes advantage of their talents, and is very invested in making sure they have all the tools and training they need to do their jobs. I am even in the process of purchasing a style guide subscription and anointing myself style czar of the office, with the boss's approval and gratitude. I have an office. I have windows. I am so far away from the main office phone that I don't hear it ring. I get to see dear friends every day. I get to edit!!!! The only part that has me worried is the total amount of work I'm already having to do, a quantity that's only going to get larger when one of my friends goes on maternity leave for a few months and I assume most of her duties as well as my own, leading up to the organization's annual meeting in the spring. I'm not complaining about having lots to do - it's more a matter of wondering how on earth I'll be able to get it all done by the deadlines for getting it all done. But compared with sitting on my couch for days on end wondering if I should stay or go or sell or not sell, wondering what to do with myself... this is a far preferable thing to wonder about.
Oh, and having a paycheck again? Yeah, that's good.
Other things: trip to NY went fine, and I actually didn't feel I belonged there - I sort of don't feel like I particularly belong anywhere right now, which is good, in a way - I can be where I am, and though I'm not sure it's home for more than a relatively short period of time, I don't feel out of place here any more than I do anywhere else... sorry, I think I'm being incoherent. Kind of like, I feel less out of place here because I feel out of place... everywhere? Not sure that's it either. Eh, never mind. Moving on.
December: Nets game at the new Barclays Center in Brooklyn; Bulls game back at the United Center. Christmas Day Bulls game I never made it to due to a case of viral gastroenteritis, but I managed to sell my ticket online, so I recouped at least some of the money. Quiet New Year's weekend. Next week will be my first five-day work week since I started back.
Emotionally? Still not sure. On 200 mg of Zoloft every day, I feel very numbed out, but generally think it's still a good idea to stay on it, for now at least. I'll be back on the organization's insurance policy come February 1, which will make me feel more able to see the therapist again occasionally, which I think will be a good thing. These days, I find remembering Jerry, remembering our day-to-day life together, remembering how he talked and how he just was, is incredibly difficult. I see photos of him, of us, and I know I loved and love him, I know he was my sweetie, I know I wish our marriage could have lasted for many decades instead of just one - but that life, that marriage, that me - they all feel remote, like a dream, like someone else's history, like something I maybe saw in a movie or read about, something that happened to someone else. Maybe this is a kind of self-preservation and is letting me function. Letting me actually live something like an ordinary life in most ways. I don't get to be deliriously happy, but I get to be okay - I get to have enjoyment in my life again, I get to look forward to things, I get to move past that place where I would have been just as happy for tomorrow to come without me in it. And considering where I've been, I'll take it.
Oh, and having a paycheck again? Yeah, that's good.
Other things: trip to NY went fine, and I actually didn't feel I belonged there - I sort of don't feel like I particularly belong anywhere right now, which is good, in a way - I can be where I am, and though I'm not sure it's home for more than a relatively short period of time, I don't feel out of place here any more than I do anywhere else... sorry, I think I'm being incoherent. Kind of like, I feel less out of place here because I feel out of place... everywhere? Not sure that's it either. Eh, never mind. Moving on.
December: Nets game at the new Barclays Center in Brooklyn; Bulls game back at the United Center. Christmas Day Bulls game I never made it to due to a case of viral gastroenteritis, but I managed to sell my ticket online, so I recouped at least some of the money. Quiet New Year's weekend. Next week will be my first five-day work week since I started back.
Emotionally? Still not sure. On 200 mg of Zoloft every day, I feel very numbed out, but generally think it's still a good idea to stay on it, for now at least. I'll be back on the organization's insurance policy come February 1, which will make me feel more able to see the therapist again occasionally, which I think will be a good thing. These days, I find remembering Jerry, remembering our day-to-day life together, remembering how he talked and how he just was, is incredibly difficult. I see photos of him, of us, and I know I loved and love him, I know he was my sweetie, I know I wish our marriage could have lasted for many decades instead of just one - but that life, that marriage, that me - they all feel remote, like a dream, like someone else's history, like something I maybe saw in a movie or read about, something that happened to someone else. Maybe this is a kind of self-preservation and is letting me function. Letting me actually live something like an ordinary life in most ways. I don't get to be deliriously happy, but I get to be okay - I get to have enjoyment in my life again, I get to look forward to things, I get to move past that place where I would have been just as happy for tomorrow to come without me in it. And considering where I've been, I'll take it.
18 November 2012
Once and future
November. November?!?!
OK, I see I actually did already do a blog post in November (I'm more surprised than anyone else might be at that) - but still, how is it November? How has this year flown by even though I spent most of it floundering around in a state of indecision and unemployment? By now I feel like I should never (ever, ever) announce an intention to do anything, because the way things have been going since Jerry died, I'm bound to change my mind entirely after making such a declarative statement and announce the polar opposite of whatever it was I just said I was going to do. As this year has demonstrated, over and over again.
Soooo... yes. News. As of December 12th, I will be employed. At the same place I worked last year. Yes, it's true. See my previous post, as I just did (I was about to rehash the entire story). I have no idea how the interview at the other place went from their point of view, but my gut told me it was just not a good fit for me (so did my mind, which wandered all over the place while the woman there was telling me about the job, the kind of thing where you realize a minute or two later that she's been talking the entire time you've been wondering about how you'd get from the interview site to the nearby shopping mall and she's still talking and you have no clue what she's talking about) (then you remember you're not employed yet, so you actually make the more sane choice and do not go to the mall). I emailed them after accepting the job at the once and future employer and told them I had taken a job and was no longer available, thereby avoiding the knowledge of whether or not they were going to say yes or no or even get back to me at all. I suspect they wouldn't have gotten back to me.
