Gifts

I read two blogs early this morning that got me thinking. One was by Miss Britt, the other by a blogger I'd never read before, but her site is thepqnation.com. I may write on this tomorrow. But as I was pondering what I'd come across, I read this one, also by Jaime, the author of thepqnation.com, and the top of the post was a photo of a fortune cookie message that reads "If you wait too long for the perfect moment, the perfect moment will pass you by."

I read her words, and I realized I do the same thing. I'm always living for (and worrying about) tomorrow. I couldn't start having children because I had not made it at least half way through a PhD program (because didn't you know a masters degree isn't good enough?) and I needed a bigger house (how stupid) and etc. etc.

It's time to live. I think I've been working up to this point for a couple months, and this post on thepqnation.com summed it up in a way that kicked me into full gear.

I've been hearing about my Grandmother's cousin, Eleanor, for several months. My grandmother suddenly suggested now that I'm 33 years old that I should meet her. (??) All this time I had no idea how big my family really was, and that I had relatives 5 miles from my home. So each time I've seen Grandma since then, we discuss how we'll have to do that soon. I come from a long line of hard working, busy people who might all benefit from treatment of workaholism. I'm proud to be a recovering workaholic.

I called Grandma, and asked her to call Eleanor, make a date next week, pick out an outfit, and we'll go. Right now. She already had her calendar in her hand. And when she started to chatter on about old stories of when Eleanor and she used to ride the 7 Mile bus to Aunt Lillian's house on Wilshire in Detroit, I didn't multitask. I sat and just listened. Then she'd lost track because she'd start talking about Aunt Lillian's beautiful home and forgot about the rest of the tale of her bus trips with Eleanor, but it never matters because I love hearing her stories. I think I even prefer hearing a hundred bits of stories rather than 50 whole ones.

Hearing Grandma's stories, meeting relatives I've never met, taking any time to actually enjoy my home - not just live in it in between work hours - are just a few of the gifts that I've been missing out on for a long time.

I noticed someone's facebook updates yesterday started with ... is going to paint. Next one said ... not painting - will sew. Third one ... spending time with the new baby instead. Perfect. She's got herself together.

I'm going to learn to take pictures and play the piano again. All the things I've been dreaming of doing some day are starting right now. And even though I'm not even accepted into a PhD program, and don't even have a job right now, you just wait til that man gets home from work this evening.

Maybe that's why they call "right now" the "present."

Sadness

Sometimes the world seems to dish out way more than you can take. After the microwave blew up yesterday, Aaron's truck did the same. It's actually a funny story - but I am not in any mood to laugh.

Running around about the truck took me away from something I was supposed to have done by this morning. That task had already been put off from running out most of Sunday to plan my mother's party. Everything is a crunch.

And then, although I've been making a conscious effort to avoid the news, I hopped on CNN a few moments ago. The first headline to catch my eye was "this is not your father's country anymore." It was well written, but the message hurts so bad. Why can't people get it? I'm out of work because our manufacturing base is going away (or I should say has gone away already) and we are not prepared to make a transition that fast.

So I closed CNN altogether, and headed for Freep to find somehting happy to read. the top of the page screamed that GM & Chrysler are looking at court protected bankruptcies. I give. Uncle. I'm going back to bed.

But I leave you with this video. We saw this guy perform this at the hockey game last week. Please listen to the words. Even if you are NOT a country music fan. I'm not either. But this is important.

Memory Lane Monday

Last Thursday I met up with my childhood best friend. If we had used the term "BFF" back then, she'd have been just that. Lisa and I were inseperable for years and years. It wasn't until junior high that our interests and activities started to change a little, slowly, and then by the middle of high school, our crowds just overlapped a litttle. I always missed her. But she was into other things, like marching band, and whatnot. We both swam, which was our common ground. But only for one year.

Lisa looked amazing. I can't even believe she's still single. We had a great talk about times past, and what we're each doing now. Which of course didn't take me long. Most of what I'm doing now is preparing for a tomorrow that will hopefully come. Gone are the days that I was working with either Australia or China on new development programs. Gone are the days that I'm out gathering "voice of the customer" data and analyzing it all night long. Now I'm a wife and foster mother, and I feel like a nut that fell out of its tree.

Lisa is the reason that I knew who older bands like Sting and the Police were. She's the reason I met the man I'm now married to. She's also the reason I learned that "Sun In" was a bad, bad idea.

This just in.

The cat broke two glasses last night.

My narciccus bulbs have blossomed this morning, but are getting so tall that they don't want to stand straight up, and I can't plant them outside for several more weeks.

The microwave blew up with my vegetable soup inside.

I came into the office to blog just now, and the cat promptly finished eating a piece of curling ribbon and vomited on the floor.

It's not a good day around here.

You can't have just one.

Initially, I said no. We cannot go out today. I have a ton of things to do, all before Tuesday morning, and I don't have time.

But then, I agreed to run out for just one glass of wine. Before we knew it, it was 6 pm. So we stopped for dinner on the way home.

Nothing got done. This week is going to be a bear.

Bad habits

I hosted a party an embarrassingly long time ago, and a friend brought special dips in Pyrex dishes. I washed her dishes the next morning, stuck them on top of the fridge, and proceeded to never have a chance to get them to her.

Today, she was top priority. So I baked her a fresh batch of chocolate chip cookies to fill her dishes, and dropped them off at her job. Her coworkers were excited, and I'm not sure any of the cookies made it home with her. But at least she has her dishes.

I'm very poor at following up with this type of thing. I need to get better at it, as well as start remembering and acknowledging birthdays.

Delivery Man

Today was spent in its entirety at two different hospitals, getting x-rays and CT scans of every bone in Aaron's body. The problem is in his foot, but they scanned his entire self anyhow. He is radio-active for the next two days.

Our technicians were a man from Russia and a woman who I believe had eastern Indian roots. They were hysterically funny.