So now I have a month of what a friend called "funemployment," which is a great term and very apt, and will include a trip to NYC. That trip is scaring me a bit, because, hey, I have to worry about something, and I'm worried that I'll get to New York and feel desperately that I don't want to leave it, which is pretty much what I always feel in New York. And I probably will feel that, but I still also feel that what I'm doing - staying put, focusing on getting a job, focusing on what makes me feel less stressed in the moment, is the right way to go. If someone could teleport me into a place to live and a place to work in a city somewhere and take care of all the logistics involved in that, I wouldn't object. But for now... this is what is working for me.
ETA:
P.S. I finished the copy editing certificate program. I'm certified (certifiable, anyway).
OK, I see I actually did already do a blog post in November (I'm more surprised than anyone else might be at that) - but still, how is it November? How has this year flown by even though I spent most of it floundering around in a state of indecision and unemployment? By now I feel like I should never (ever, ever) announce an intention to do anything, because the way things have been going since Jerry died, I'm bound to change my mind entirely after making such a declarative statement and announce the polar opposite of whatever it was I just said I was going to do. As this year has demonstrated, over and over again.
Soooo... yes. News. As of December 12th, I will be employed. At the same place I worked last year. Yes, it's true. See my previous post, as I just did (I was about to rehash the entire story). I have no idea how the interview at the other place went from their point of view, but my gut told me it was just not a good fit for me (so did my mind, which wandered all over the place while the woman there was telling me about the job, the kind of thing where you realize a minute or two later that she's been talking the entire time you've been wondering about how you'd get from the interview site to the nearby shopping mall and she's still talking and you have no clue what she's talking about) (then you remember you're not employed yet, so you actually make the more sane choice and do not go to the mall). I emailed them after accepting the job at the once and future employer and told them I had taken a job and was no longer available, thereby avoiding the knowledge of whether or not they were going to say yes or no or even get back to me at all. I suspect they wouldn't have gotten back to me.
So now I have a month of what a friend called "funemployment," which is a great term and very apt, and will include a trip to NYC. That trip is scaring me a bit, because, hey, I have to worry about something, and I'm worried that I'll get to New York and feel desperately that I don't want to leave it, which is pretty much what I always feel in New York. And I probably will feel that, but I still also feel that what I'm doing - staying put, focusing on getting a job, focusing on what makes me feel less stressed in the moment, is the right way to go. If someone could teleport me into a place to live and a place to work in a city somewhere and take care of all the logistics involved in that, I wouldn't object. But for now... this is what is working for me.
ETA:
P.S. I finished the copy editing certificate program. I'm certified (certifiable, anyway).
04 November 2012
Turmeric milk
I've found myself thinking, lately, that the "optimistic" prognosis Jerry was given when he was diagnosed with cancer was two to three years... and that chances are, if he hadn't died so soon after the diagnosis, he would probably be dead now. It doesn't mean anything in particular, obviously, since he did die when he did - but it feels somehow more final, if that's even possible, to realize that. And I find myself thinking, Well, at least I'm not having to begin this hideous process now - and then feeling absolutely riven by guilt and pain at the slightest scintilla of a suggestion that I'm glad Jerry died when he did and didn't have more time because then I'd be dealing with that first stage of grief and mourning now, and not be 29 months "out," at a more endurable stage of it all, at a stage where happiness can actually happen, where enjoyment can be had, and where I'm a more functioning human being. And continuing to wonder what these past two years would have been like if he'd been alive, if he'd have spent all this time suffering through cancer treatments and hospitalizations and all that torture - or perhaps somehow the cancer could have been beaten back, and he would have had a good few years? That does me no good at all. Mostly I don't go around thinking about it. Occasionally I do.
I'm a slightly less functioning human being at the moment, though, due to a cold that I've been fighting off for a couple of weeks now. It's not as bad as it might be, but it's got me tired out and phlegmy - and please pronounce that word "fleg-mee," as Jerry would have. I'm consuming a lot of turmeric milk, an Ayurvedic remedy my endocrinologist recommended when I saw her for my regular checkup this week: my version uses almond milk, and I'm also adding in ginger, pumpkin pie spice, vanilla syrup and sometimes other things along with the turmeric (a bit of unsweetened cocoa powder just now). I have no idea if it's doing anything specific to help, but it does make my throat feel better while I'm drinking it.
So, buried the lede a bit: to my utter surprise, there is a very good possibility I might go back to working at the place I worked last year. There's been a change of management since I fled, and things have changed a great deal there, and for the better. And they asked me to come in and talk about the possibility of coming back (can't help but be flattered by that), and I did that this past week. I was very impressed by the new boss, the new offices they've moved into, the new attitudes (and the new ideas for employee compensation). I have an interview somewhere else Wednesday morning, and we'll have to see how that turns out, but right now I'm feeling very optimistic about my employment prospects. The only drawback is that commute that would have me back to getting up at 5:30 every morning and driving 70 miles a day, but in this economy, with so many people struggling to get by and dealing with unemployment, I can't complain (I can, and will, but I have no real grounds for serious complaining).
The other job I'd mentioned before, they never got back to me about the copy editing test, so I have no idea if it was my copy editing they didn't like, something else about me, or nothing to do with me. But it's for the best, I'm thinking. This will all work out. Eventually.
My parents survived Hurricane Sandy unscathed: they only lost Internet, TV and landline phone service, but not power or water - they're among the luckier ones. I'm entirely leery about the Red Cross ever since I donated a fairly large amount to them after some disaster - 9/11? The tsunami? Katrina? Haiti? All of the above? - and then read about corruption and embezzlement and misuse of funds. But they're the ones supposedly doing the heavy lifting now, and they've supposedly improved, so I did donate this time. Hoping for the best. Go here to donate.
I'm a slightly less functioning human being at the moment, though, due to a cold that I've been fighting off for a couple of weeks now. It's not as bad as it might be, but it's got me tired out and phlegmy - and please pronounce that word "fleg-mee," as Jerry would have. I'm consuming a lot of turmeric milk, an Ayurvedic remedy my endocrinologist recommended when I saw her for my regular checkup this week: my version uses almond milk, and I'm also adding in ginger, pumpkin pie spice, vanilla syrup and sometimes other things along with the turmeric (a bit of unsweetened cocoa powder just now). I have no idea if it's doing anything specific to help, but it does make my throat feel better while I'm drinking it.
So, buried the lede a bit: to my utter surprise, there is a very good possibility I might go back to working at the place I worked last year. There's been a change of management since I fled, and things have changed a great deal there, and for the better. And they asked me to come in and talk about the possibility of coming back (can't help but be flattered by that), and I did that this past week. I was very impressed by the new boss, the new offices they've moved into, the new attitudes (and the new ideas for employee compensation). I have an interview somewhere else Wednesday morning, and we'll have to see how that turns out, but right now I'm feeling very optimistic about my employment prospects. The only drawback is that commute that would have me back to getting up at 5:30 every morning and driving 70 miles a day, but in this economy, with so many people struggling to get by and dealing with unemployment, I can't complain (I can, and will, but I have no real grounds for serious complaining).
The other job I'd mentioned before, they never got back to me about the copy editing test, so I have no idea if it was my copy editing they didn't like, something else about me, or nothing to do with me. But it's for the best, I'm thinking. This will all work out. Eventually.
My parents survived Hurricane Sandy unscathed: they only lost Internet, TV and landline phone service, but not power or water - they're among the luckier ones. I'm entirely leery about the Red Cross ever since I donated a fairly large amount to them after some disaster - 9/11? The tsunami? Katrina? Haiti? All of the above? - and then read about corruption and embezzlement and misuse of funds. But they're the ones supposedly doing the heavy lifting now, and they've supposedly improved, so I did donate this time. Hoping for the best. Go here to donate.
23 October 2012
Feeling sheepish
I know I know I know I know I know!!!!!
I'm a terrible fibber! I keep saying I'm going to post, and then I don't. Do good intentions count for anything?
So, as I sit here with the latest Bulls pre-season game on the TV, I'll make my latest effort to do a blog post. I'm in a holding pattern at the moment: I still haven't heard back about the copy editing test, and I have no idea if they just hated my work or if they've been too busy to deal with it. Meanwhile, there's the possibility I'll get sucked back in to the place I worked last year: this is something that just came up this afternoon, so I don't know if it's really something that will work out, for them or for me, but there's been a change of management since I fled, and it might be doable. Or not. Lots of variables and questions, but I'm going to go talk to them a week from Thursday, and we'll see what's what.
Yeah, vague. I know. At any rate, it's ego-boosting and flattering to be asked.
Early voting started in Illinois yesterday, and I went over to vote - it's not as if I ever had any doubt how I was going to vote, so I might as well get 'er done. The election judges, bless their hearts, they try: but, for instance, when you are assigning numbers to people waiting to vote, so you can call them in numerical order, it really works better if you assign each number to only one person, so that when you call each number, only one person comes forward... not, oh, say, two. They went with the less good option. They also had nowhere near enough pens for people to use to fill out the application cards they needed to fill out to vote early.
But it's done, and it felt good to get it done.
The house continues to be a slight money pit: latest outlay was $1,400 to have the furnace fixed, since the onset of cooler weather made it clear it had stopped working. It's a high-efficiency furnace we bought some time in the early years of living here, in the early 2000s, so it was definitely worth repairing instead of replacing - but ouch.
My moving-related anxiety dreams have mostly stopped. I do keep having dreams about Jerry in which something is wrong: in the latest iteration, he was leaving me for some reason - he didn't want to be with me anymore. (He also had some large tattoos in Tibetan script in bands across his abdomen.) I'm not sure I understand what's going on with those, unless it's a subconscious feeling that he abandoned me by dying. Which doesn't make a whole lot of sense to me as a possibility, but things that don't make sense are a hallmark of this whole widowhood thing, aren't they?
Sorry - I'm running out of steam here. Three-point Bulls game, 44 seconds to go. Let's go, Bulls.
I'm a terrible fibber! I keep saying I'm going to post, and then I don't. Do good intentions count for anything?
So, as I sit here with the latest Bulls pre-season game on the TV, I'll make my latest effort to do a blog post. I'm in a holding pattern at the moment: I still haven't heard back about the copy editing test, and I have no idea if they just hated my work or if they've been too busy to deal with it. Meanwhile, there's the possibility I'll get sucked back in to the place I worked last year: this is something that just came up this afternoon, so I don't know if it's really something that will work out, for them or for me, but there's been a change of management since I fled, and it might be doable. Or not. Lots of variables and questions, but I'm going to go talk to them a week from Thursday, and we'll see what's what.