We returned after a 3 to 4 hour wait while the nuclear material spread through his body, and mentioned that we had breakfast at Panera. Our Russian tech asked if we liked the "onion French." The way he spun his words around was reminiscent of a portion of Henry Rollin's Spoken Word.

The other tech told several stories of the funniest things he's said, which he was laughing about harder than anyone. The best story of all:

P: So Gregory, what did you do back in Russia?
G: I was a delivery man.
P. What did you deliver? Pizza? Mail?
G: Babies.

Gregory is actually a physician in Russia, but his credentials are not recognized here in the United States. So he runs a scanning machine and reads books written in Russian every day, and appears to have an excellent time doing it.

Meme that isn't about me - from Dooce dot com

About my better half:

What are your middle names? My middle name is Elaine. My mother has since stated that she wished she would have spelled it “Alaine” because that’s how we all say it. Aaron's middle name is Shawn. Do you think he might be Irish?

How long have you been together? We’ve been married for 3 years this coming May, and we’ve been together (this time) for 7 years.

How long did you know each other before you started dating? I met him on June 16th, 1992 in the early afternoon. I fell in love with him the minute I saw him. We met up later that night, and we were inseparable for the 9 days between the day we met and the day he drove away to attend college in the south. That was the beginning of quite a history.

Who asked whom out? We have completely different versions of this story.
My version: He walked past me outside a store on his way out for his lunch break. Our eyes met, we noticed each other, that was it. 10 minutes later, he returned and re-entered the store with a bag of Taco Bell. We noticed each other again, and I thought he was very cute. Since he obviously worked in that particular store, I wandered in there and hung out until he came around and noticed me. He struck up a conversation about water skis. After a few minutes of chatting, he offered me his pager number. (Remember folks, this was 1992. The pager was a very cool thing back then. Cellular phones came in bags, weighed 45 lbs., and nobody could afford them.) I called him later that day, and we made plans to meet up. It was he who offered the number and asked me to call, and it was he who suggested we meet up that night. So I say he asked me out.
His version: “She picked me up in a parking lot.”

How old are each of you? I'm 33, he's 36.

Whose siblings do you see the most? Mine.

Which situation is the hardest on you as a couple? Hmmm. It was always about time. We never had enough time together. We spent most of our marriage living in separate states throughout every week and getting together on the weekends. It was never easy or often even possible to get any vacation time together. We must have passed the test, because all that has finally changed. He found a job close to home, his schedule is enviable, he works only 1 mile from home, and has every other Friday off. I’m home 24/7 right now.

Now that time is not an issue, I’d say the challenges of being a foster parent to teenaged kids who don’t come from very nice backgrounds and need a LOT of work is the most stressful component. But it’s still a labor of love, even when it gets stressful.

The one thing that isn’t ever stressful is money. We do not fight about money. We never have, and hopefully never will. Whether we have any or not, we just don’t fight about it. This is so important to me.

Did you go to the same school? Not at all. Until now. I went to CMU, and he’s now attending CMU.

Are you from the same home town? No. But close… I grew up in Warren, and he grew up in Southfield.

Who is smarter? I look at it as equal. Aaron would probably say I’m smarter, but I don’t believe that it’s so simple. We are intelligent in different ways. The part of him I fell in love with the fastest was his mind, and the part of him that a piece of me stayed in love with for years and years and years was his mind. We can talk about anything for hours and never run out of conversation or lose interest.

Who is the most sensitive? This is hard. I would bet it’s Aaron. But neither of us are overly sensitive.

Where do you eat out most as a couple? When we are running crazy and need to grab food fast, it’s unfortunately at one of the local chains like Chili’s or B-Dubs. We don’t prefer this food though. It becomes a matter of convenience when we end up there. If we plan to eat out on a date, my favorite is Sweet Lorraine’s. We also go to Mongolian BBQ often because it’s easy and healthy.
Where is the furthest you two have traveled together as a couple?Cocoa Beach, Florida. Oddly, for various reasons, most of our travel since we’ve been married has been separate. This is a bummer. We still haven’t even had a honeymoon.
Who has the craziest exes?Oh gosh, definitely me. But whereas I have but one nutty ex that is off the charts, he has many exes that were just slightly wacky. In the end we’re almost even.

Who has the worst temper? Our tempers are different. He has a quicker temper, but milder. So he gets angry faster, but not as intense. I have patience from here to China, but when I get to the end of the line, it’s ugly. His temper manifests itself with either extreme withdrawal and silence, or heavy sarcasm. Mine manifests in long talks to explain the situation in detail and formulate a fix.

Who does the cooking? I do! But, Aaron is far better at it. He’s cooked in two different five-star restaurants, and is an amazing chef. He makes the best chicken cordon bleu you’ll ever taste. And our Christmas dinner every year is all his doing too. I do all the cooking now because I’m home to do it. When we both work, we share everything and go out often.

Who is the neat-freak? Neither. Life is too short to be freaky about neatness. We both prefer things clean and organized, but if I go two weeks before laundering clothes or dishes pile in the sink for a couple days, neither of us care. Right now, Aaron just got a new Jeep, so he’s funny about making sure nothing is left in it after each ride. Give him two months maximum and that will be over with. The one exception to all of this is with our workplaces. We are both rather neat-freaks at work. (Especially Aaron – he’s probably neater at work than I am.) Home is where we relax.

Who is more stubborn? I’d have to say he is, overall, but I’m my share of stubborn too.

Who hogs the bed? Neither. We sleep in a ball. We could have just bought a twin bed and saved the money we spent on a queen-sized bed.

Who wakes up earlier? He does. As soon as the alarm clock makes noise, he is coherent and alert. Throughout my childhood, my parents used to have fun counting how many times my alarm clock would ring before I’d get up and shut it off. When I did, I honestly thought it had only rang twice. I would sleep through a nuclear attack. However, let a baby cry two doors down, and I hear it. Don’t ask me how. I have no babies. But I’ll wake up if a child makes noise.