Yeah, vague. I know. At any rate, it's ego-boosting and flattering to be asked.
Early voting started in Illinois yesterday, and I went over to vote - it's not as if I ever had any doubt how I was going to vote, so I might as well get 'er done. The election judges, bless their hearts, they try: but, for instance, when you are assigning numbers to people waiting to vote, so you can call them in numerical order, it really works better if you assign each number to only one person, so that when you call each number, only one person comes forward... not, oh, say, two. They went with the less good option. They also had nowhere near enough pens for people to use to fill out the application cards they needed to fill out to vote early.
But it's done, and it felt good to get it done.
The house continues to be a slight money pit: latest outlay was $1,400 to have the furnace fixed, since the onset of cooler weather made it clear it had stopped working. It's a high-efficiency furnace we bought some time in the early years of living here, in the early 2000s, so it was definitely worth repairing instead of replacing - but ouch.
My moving-related anxiety dreams have mostly stopped. I do keep having dreams about Jerry in which something is wrong: in the latest iteration, he was leaving me for some reason - he didn't want to be with me anymore. (He also had some large tattoos in Tibetan script in bands across his abdomen.) I'm not sure I understand what's going on with those, unless it's a subconscious feeling that he abandoned me by dying. Which doesn't make a whole lot of sense to me as a possibility, but things that don't make sense are a hallmark of this whole widowhood thing, aren't they?
Sorry - I'm running out of steam here. Three-point Bulls game, 44 seconds to go. Let's go, Bulls.
17 October 2012
"Shortly"
Yowza! I said I was going to do another blog post "shortly" - well, clearly that didn't work, and it's way too late at night to start a real entry now, so I'll just say that a) me removing the photo from the front of the blog has no significance other than I decided it was taking up too much room and I need to find something else for the top of the blog that still lets the newest post show up when the blog itself is opened; b) I'm waiting to hear back on a copy editing test for a possible job... with a medical non-profit 2 miles from the last job location. It would mean that hideous commute again, but I think, if everything were to align correctly, it could be a good thing; c) just finished a Russian-to-English translation. So I'm still here and still plugging away.
More to come... at some time in the not too distant future. I hope.
More to come... at some time in the not too distant future. I hope.
10 October 2012
Word Cloud
I was reading Alicia's latest post just now and saw that she'd made mention of a "word cloud" - of course, I'd seen those things before on people's blogs, but Alicia's mention made me curious what would come up if I created one from this blog. And I guess the result I got is no surprise at all, but it's certainly interesting to see my thoughts, feelings, concerns and (one might say) obsessions of the past 2+ years in graphic form:
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ago behind blog comments copy course dreams editing fact garage going guy home house interview jerry job karen knew life list loved market months moving oh people person point posted ready realize really reason someone something staying sure things think thought took totally translation week widow work y'all yard year
created at TagCrowd.com
Another blog post coming shortly.
18 September 2012
13 September 2012
Not 100% sure, but when in doubt...
Hej hej, y'all. (Sorry... watched the US version of The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo last night. Thought it was not fabulous, thought the accent variety was bizarre, but thought Rooney Mara was amazing. I'd watched the Swedish version, so I knew what horrors were coming and didn't find them as shocking as I might have. I tried to read the book a year or two ago and gave up after a very short time, bored and really, really annoyed by the writing: perhaps it was the translation? Anyway, so much for my history with Stieg Larsson. End of distracted aside.)
So, as I said in my last short post, I've faced reality: I'm not ready to move. Of course, I'm not 100% sure that staying here is 100% right, but I'm unsure and doubtful enough about moving on before I'm totally ready that staying put seems like the wiser option. And while I'm no believer in omens or signs, I do find it comforting that I got back from my trip late Monday night, got up Tuesday, went to Monster.com and immediately found a job opening at a translation agency 6 miles from my home. And sent my resume and cover letter. And got a call a few hours later asking me to come in for an interview. And had the interview yesterday morning. And saw a big Buddha head in the office entryway when I got there (which Jerry would have loved). And wasn't nervous.
I don't know if I'll get the job: the person I spoke with had more people to interview, and then was going to be out of town over the weekend, so I'm not supposed to hear back until at least the middle of next week. The job isn't translating, but it includes organizing jobs and projects, maintaining social media, (probably answering phones), and hey, if I'm helping organize jobs, perhaps I could put myself forward for consideration for Russian-to-English translation jobs, or editing jobs. A girl can dream. And it's SIX MILES AWAY, which would be some sort of karmic reward for the 70-miles-a-day round-trip commute to my last job.
Oh, and I had a second realtor come in and look at the house about a week and a half ago. She was supposed to get back to me with an estimate of what she thought it could be listed for. She also knew I wasn't at all sure I was ready to sell, which I'm guessing is the reason she has totally and entirely blown me off. Very professional, I'm sure. If she didn't want to put in the work, that's understandable, but how hard is it to TELL ME THAT? She's far from the first person I've dealt with in my 50 years of life who's said she'd do something professionally for me and then never did (just for starters, is there a thing about most chimney-cleaning companies that mandates that they must make appointments to come to your house and then never, ever show up? I'm just extremely lucky that Jerry and I finally found a very professional, very prompt chimney-cleaning company nearby). It does boggle my mind that people can stay in business with that kind of attitude. And it makes me appreciate all the more those people who do what they say they're going to do. Or tell you if they're not.