Where was your first date? Either when we each brought a friend along and met in downtown Royal Oak to walk around and see where we ended up, or it was to the movies to see Batman. (Depending on what your personal definition of “date” is.)

Who is more jealous? Neither. I don’t think either of us has a jealous bone in our respective bodies, and this is one of the reasons we fit together so well. I don’t think either of us is capable of being happy with a jealous mate. It’s suffocating to either of us. He would probably tolerate it better than I would.

How long did it take to get serious? This is a hard one to answer. The simple answer would be 10 years. But it’s far more complicated than that.

Who eats more? I eat more at one time, but he eats more overall. We can sit down to breakfast and he will eat half of his, I’ll eat ¾ if not all of mine. I will be full until dinnertime, but he will be eating again in an hour.

Who does the laundry? Me. By choice. He does not watch for stains to be pre-treated, or pay attention to whether or not those stains have come out in one washing before hurling the garments into the dryer, no matter what they are made of.

Who's better with the computer? Definitely Aaron. He does the vast majority of his design work on a computer attached to multiple monitor screens, so he can multi-task. He actually takes the time to do the clean up & defrag sort of thing. I want to turn it on, do my business, and then leave it and go see people. I would say that (when I was working) I spent only half or less time on the computer. The other half was in meetings, on the phone, in customer offices or plants, and on the road. He has suggested I consider his line of work, and the specific reason I would not is that I could not sit and stare at a tube for that many hours each week without needing a stay in a padded room.

Who drives when you are together? It’s really a split, but I’d say I drive the majority of the time. It depends on which car we take. He drives his truck, I drive my car. The one exception to this rule is the frequent occasion that he becomes intolerant of me critiqueing his driving (the man cannot merge…) and he’ll just ask me to drive to save him the trouble of hearing me nag.

Wordless Wednesday

Simple Things

This morning I opened a new gallon of milk for coffee. (I don't like cream in my coffee - only milk.) I pulled off the plastic ring and gave it to the cats to bat around for awhile. They were so happy. You'd think I'd given them a piece of cat heaven.

I think my life is similar to theirs these days. My plastic ring is a cup of hot coffee or a chance to sit and get my head together. A 14 year old car in the driveway so I can run to the store during the day if I need to. An opportunity to make plans to meet up with an old friend. Some of these plastic rings I went without for a long time.

The foster kid reported some concern with her brakes today. Specifically that she had a very hard pedal that was going all the way to the floor. She announced she wanted to take the car in and get them looked at. Relevant details: this car was purchased from a licensed mechanic who had been driving it himself, owned the car for 15 years, and had every single receipt for all parts purchased and externally hired work done on the car. He was seriously meticulous to the point of being anal, which is a very nice situation for someone who is buying a car from him. Also, I was in the car recently, and I know it stops fine.

However, she has the money, and is in a very nice situation with regard to finances. I told her the odds were that she needed her rear brakes adjusted based on the whole description she gave me as to what was "wrong." We're working on building her confidence, her consumer savvy, and independence. This means I am not insisting to be in charge and run the show for her anymore. This also means that every last situation is a bigger pain in the rear than if I were running the show.

She announces a bit later in the morning that she wants to take the car to Bell Tire. I tell her (for at least the second time) that Bell Tire is not the best choice for brake inspection. As usual, she does not listen. She begins to argue with me about all the reasons she should go to Bell Tire, and I stop her mid-sentence and tell her to take the car anywhere she wants to go for inspection.

Every intuition tells me this will be a repeat of the recent battery situation. We told her that her battery only had maybe a year of life left, so she should consider replacing it or just paying attention to various clues that it was dying. I gave her the whole explanation of how long they last, etc. etc. So she decides to run out and price batteries. I tell her where to go. She goes elsewhere, and calls in hysterics because they even ran a REPORT on her battery, and concluded that she only had TWO or THREE more starts before it DIED. And, they couldn't even run the REPORT without charging the battery FIRST. Give me a break. The poor girl, it's as if she runs into a repair shop with the word "naive" written on her forehead. However, the price for the battery was reasonable, the warranty was the same as the two places I'd have chosen to buy from, and installation was included. So despite my disagreement with this whole report fiasco and the advice of these "experts," it wasn't a bad place to buy a new battery from. Interestingly, after the battery had been installed, the technician brought the car around to the front parking lot and parked it. When she got inside to drive away after paying, the car wouldn't start. The battery had come unhooked in the time it took to drive around the building. They openly admitted that something wasn't done properly, and assured her they'd fix it. This fell right in line with my explanation to her earlier about why I'd go to store A or store B for a car battery, and why you don't go to an Italian restaurant for tacos. She came home that day with her new battery in her car, and we sat and talked to her about the sales tactics. She argued, and seemed to believe that we were just untrusting of the sales people. A couple days later, her therapist came for our in-home session and she told him of the battery story. He laughed harder than we had and gave her the same response we had. It was reinforcement, but she never learns anything the easy way, and I could have told you that very day that she'd live through it all at least twice more before she learned her lesson.

Anyway, back to the present. Twenty minutes later, I get an odd number appear on my phone, which I ignore because I am in the middle of reviewing a source for a research paper. Two minutes after that, my husband calls to inform me that Bell Tire is calling him directly for authorization to work on the foster kid's car. I knew what happened before hearing anything more. Unqualified people looked at the car and decided the car needed all new everything, gave a ridiculous quote, put pressure on the foster kid, and because she was in a position where she didn't feel stepping away to make calls on her own and ask questions, she told them to do it. It was her way of passing the buck.

That is precisely what happened.

They told her she needed new calipers, rotors, pads, etc. etc. etc. Which sometimes can be the case, but I knew it was not the case presently for this vehicle. And also as expected, they told her she had no back brakes at all, and should not move the car out of their shop without repair. Yes, this is the same shop that told her she should not leave their shop without a new battery or after two or three more starts, it would be DEAD and she would be STRANDED. On both occasions she went to this particular store because the location is very close to home and easy to pull in and out of. It's on her route to and from work, so she's comfortable with that road. She's still a bit squirrelly about finding businesses and having to turn left to get either in or out of the parking lots. She's had a license for about a month, so this is not unreasonable. But it is something she has to work through and get past.

Aaron had told her to get her butt and her car home, and quit taking the car to tire shops for brake inspections.

She came home, I told her to realize that what actually happened is exactly what I warned her of only moments before, and she could have saved time and energy by listening instead of being so dead set on ignoring logic. We reviewed for the billionth time the basics of car repair and maintenance basics. I told her to go to the small shop around the corner that was well known and reputable, or to Midas a few miles further. We discussed once again how to present yourself, what to say, what not to say, and what to ask.

The small shop took her right in a short while later, and quoted her new pads for the back, which were considerably worn but working, and a new caliper slide on one side. She calls me to inform me of the quoted price, but cannot tell me what the price includes. I make her go verify what the shop intends to fix/replace with that quote, and she is frustrated. She explains that the guy told her everything once, she just didn't pay attention and understand it. I ask her if she intends to just give each and every repair shop money over the next several years with no information on what's being fixed. She is silent for a minute, and then goes off to verify what needs to be done. Her description comes back clear and reasonable, and the price is fair for the work. It's a fraction of the tire shop's quote, as expected.

It's not easy to start stepping back and letting her deal with these things more independently. She doesn't present herself in a way that keeps her safe from being taken advantage of. But I figure if I don't nudge her to learn along the way, she'll never be able to handle it. So in the end, maybe she paid $50 more than I would have, and maybe she's buying two slides when she only needs one. But, she's learning. And I'm not going to be around to take her car to the brake shop twice a year indefinitely.

And a few minutes later, I realized, taking her car to the brake shop and making her own arrangements is probably her orange plastic ring right now. The littlest parts of independent living that she's gaining, but never believed completely that she'd have. The simple things.

Memory Lane Monday

Someone who crossed my mind this past week was an old supervisor. In high school, I worked for a jewelry story. Not a glamorous jewelry store with gorgeous lights. Certainly not a jewelry story with blue boxes. Nope. This was the little inset area inside Sam's Club. If you don't remember, I can give you enough information to have a fairly good visual. Imagine a large warehouse selling items in bulk, and serving mostly small and large business owners. Now you've got the surrounding area set. Now take a few jewelry cases and arrange them in a rectangle. Leave an opening for a swinging door and a cash register on a stand with a safe underneath it. Make one jewelry case full of perfume. Litter the tops of the jewelry cases with sunglass rounders and plastic signs. There we are. Now you understand where I worked. I hate to just say "jewelry store," and have anybody mislead. It wasn't your average jewelry store.

I loved this job. I really loved it. The customers were regular people from all walks of life. Because we were right inside the gate opening to enter the main part of the store, we saw everyone who came in, and came to recognize a few regulars. I also had the pleasure of working with my best friend at the time. Sundays were especially fun, because we worked together from open until close, and often got Papa Romano's for lunch. Pasta salad and bread to share. We could eat like that back then and not look like whales.

Our supervisor was Karen. She was a no-nonsense woman who dressed to the nines. She was always put together. Her son never came in to the store that I remember, but we knew so much about him that I felt like we knew him. Except, we didn't know his real name. She called him Buddha. He allegedly earned this name as a baby, and even at 17 had not outgrown it.

Karen is one of two people who affected my career path more than any others. She left the "jewelry store" to take a job in a far more high-end retail location with more money, more opportunity, and less warehouse dust. She told me I was the hardest worker she'd ever known in all her years, and the minute she got established, she called me in for an interview. I followed her to an anchor retail store at Somerset before any north mall or SkyWalk existed. That job funded college, a down payment on a home, and the best time of my life.

I would have never in a million years at that time thought I'd be considered for a position like that. I'd have never applied, or even asked if they were hiring. If it weren't for Karen's encouragement, I'd have spent many more early college years working in a small rectangle inside a warehouse, and my student loans today would be much bigger than they are.

I have tried to find Karen over the years, but have never been successful. I didn't stay in her department long. Not even three months. Store management offered me a job one floor upwards, which is very much a hierarchical thing in that industry. I sat with Karen and discussed what had been offered to me. I felt like I was betraying her by leaving. She told me she didn't even want to hear about it - if I didn't take that job, she'd be very disappointed. So I did, and I was glad. After two months I held the second highest sales in the department, working with people who had been doing that job for as long as 30 years.

That job taught me far more than how to sell things effectively or how to be competitive and still maintain friendships. (Which is a tedious balance in that environment.) I began to understand how people live differently in the world based on "class," culture, nationality, religion, etc. I learned about Jewish holidays, and customary gifts. I learned that you get better service running to the local mom & pop shop engraver to have something serviced than if you mail it to a larger vendor. I learned how shipping companies work. I learned a thing or two about effective displays. I learned just how bored wealthy stay-at-home moms are when they have people hired to do every job they'd traditionally do on their own.

I saw Karen here and there while working, but eventually she left for another opportunity. Unfortunately, I didn't know about it until she was already gone. I haven't seen her since, but I think of her often and hope our paths cross in the future.

Not really new news... I've been living as a statistic here...

Reality is very ugly, folks.