Two more classes to go in the copy editing certificate course: I'm currently doing an introduction to InDesign, and then there's one more class that won't be offered until mid-October. I'm still hoping there's a copy-editing job some time in my future, but I'm taking loved ones' advice and not setting deadlines for a while. I'm waiting for my gut to tell me when I'm ready to move on. For my heart to speak to me.
Gloomy, gloomy day today, but I'm feeling calmer and more in charge than I had felt in months. I think I'm on the right path, for now.
So, as I said in my last short post, I've faced reality: I'm not ready to move. Of course, I'm not 100% sure that staying here is 100% right, but I'm unsure and doubtful enough about moving on before I'm totally ready that staying put seems like the wiser option. And while I'm no believer in omens or signs, I do find it comforting that I got back from my trip late Monday night, got up Tuesday, went to Monster.com and immediately found a job opening at a translation agency 6 miles from my home. And sent my resume and cover letter. And got a call a few hours later asking me to come in for an interview. And had the interview yesterday morning. And saw a big Buddha head in the office entryway when I got there (which Jerry would have loved). And wasn't nervous.
I don't know if I'll get the job: the person I spoke with had more people to interview, and then was going to be out of town over the weekend, so I'm not supposed to hear back until at least the middle of next week. The job isn't translating, but it includes organizing jobs and projects, maintaining social media, (probably answering phones), and hey, if I'm helping organize jobs, perhaps I could put myself forward for consideration for Russian-to-English translation jobs, or editing jobs. A girl can dream. And it's SIX MILES AWAY, which would be some sort of karmic reward for the 70-miles-a-day round-trip commute to my last job.
Oh, and I had a second realtor come in and look at the house about a week and a half ago. She was supposed to get back to me with an estimate of what she thought it could be listed for. She also knew I wasn't at all sure I was ready to sell, which I'm guessing is the reason she has totally and entirely blown me off. Very professional, I'm sure. If she didn't want to put in the work, that's understandable, but how hard is it to TELL ME THAT? She's far from the first person I've dealt with in my 50 years of life who's said she'd do something professionally for me and then never did (just for starters, is there a thing about most chimney-cleaning companies that mandates that they must make appointments to come to your house and then never, ever show up? I'm just extremely lucky that Jerry and I finally found a very professional, very prompt chimney-cleaning company nearby). It does boggle my mind that people can stay in business with that kind of attitude. And it makes me appreciate all the more those people who do what they say they're going to do. Or tell you if they're not.
Two more classes to go in the copy editing certificate course: I'm currently doing an introduction to InDesign, and then there's one more class that won't be offered until mid-October. I'm still hoping there's a copy-editing job some time in my future, but I'm taking loved ones' advice and not setting deadlines for a while. I'm waiting for my gut to tell me when I'm ready to move on. For my heart to speak to me.
Gloomy, gloomy day today, but I'm feeling calmer and more in charge than I had felt in months. I think I'm on the right path, for now.
10 September 2012
BNA
A quick note from the airport in Nashville, TN, to let y'all know I'm still alive. I'm en route home after my first singing trip since January, and it was very good and important to reconnect with so many dear friends and to sing Sacred Harp again.
News update: I'm pretty much sure that it's time to face the fact that I'm not ready to leave my house. Given how many times I've put off listing it, this shouldn't come as a surprise to anyone, but it took other people pointing it out to me for me to acknowledge it. So it's time to look for a job to tide me over until my gut tells me I'm ready to move on.
No idea if this Android Blogger app will work... more from home. Which still does feel like home, to my surprise.
07 August 2012
There go my 40s
I'm not 50 yet, but I'm mighty close to it. That's a half a century - makes a girl think. (Extra points if you can tell me where I paraphrased that from, but I'll give y'all an enormous hint and point out that Sunday was 50 years since the death of Marilyn Monroe.)
Accomplishments, lately: sticking with Weight Watchers online, I've stopped the bingeing and lost 11 pounds since mid-May. It feels really good to have that under control, although walking down the snack aisle at the grocery store is still a struggle (answer: So don't walk down the snack aisle. Clearly).
The yard: I finally had landscapers show up and whip my yard into shape, so my plan to list the house after my parents' visit next week is still on track. (I could have done without the main landscaper guy talking about his lack of a sex life with his wife - and I was so totally foggy and out of it that I didn't even realize until afterwards how totally inappropriate that was, and what his point probably was. I have GOT to get my brain in gear: how could I have missed the turn the conversation took and not immediately put a stop to it? Instead I'm going, "Oh, I'm sorry, have you talked to her about it?" D'OH! I'm not firing him, but he's not coming into the house to pick up a check next time he's here to do maintenance. I need to be much more aware of things than I seem to be. But it just never occurred to me that some random guy I'd never seen before a few days previous, and had had hardly any interaction with, would march into my kitchen and hit on me... by lamenting his supposedly sexless marriage. It was so far from any thought I might have that I didn't even hear it as it was happening.)
Copy editing coursework continues. The grammar review course I've been taking is less than strenuous, but it ends tonight. All I've got left to do is one more copy editing course after the "intermediate" course I'm doing now, plus one "elective," which, if I can swing it, will be on InDesign, which seems to be the most popular program for copy editors, based on what I've seen of job listings.
And the anxiety dreams continue: Jerry is alive, Jerry is tattooed with some sort of strange markings on his chest to point out where the radiation should be aimed for the cancer that's spread to his lungs, Jerry loses his grip on a briefcase I'm handing him and someone steals it, along with my cellphone. I can't find the right train, bus, car. Josh Holloway is interested in me (that last bit, I can't figure out at all, but, well, yum). And at 3 a.m. yesterday, I awoke from a dream that I was moving over in bed to hug Jerry, and in that brief second before I realized the difference between dreams and real life, I actually physically moved towards where he should have been. Except I'm still sleeping on his side of the bed, with a big ol' body pillow and a couple of plush Benny the Bulls and a tiger "pillow" I've decreed is Aubie on my side to take up space. So I had the sensation of falling off the edge of the bed and ended up with my pulse racing and it took a while to fall back to sleep.
So there's that.
Accomplishments, lately: sticking with Weight Watchers online, I've stopped the bingeing and lost 11 pounds since mid-May. It feels really good to have that under control, although walking down the snack aisle at the grocery store is still a struggle (answer: So don't walk down the snack aisle. Clearly).
The yard: I finally had landscapers show up and whip my yard into shape, so my plan to list the house after my parents' visit next week is still on track. (I could have done without the main landscaper guy talking about his lack of a sex life with his wife - and I was so totally foggy and out of it that I didn't even realize until afterwards how totally inappropriate that was, and what his point probably was. I have GOT to get my brain in gear: how could I have missed the turn the conversation took and not immediately put a stop to it? Instead I'm going, "Oh, I'm sorry, have you talked to her about it?" D'OH! I'm not firing him, but he's not coming into the house to pick up a check next time he's here to do maintenance. I need to be much more aware of things than I seem to be. But it just never occurred to me that some random guy I'd never seen before a few days previous, and had had hardly any interaction with, would march into my kitchen and hit on me... by lamenting his supposedly sexless marriage. It was so far from any thought I might have that I didn't even hear it as it was happening.)
Copy editing coursework continues. The grammar review course I've been taking is less than strenuous, but it ends tonight. All I've got left to do is one more copy editing course after the "intermediate" course I'm doing now, plus one "elective," which, if I can swing it, will be on InDesign, which seems to be the most popular program for copy editors, based on what I've seen of job listings.
And the anxiety dreams continue: Jerry is alive, Jerry is tattooed with some sort of strange markings on his chest to point out where the radiation should be aimed for the cancer that's spread to his lungs, Jerry loses his grip on a briefcase I'm handing him and someone steals it, along with my cellphone. I can't find the right train, bus, car. Josh Holloway is interested in me (that last bit, I can't figure out at all, but, well, yum). And at 3 a.m. yesterday, I awoke from a dream that I was moving over in bed to hug Jerry, and in that brief second before I realized the difference between dreams and real life, I actually physically moved towards where he should have been. Except I'm still sleeping on his side of the bed, with a big ol' body pillow and a couple of plush Benny the Bulls and a tiger "pillow" I've decreed is Aubie on my side to take up space. So I had the sensation of falling off the edge of the bed and ended up with my pulse racing and it took a while to fall back to sleep.
So there's that.
23 July 2012
Very, very, VERY, VERY OBVIOUS
I keep having anxiety dreams. Last night, a variation on the same themes: I'm trying to pack up my belongings. I'm moving. Jerry (I think it's Jerry - when I wake up, I'm never quite sure it was him. It might have been someone from the past that I really would prefer not to have emerging from my subconscious, but I think we can take it as a given that it means Jerry) - Jerry is there. Jerry is not coming with me. For some reason, he's either staying behind or going somewhere else. I can't get all my things packed in time. My car has been towed or has otherwise turned up damaged or disappeared. My belongings end up on the street, strewn about, and I'm struggling to collect them all. Sometimes I'm moving back to an apartment in Manhattan that I haven't sold, that I've been renting out to someone all this time. Sometimes my friend Fran, who in this ridiculous real life died over a year ago now, is there, healthy and whole.
Early this morning I kept waking up out of one of those dreams, glad it was over, then falling back into it again. It's so bloody obvious, there's no reason to try to figure it out.
Early this morning I kept waking up out of one of those dreams, glad it was over, then falling back into it again. It's so bloody obvious, there's no reason to try to figure it out.
21 July 2012
Hey there
Wow, I didn't realize it'd been this long since I last posted, although the gentle reminders from some of you should have clued me in - thanks, y'all, for caring: I truly appreciate it.
So: still here, still plugging away, still moving forward. With the occasional setback, of course, because this is, after all, my house (and garage), and we can't go too long without something new to deal with. The latest thing was the garage door: I came back from the grocery store, lowered the garage door behind me, turned to get the canvas bag of groceries out of the car and heard a loud cracking sound. Long story short, $380 later there's a new spring on the garage door and the recommendation to replace the opener with something from the modern age, which I'd do if I were staying here. (So if the house doesn't sell... maybe...) Spent a couple of hours today with the shop vac out there in the garage, and now need to go get a new filter for it before I finish the job. But, again, that word: progress.
In the Facing Reality Department, I've decided to hire someone or someones to come clean up the yard: I just have to weigh which is more important to me, keeping the amount of money I'd be paying to have it done, or looking out at the yard day after day and dreading the idea of the amount of work it would take me to deal with it myself, not to mention figuring out how to get rid of the yard waste in any kind of easy way (the local waste haulage people wanted a season's worth of fees, no matter that I told them I only wanted one haul). Someone was supposed to be here this past week to look at the place, but he or she or they couldn't make it, so now we're aiming for some time next week, I think.