Source: http://msn.careerbuilder.com/Article/MSN-1772-Job-Search-15-Worst-States-to-Find-Work/?ArticleID=1772&cbRecursionCnt=1&cbsid=ae752bfb3e7443c983d0ceff940c4e32-288106657-JU-5 Viewed on 16 February 2009, 1:42 p.m. EST

While many factors come into play as reason why you might not be landing a job -- the economy being the No. 1 reason to speak of -- one thing job seekers often don't think of as being a cause is the state they live in.
State unemployment rates play a huge role in whether or not you are likely to find work; the higher the unemployment rate, the more difficult it is to find a job. With today's national unemployment rate at a dismal 7.2 percent, there aren't many states with unemployment rates much less than that.
The latest numbers from the Bureau of Labor Statistics* showed six states recording rates of 9 percent or more. Overall, 10 states had significantly higher jobless rates than the average and 18 had similar rates. Michigan recorded the highest unemployment rate at 10.6 percent, followed closely by Rhode Island at 10.0 percent.
The largest numerical decrease in employment since November 2008 was in California, which lost 78,200 jobs, followed by Michigan, New York, Illinois, Indiana and North Carolina, respectively. Idaho saw the largest percentage cut in employment since December 2008 (1.6 percent), followed by Michigan, Hawaii and Indiana.
All 50 states and the District of Columbia had considerable jobless rate increases since December 2007. Rhode Island had the highest rate increase over the year (4.5 percent), followed by Arizona and Idaho (4.3 percentage points each), Michigan (4.1 percentage point each) and Indiana (3.7 percent). Nine other states and the District of Columbia recorded increases of 3 percentage points or more since December 2007 and 36 states had smaller, but still significant, increases.
Here are 15 states with unemployment rates higher than the national average and that have seen momentous rate increases since last year. If you're having trouble finding a job and you live in one of the following states, know that you might not be the (only) reason behind your unemployment:
1. Michigan ... 10.6 percent
December 2007: 7.4 percent
Over-the-year rate change: 3.2 percent
Mean annual salary: $42,210
2. Rhode Island ... 10.0 percent
December 2007: 5.2 percent
Over-the-year rate change: 4.8 percent
Mean annual salary: $42,210
3. South Carolina ... 9.5 percent
December 2007: 6.2 percent
Over-the-year rate change: 3.3 percent
Mean annual salary: $34,650
4. California ... 9.3 percent
December 2007: 5.9 percent
Over-the-year rate change: 3.4 percent
Mean annual salary: $45,990
5. Nevada ... 9.1 percent
December 2007: 5.2 percent
Over-the-year rate change: 3.9 percent
Mean annual salary: $16,750
6. Oregon ... 9.0 percent
December 2007: 5.4 percent
Over-the-year rate change: 3.6 percent
Mean annual salary: $40,040
7. District of Columbia ... 8.8 percent
December 2007: 5.7 percent
Over-the-year rate change: 3.1 percent
Mean annual salary: $64,150
8. North Carolina ... 8.7 percent
December 2007: 4.7 percent
Over-the-year rate change: 4.0 percent
Mean annual salary: $36,900
9. Florida ... 8.1 percent
December 2007: 4.5 percent
Over-the-year rate change: 3.6 percent
Mean annual salary: $37,260
10. Georgia ... 8.1 percent
December 2007: 4.5 percent
Over-the-year rate change: 3.6 percent
Mean annual salary: $38,320
11. Mississippi ... 8.0 percent
December 2007: 6.3 percent
Over-the-year rate change: 1.7 percent
Mean annual salary: $31,730
12. Tennessee ... 7.9 percent
December 2007: 5.0 percent
Over-the-year rate change: 2.9 percent
Mean annual salary: $35,380
13. Kentucky ... 7.8 percent
December 2007: 5.1 percent
Over-the-year rate change: 1.9 percent
Mean annual salary: $34,950
14. Ohio ... 7.8 percent
December 2007: 5.8 percent
Over-the-year rate change: 2.0 percent
Mean annual salary: $38,640
15. Illinois ... 7.6 percent
December 2007: 5.3 percent
Over-the-year rate change: 2.3 percent
Mean annual salary: $43,050
*According to the most recent numbers released by the Bureau of Labor Statistics on Jan. 27, 2009.
**Mean annual salary per state, according to the most recent Occupational Employment and Wage Estimates, May 2007, Bureau of Labor Statistics.
Rachel Zupek is a writer and blogger for CareerBuilder.com. She researches and writes about job search strategy, career management, hiring trends and workplace issues.
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Story Filed Tuesday, January 27, 2009 - 2:48 PM

One of the few things I look forward to

is when people come over. I love to have a houseful. Tonight at 5, my family is coming over for dinner and birthday cake.

I also have received a nice tip on what I might do for my next career, since I'm not confident the automotive world is ever going to need me at my historic salary level, and I'm not sure I'd be willing to be a part of that ridiculousness for half the money. It's time to make a move, that's for sure. I need some time to look into this new idea - but it sounds good so far.

Happy VD Internet!

xoxoxo

:o)

Found a great read.

If you haven't read the Pioneer Woman, you should. It's fantastic.

www.pioneerwoman.com.

This looked like fun. Blog tag

This is a brand new blog, so I'm not really that connected yet, but this looked like way too much fun to pass up. So I'm going to do it...


Blog Tag Instructions


1. Pick the 6th Folder, then select the the 6th picture in that folder.

2. Post that picture on your blog and the story that goes along with the picture.

3. Tag 6 other people that you know or don’t know to do the same thing and leave a comment on their blog or an e-mail letting them know you chose them.


Here is my 6th picture in my 6th folder:

This is a shot inside of the Shillelagh bar in Detroit taken on May 26th 2008 before a Red Wing's playoff game. These brick walls are covered in years of graffiti and illuminated by very industrial lighting. I took a few pictures thinking some of them might come out neat. I wish I had a better camera! Some day...





This is not the 6th, but I liked it better:

A day off with newborn toes

Today I took the day off. From job searching, from routine tasks, from everything. I rolled out of bed. I went to breakfast with Erica at the little dive near our house that makes great over-easy eggs and the best hashbrowns. Then, I fixed my hair and make-up, and went to walk around the mall and find an inexpensive baby gift. (This friend is so special that I'd like to take a time machine back to when we were a two-income household and have no limit on her new-baby-gift, but the financial situation warrants restraint.)

I found an entire rack of wonderful infant clothes marked down to $4.99. I chose a little pink three-piece outfit. It rang up $3.17 out the door. Regular price was $28.00.

The day would have been nearly perfect at this point if I had not been able to find one single item in the entire baby department made in the United States. Not. One. Item.

On the way out of the mall, Erica called to say she'd gotten her job. It's an amazing deal, and I'm so proud of her I could explode. I can't wait to take the train and visit her.

For the rest of the day, I held a 4 week old baby girl. The world seems so much more peaceful, and worries seem so much smaller when you can get hold onto a real life miracle for awhile.

The one with a disappearing appendix and two interviews

This morning I was not only greeted with texted birthday sentiments, but also news that my sister had been taken in for emergency surgery. So of course the plans for the day were flexed a bit as would be expected. She is okay, and there is even a chance they'll release her tonight. I had a chance to run out and get her a balloon and some flowers (yikes! get-well gifts of that nature cost so much more near Valentine's Day... but I think she liked them.) Her appendix had decided to quit working and possibly begin to "leak." The fear was that it would rupture, or per chance had already done so. If the thing had already ruptured, she would not be able to get to the version of the surgery where they make three small holes and pull it out. The old school version has to be used if there is a rupture, and that involves a more hefty incision. But thankfully, the abridged version of the appendix extraction worked.

I had to leave the hospital by 1 pm for an interview. For a job today that I was shocked and horrified to find paid far less than 1/4 my old base annual salary before bonus, car, etc. etc. I have not earned that little since my junior year in high school. The weekly paychecks would literally be less than unemployment, which is not easy to live on while job searching anyhow. (But because we're lucky enough to have one of us still working, and I cashed out essentially every investment we had when I lost my job given the state of the economy, we can still eat and have the lights on. We're grateful for the littlest things these days...)

My other sister had a much better day than the one mentioned above. She had a job interview today too, for an amazing opportunity with a company in Chicago. She should hear from them by tomorrow either way.

And now, I'm off to birthday dinner with my family.

The never ending journey, and funeral flip flops

I love our house. It's the perfect size. Not too big, not too small. It's big enough for any sort of family gathering we'd want to hose, but not so big that it's too difficult to keep up. It's big enough to raise a family in, but not so big that there won't be sharing rooms and fighting over toys.

The difficulty is the amount of details that are still left undone. It was a foreclosure home when we bought it. We expected tons of time, money, and elbow grease spent on this place. Lots of the things left to do such as staining and cutting more trim, possibly tiling over the formica countertop, and using chemicals to clean up the baseboards (from paint messes the last owners left, mostly,) are all better to do with warmer weather so that the windows can be open and some of the work can be done outside in the fresh air.

I remember my last bout with staining. I had huge cardboard boxes cut up into strips across the yard, covered in oak quarter round. It was quite a job. That was for only one room... Our great room and hallway do not have any trim around the edge of the new laminate yet.

Some days it's overwhelming. Those are usually the days I don't get anything done. Then the days that follow are a bit more frustrating than the days that preceded based on how much is still left to do.

But, on a good note, lots of organizing has commenced. I have a deadline of February 27th to get all the clothes and linens bagged for goodwill, and all closets and drawers cleaned out and perfect. I'm a good way there already. I'm going to take pictures of each room at the point when it's finally finished. Our bedroom will be first - all that is left there is to buy the nightstands and adjust the closet doors (if not replace them... They are horrid...)

If I had the time and money, I'd have changed all doors, closet doors, and baseboards in the whole house, as well as the tile that runs from the foyer through the walkway and then spreads out through the kitchen, dining room, pantry, and laundry room. I hate it. The worst part of it is it's very smooth tile, and it's more dangerous than I realized. Any amount of moisture on there and it's a slip and slide. (I've had a few injuries from this - one very serious that took a good year to heal. I can't share in detail in case you are squeamish... I will tell you I had a very broken toe. The rest of the injury you can imagine from that.) I ended up going to my grandmother's funeral in black glittery flip flops, because it's all that would work with my horrible bandaged toe. That was the most painful injury I've ever had.

Memory Lane Monday

This is a new idea I have. I've heard of "Meme Monday," but that's not really my style. So every Monday, I'm going to take a walk down memory lane and write about someone who has been part of my life. These will not be in any order. Not in importance, not chronologically, not logically. It will be based on someone who happened to cross my mind in the days preceeding. Some of them will still be around, some not. But the best part is, some of it will be funny, you can bet.

And now I give you the first Memory Lane Monday. The topic is the old friend from yesteryear I recently had the pleasure of finding a blog for, and finding she has built herself an amazing life with three babies, a husband, and great taste in music. (yes, I left her page open for awhile in the background to hear her song list...)

Suzy lived down the street from me as we grew up. We walked to school together many times before the school on the corner was closed, torn down, and replaced with new houses. Somewhere, I have a picture of us on the first day of school one year. (I wish I knew where that was - she'd laugh...)

We swam in her pool, played in her treehouse, and slept overnight in her parents' pop-up camper parked in the driveway. Her house had a real flag pole. (I always thought this was the coolest thing.)

She taught me a family recipe. They are called "meltwiches." You take one piece of bread, followed by the spread of your choice (I liked mustard), covered by a slice of lunch meat with the corners cut so it doesn't curl when heated, and finished with a slice of cheese. A few seconds in the microwave, and you have yourself a meltwich. I turn 33 the day after tomorrow, and I still do this.

Once we took an enormous bowl of popcorn, coloring books, and crayons to the racquetball court where her mother played racquetball. We had a great time, and even got to borrow a ball and a couple racquets ourselves to horse around with. We weren't very good at it. That seemed to make it even more fun.