Copy editing certificate coursework continues. Ooh, lots of c's there. Anyway, one course I'm currently taking is a grammar review, and, not to toot my own nerdy horn here or anything, but, hello, I was doing this stuff on the PSAT in 1979, I believe it was, and before that too. But it's required for the certificate, and it's painless, so I'm doing it.
But how am I doing? I'm... doing. I'm okay. Did I tell y'all that my latest plan is to have my parents come out here next month for a last-hurrah stay at the house plus a wake for my 40s, then put the house on the market? Yeah, I know, I was putting the house on the market in February, wasn't I? Then in April? So nothing is carved in stone, clearly. But that's the latest plan. I am, of course, racked with ambivalence about the fact that I have a (beautiful, beautiful) house I that own free and clear and would be wading into the scary-ass real estate market in New York. And that I'd be leaving my boyfriend Benny behind. (New Benny video here! Knew you'd all want to know.) And that the logistics of it all make me want to sit on the couch and fire up the TV and ignore reality.
It'll all work out. Things do, I know.
Oh, and I've somehow managed to get to the point where I look forward to eating fruit. My mother doesn't know who I am. Through that weird development, and Weight Watchers online, I've lost 10 pounds. Yee and ha! Still not fitting into a dress I want to fit back into, but a few pounds more and either I will, or I'll face the fact that stuff has shifted, ahem, and that that zipper is never going to close unless I become an ab-crunching maniac - which, yeah, unlikely. To say the least.
So: still here, still plugging away, still moving forward. With the occasional setback, of course, because this is, after all, my house (and garage), and we can't go too long without something new to deal with. The latest thing was the garage door: I came back from the grocery store, lowered the garage door behind me, turned to get the canvas bag of groceries out of the car and heard a loud cracking sound. Long story short, $380 later there's a new spring on the garage door and the recommendation to replace the opener with something from the modern age, which I'd do if I were staying here. (So if the house doesn't sell... maybe...) Spent a couple of hours today with the shop vac out there in the garage, and now need to go get a new filter for it before I finish the job. But, again, that word: progress.
In the Facing Reality Department, I've decided to hire someone or someones to come clean up the yard: I just have to weigh which is more important to me, keeping the amount of money I'd be paying to have it done, or looking out at the yard day after day and dreading the idea of the amount of work it would take me to deal with it myself, not to mention figuring out how to get rid of the yard waste in any kind of easy way (the local waste haulage people wanted a season's worth of fees, no matter that I told them I only wanted one haul). Someone was supposed to be here this past week to look at the place, but he or she or they couldn't make it, so now we're aiming for some time next week, I think.
Copy editing certificate coursework continues. Ooh, lots of c's there. Anyway, one course I'm currently taking is a grammar review, and, not to toot my own nerdy horn here or anything, but, hello, I was doing this stuff on the PSAT in 1979, I believe it was, and before that too. But it's required for the certificate, and it's painless, so I'm doing it.
But how am I doing? I'm... doing. I'm okay. Did I tell y'all that my latest plan is to have my parents come out here next month for a last-hurrah stay at the house plus a wake for my 40s, then put the house on the market? Yeah, I know, I was putting the house on the market in February, wasn't I? Then in April? So nothing is carved in stone, clearly. But that's the latest plan. I am, of course, racked with ambivalence about the fact that I have a (beautiful, beautiful) house I that own free and clear and would be wading into the scary-ass real estate market in New York. And that I'd be leaving my boyfriend Benny behind. (New Benny video here! Knew you'd all want to know.) And that the logistics of it all make me want to sit on the couch and fire up the TV and ignore reality.
It'll all work out. Things do, I know.
Oh, and I've somehow managed to get to the point where I look forward to eating fruit. My mother doesn't know who I am. Through that weird development, and Weight Watchers online, I've lost 10 pounds. Yee and ha! Still not fitting into a dress I want to fit back into, but a few pounds more and either I will, or I'll face the fact that stuff has shifted, ahem, and that that zipper is never going to close unless I become an ab-crunching maniac - which, yeah, unlikely. To say the least.
27 June 2012
The time we went to Hollywood
Assuming it hasn't been removed from YouTube for copyright reasons, what you see above is a clip that was recorded in Hollywood in 2003 and included among the DVD extras for Cold Mountain. (Wait... this is ringing a bell. I wonder if I've posted this already. If so... apologies for repetition.) Jerry's in the red tie, in the front row of tenors. (Despite what the title says, at least as of this writing, it was not the recording session for the film, but a little extra tagged on at the end of the "Words and Music of Cold Mountain" concert filmed in conjunction with the movie's opening.)
In other news: the new old range is just fine: it took several hours of scrubbing and scouring, but it's clean and shiny and has only a few dark spots; the copy editing course continues; and while I was standing outside on the patio the other day, the weather gorgeous, warm but not too warm, the tall old trees waving in the breeze around me, I realized I don't want to leave until later in the summer: it's just too lovely. Of course, it's already late June, and I'm still here, so it's happening by default anyway. And while it is a little less than optimal to put the house on the market closer to the start of the school year, it feels right.
Oh, and one more thing: if any of you are dealing with issues concerning widowhood, either as a widowed person yourself or as someone who loves a widowed person, and you have not discovered the amazing Carole Brody Fleet, I recommend you find out who she is. Check out her website here. She doesn't know me from Adam, but in a few online interactions she has given me unselfish and generous support and advice. Bless her. And bless my known and unknown friends and loved ones for your continuing care and kindness: you don't know the strength I take from you all.