Once, she had a birthday party in the summer. I ran barefoot through the yard and stepped in dog poop. In front of everyone. Her mom hosed my foot off. She actually apologized for it, which at the time I remember I was amazed by. I thought to myself, "heck, I was the stupid one who landed in the poo and created a mess, I should apologize...." I just thought everyone had a dog, and everyone had poo bombs to dodge in the yard at any given time. It was just part of life. That was the same party where everyone worked together to create a whirlpool in the round above ground pool, and the same party where I dove and hit my nose on the bottom. Thankfully nobody noticed.

She had a beautiful golden retriever. I think his name was Sparky, but I can't remember for sure. I had a cocker spaniel.

We played house in her basement. Sometimes boys would play the mother or the teacher, and girls would play the father or the policeman. I remember clearly the first time I realized this was the gameplan, and I questioned it. My friend gave me a thorough explanation that when it's PRETEND, it doesn't matter if you are a girl or a boy. This may have been my first lesson in tolerance and open-mindedness. I think I was 8 and she was 7.

We rode bikes and watched movies. Her mother read chapters from The Boxcar Children out loud at bedtime. I remember thinking it was so cool that her mom still read out loud even though everyone was old enough to read independently. It was fun. The chapters never lasted long enough, and I remember not caring if I hadn't heard the chapter before, and wishing she'd continue through the whole book. (BTW, Suzy just blogged about a story she reads to her children, which reminded me of hearing The Boxcar Children chapters as a child, and that whole train of thought is what lead to Memory Lane Mondays.)

Her mom made great cookies too. I think my mom's were my favorite, but her mom's were a super close second for sure.

Suzy had the prettiest "church dresses." My family went to church too, but we didn't dress up the same way. Her family was the first I knew to join hands around the table for grace before dinner. I decided one day at her house that I'd do it that way if I had children. I haven't had any, so I can't tell you for sure if we'll follow that custom.

And the funniest part for last. Well, funny for anyone reading. (Not funny for me....) My first truly horrifying moment of sheer embarassment happened at Suzy's house. Our houses were the same layout. There is a door that separates the kitchen (and the rest of the house) from a half bath, side door, garage door, and basement stairs. I was spending the night. We were camping in the living room, complete with sleeping bags. After getting hollered at several times to GO TO SLEEP, we nodded off. I woke up and had to use the bathroom. In effort (honestly) to not wake anyone up, I headed toward the half bath past the kitchen. It's the furthest from the bedrooms, and therefore the most polite thing to do if people are asleep. I often did the same thing in my own house. What I didn't know, was that door I mentioned was attached to the alarm system...

As soon as I turned the handle, the alarm rang. Now, given that I had the same door in my own house, and I was young, I didn't realize that I had caused the noise. I really believed that house alarms only connected to outside doors and windows, not doors in the middle of your floorplan. I believed this to be impossible. My first thought, and I remember this like it was yesterday, was that someone must be coming through one of the windows!

I ran back to our indoor campsite, but Suzy was already heading into her parents bedroom. I heard her, clear as a bell, say "It was Jaime. She didn't know she couldn't go that way." I froze. Panic ran through my veins. I did this? How? Were the police and fire trucks coming? Did I have to go home now? Then, only a fraction of a second has passed since the initial turning of the door handle, and Suzy's very angry father takes a run through the house to shut off the alarm. He looked exhausted and irritated. I thought for sure if I cried, I'd be sent home immediately. I fought the tears, and amidst the panic and fear and now growing embarassment, I started to giggle. Suzy gave me a stern look and told me it wasn't funny. I knew it wasn't funny. And yet, I giggled anyway. I think if I'd been their rightful child, I'd have been in serious trouble with the giggling. I felt horrible. And, I still had to pee. I was afraid to go at that point, and just went back to sleep and held it until morning.

I always wondered if her parents really disliked me after that incident. Shortly after, I wondered if I should write them an apology note. (A humorous aside - that idea was from a SOAP OPERA.) I never did. If they remember that day, I probably should apologize. But if they don't remember, I'd hate to remind them....

From my hubby....

Look what I got! My name on the score board!

Hockey Game Today!

And, we're meeting friends in the Olympia room! Looking forward to it! :o)

Spatial Relations

The foster "child" in our care cannot find her way out of a paper bag. She's gotten lost, severely, twice that I know about and based on how long it's taken her to get from here to there on occassion with a special brand of panic on her face when she gets there, I know she got twisted around then too. (The brand of panic on her face when she's been doing something wrong is very different. She's very transparent. The poor child cannot figure out how I always know if she's been up to no good. I have finally figured out how my mother always knew when I was. Then I promptly draw the conclusion that I'm getting old, and I try to think about something else.)

She had an appointment today. She's proud to be driving her OWN car, and proud to be propelling her person to these obligations on her own once in awhile. The thing is, she has to be on time. Which means, I have to know she knows exactly how to go. There is no time to drive 25 minutes in the wrong direction before either figuring it out or calling me in hysterics. So, as you would imagine, I spent a few moments inquiring as to her comfort level about her voyage ahead.

She said she was glad I asked, because when she gets to this road? What way should she turn? Right? And then that road is next? And which way then?

This is when I wish the coffee pot would speed up because I am low on patience in the morning, bless her heart, before I have sufficient caffeine intake.

I begin with the current position of her car, and ask her which way her car is pointing now. It's the 439th time she's started this drill with our own street, but she gets flustered and can't figure it out. Usually, I patiently walk her through it. Step by step, turn by turn, and ask her to visualize this in her head however she wants. I expected the blank and confused look through the first several of these conversations. But I've grown concerned at the fact that things aren't falling into place for her. It's been long enough for her to hear regularly that the corner store is found by travelling south on our street, which is that direction, then turning west, which is that direction, then finding the store on the right. After weeks, when you ask her how to get to that corner store, you'd think she'd be able to tell you. But she can't . She will have an instance of slightly confused panic, lift her hands as if she were about to talk with them, and then start to turn her body as though she's trying to face her nose in the direction she wants to go and have that serve as a tool to describe it. Good Lord in heaven.