23 June 2012
"Call me maybe"
Back to our regularly scheduled programming, which, yes, will be about ME (as I posted a long time ago, that's what this blog is: a place for me to record MY feelings and MY actions and MY life, in a way that I don't focus on it anywhere else or in my day-to-day interactions with other people - if you don't want to read that much focus on me, then DO NOT READ MY BLOG - go harass someone who cares about your contempt and criticism). Anyway, a friend on Facebook posted this, and I thought it'd be a crime not to share it:
Meanwhile, house stuff continues. My jewel of a friend Steve suggested looking on Craigslist, and lo and behold, I found a bisque-colored five-year-old gas range in a nearby town for $150, which Steve went and looked at yesterday, as that's the town where his office is, and got it for $125 - it apparently has a few scratches on top, and I'm not sure what that means, but it'll work, and Steve will pick it up for me tomorrow. He also removed the track lighting in the bathroom and covered the big hole with a white plate, since there are sconces ("scones," Jerry inevitably call them) on either side of the mirror, so there is enough light in that room as is without going to the expense and effort of replacing the track lighting. I got the kitchen cleaned up, including using something no doubt horribly toxic to get mineral deposits off the drains in the sink, and still need to polish away the scratches in the Wilsonart countertops, but that leaves only a few rooms left to clean, the porch, the garage and the yard to neaten up.
I've also started an online program to obtain a certificate in copy editing - finally. It's a little less rigorous than I expected - well, a lot less rigorous - but it's useful, because I've never actually worked with a style manual before, and although I'm finding dealing with the nitpicky differences between the AP and Chicago stylebooks annoying, I know it's a major part of professional copy editing. And I do find it fun, given that I'm what the instructor refers to as a "word nerd," so, at least so far, I'm thinking this is the right path to be following.
So: working on getting rid of a headache I woke up with, then it's back to the AP Stylebook and my homework. "Homework" - wow! Very curious to be using that word for the first time since my abortive attempt to learn Chinese in the early 1990s. And I think this is the first time I ever studied something with a purpose in mind, too - how very liberal arts of me.
Wow. An entire blog post focused entirely on ME. How totally bizarre and inappropriate for a personal blog (thanks, Alicia!).
ETA: Oh, whoops, meant to post evidence:
Meanwhile, house stuff continues. My jewel of a friend Steve suggested looking on Craigslist, and lo and behold, I found a bisque-colored five-year-old gas range in a nearby town for $150, which Steve went and looked at yesterday, as that's the town where his office is, and got it for $125 - it apparently has a few scratches on top, and I'm not sure what that means, but it'll work, and Steve will pick it up for me tomorrow. He also removed the track lighting in the bathroom and covered the big hole with a white plate, since there are sconces ("scones," Jerry inevitably call them) on either side of the mirror, so there is enough light in that room as is without going to the expense and effort of replacing the track lighting. I got the kitchen cleaned up, including using something no doubt horribly toxic to get mineral deposits off the drains in the sink, and still need to polish away the scratches in the Wilsonart countertops, but that leaves only a few rooms left to clean, the porch, the garage and the yard to neaten up.
I've also started an online program to obtain a certificate in copy editing - finally. It's a little less rigorous than I expected - well, a lot less rigorous - but it's useful, because I've never actually worked with a style manual before, and although I'm finding dealing with the nitpicky differences between the AP and Chicago stylebooks annoying, I know it's a major part of professional copy editing. And I do find it fun, given that I'm what the instructor refers to as a "word nerd," so, at least so far, I'm thinking this is the right path to be following.
So: working on getting rid of a headache I woke up with, then it's back to the AP Stylebook and my homework. "Homework" - wow! Very curious to be using that word for the first time since my abortive attempt to learn Chinese in the early 1990s. And I think this is the first time I ever studied something with a purpose in mind, too - how very liberal arts of me.
Wow. An entire blog post focused entirely on ME. How totally bizarre and inappropriate for a personal blog (thanks, Alicia!).
ETA: Oh, whoops, meant to post evidence:
To the anonymous commenter who thinks I'm whining
To the anonymous (of course) commenter who sent me a huge long screed about how self-centered and childish and whiney I am (I think that's most of it: once I realized how completely this commenter was spewing hatred and contempt at me, I stopped reading): How about, if my blog pisses you off so much, you do this: STOP READING IT. And as for your comments? Don't waste my time. Fuck off.
And that goes for anyone else who feels moved to point out my many flaws and my overwhelming selfishness and whatever else anyone may hate about me: go read someone else's blog, or, as Jerry would have said, go pound rocks. What you shouldn't do? Waste your time and mine by sending me comments or screaming contempt at me in the guise of advice or anything else that you know perfectly well is only going to make you feel superior and smug and not help me one bit.
To repeat, in case you didn't get the message: fuck off.
And that goes for anyone else who feels moved to point out my many flaws and my overwhelming selfishness and whatever else anyone may hate about me: go read someone else's blog, or, as Jerry would have said, go pound rocks. What you shouldn't do? Waste your time and mine by sending me comments or screaming contempt at me in the guise of advice or anything else that you know perfectly well is only going to make you feel superior and smug and not help me one bit.
To repeat, in case you didn't get the message: fuck off.
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