So today, fearing that she's just not getting it with regard to direction, I pulled out a pad of paper and a pen. The coffee wasn't even done yet. I started from the beginning, as I always do for her. "When you look at a map, any map, North is always at the top of the paper unless it tells you specifically otherwise, which is so rare I've never seen it." I hold up the pad with a blank sheet I've not touched with the pen yet.

I lay the pad down, and draw one line across the paper. This is XYZ Road. I turn the paper to draw the next portion of the map, and she cries out, "That does NOT make sense!" Dear girl, how does a single line on a piece of paper that is not even labeled yet manage to have a chance to not make sense?

I stop the map to allow her a chance to speak and articulate her thoughts. Because during these moments where the rest of us would politely say, "hey wait, I don't get it," and be very calm, she is OVERCOME with emotion. She essentially screams, "THAT road runs east and west! YOU have it running north and south!"

Again, bless her heart. I was drawing the map in the "landscape" orientation of the paper rather than the "portrait" orientation. I figured out what she meant, and told her it was all okay. The world wasn't ending. I was just using the paper longways, and she'd see in a minute how it fit together.

I drew out the rest of the map while she watched intently, and then I drew a little compass on there that confirmed the basic directions, north, south, etc.

She was very calm at this point in time, and she confirmed the map made sense to her. Then she added, "It makes sense on the paper, but I can't see it in my head." Exactly. I couldn't have said it better myself. I told her I'd get her one of those books to develop spatial relations with exercises like looking at a closed up box, and picking the option that shows that same box all unfolded, or showing a shape and picking the option that shows it spun around in another direction.

She replied that she didn't really need that, and "when she grew up, she would just move someplace where you don't need to know the directions to drive somewhere. " Classic.

Top ten lists...

Top ten worst things about being laid off:
1. I'm supposed to keep the house clean. Actually clean, not just picked up.
2. Not much human interaction going on these days.
3. Recruiters are generally rude and do not return phone calls. I hate this. Why is this?
4. Everyone seems to think this is the time to ask incessantly if we are going to have a baby. You know, since I'm "off" and all.
5. The foster kid has 8 - 12 more hours each day during the week to drive me batty.
6. The dog has gotten so attached to me that I fear she won't survive my going back to work eventually. Yes, she is lying at my feet. Maintaining physical contact all day long. If I go to the kitchen, she goes. If I go to the bathroom, she goes.
7. This will be yet another year we don't make our Peachtree trip. Because we always spend a crapload of money, so if we don't have it, we don't go. Last trip was 2005, if I remember correctly.
8. I have no cause to put pretty clothes on every day. And shoes. Heck, most days I don't even wear shoes at all except to start Aaron's truck in the morning.
9. There are no deadlines, and therefore no motivation for any of the tasks that need to get done most days.
10. I'm not a fan of television. If you are not a fan of television, stuck at home is not a good place for you to be.

Top ten best things about being laid off:
1. I really did need a break. It hurts my soul to admit that, but I needed a break.
2. I figured out I can cook. And I like it. The cost of feeding our bodies will be far less when I go back to work, because we will not fund Chili's or B-Dubs for multiple meals each week.
3. The little things get done. Which otherwise, during normal lifestyle commencement, never get done.
4. The basement will soon be clean. Seriously. This is huge. I will have to take pictures. Then have a party.
5. I have seen certain family members more in the past three months than I usually do in about the span of a year.
6. Aaron can focus on work and school, because I'm home to do everything else. This is actually a very cool thing.
7. A tank of gas in my car lasts two months. It used to last 5 - 6 days.
8. I have time to go to the gym. Although, admittedly, I have not gone once yet. (I didn't have a car to use during the day until about a week or so ago.)
9. I have had a chance to realize that, believe it or not, there are more purposes in life than just working a gazillion hours.
10. I have time for things like this. To actually blog, and not just spend 7 - 20 minutes per day flying through the pages I follow and reading everyone else's.

And with that, I'm off to clean the house. Really clean it, not just pick up and straighten. (hee.)

Wordless Wednesday post

Another one joins the ranks....

I just got a call this afternoon from a very dear friend who got laid off on Monday. She had a feeling it was coming, but I can tell you from personal experience it never helps all that much. It's so hard for any of us to not feel worthless and helpless in this situation.

It was great to hear from her, and I'm glad she called. I'm thankful that she was a little more upbeat at the end of our conversation than she was at the beginning. Hopefully a reminder that she's not alone, and that she has friends to lean on helps. She was also in that "place" where she sat there not knowing what to do first. I know that "place" all too well, so I was able to help her get moving. Now if someone could just help me get moving again.... My job hunt has really been at a standstill this week. I'm sad, and I can't get started. It's very difficult to explain these feelings accurately to anyone who hasn't been in this situation recently, if even at all.

If anyone caught the Today show this morning, there was a piece about job fairs all across the country. People camping out in tents the night before. 250+ people spending the night at a firehouse for 35 open positions. The worst detail? Over 11 million Americans are out of work right now. All we can do is pray and wait.

In other (and better!) news, Aaron's job is going wonderfully, and he's liking this whole housewife thing better than I am... :o) But I don't hate it as much anymore. It's really kind of nice for a change. Hopefully a temporary change. I'm not too shy to say I'm still not very good at it. There are no deadlines or pressure or challenges. Therefore, as my brain is wired naturally, there is no reason to get moving. Not a good thing. I've tried to make a game out of it. Sort of like a "beat the clock" game. It worked for ahile. I'm bored with it now and just want to go to work. (sigh...)

Hopefully soon.

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