Still Here

Yes indeedy, I am still here. Inspiration just hasn't decided to peek in recently. I have high hopes for the new moon on Thursday evening. A quick update -

Snow White is still with me. She has decided to wait a bit longer until Summer decides to show itself in June. I'm very glad to have her company and perky presence in these interesting times. I will let you know about her send off.

I'm also happy to report that I have a new tree. I offered to buy one, but it turned out it was in the complex's budget. Yay! The new tree is quite young with only a 3 inch trunk, but it seems strong and steady. It's also about a third of the height of the one I lost, but I'm told it's a quick growing maple. So. With a bit of luck, it will reach a respectable height (i.e. be easily visible outside my window without my having to lean out to look at it) before they cart me away or I move first. lol. I'm also told that this maple will have stunning red foliage in October - so now, ironically, I'm looking foward to the Autumn!

Happily, after the new maple went in, I found out that my downstairs neighbor had also become attached to the old tree and view. Vindicated! Tho' I did wonder why the landscapers put the tree in before they took the fallen stump out and repaired the wall. The ways of my Property Manager remains a bit of a mystery. Well, they were fun to watch for the ensuing two days! I'm always glad for some entertainment.

And as for whimsy? It seems to have been hiding, tho' I am keeping my eye out for more. Cheers!

Shall I Run Away?

Too experienced, and too expensive to hire, and far too young to go on Social Security. That’s me. Is that a euphemism or a fact? Companies are “gun shy” with the economy. They only want to move on sure things and/or people, especially those that fit in a box. I’ve been told that after one year, I’m no longer changing my career. No. I’m now re-entering the workforce, as though I’d taken time off to raise kids. I need more skills! I need certification! It’s extremely frustrating.

I’m half-thinking of running away. Let the bank handle the mortgage, and just run away for a little while. By getting out of the area that I’ve lived in for virtually my whole life, I might get a new perspective. I could find out what interests me, or for what and whom I need to be grateful, or I could find out … nothing. I’d much rather think it would be a new beginning.

You see. The fact of the matter is, if I left tomorrow, very few people would really miss me much at all. They live their lives. And I really haven’t. I’ve pretended, and I’ve survived my life so far. I worry about it, and at it. Live it? I think I’d like to, but I honestly find it hard to imagine what it could be like – in a good way. In a bad way, I can come up with way too many scenarios!

In my career search the questions keep coming up: what do you love? What inspires you? What do you want to do? Replace all those “what”s with a “who,” and the answers are the same. There are some folks that I really depend on to keep me going. One, I’ve depended on for years. And bless her heart, she still takes my calls.

I keep thinking…. maybe a change of place, a change of circumstances and a change of people,… and maybe, just maybe, it would kick me into gear. Of course, my head would be coming with me, so I’m not at all sure that’s the right plan! Lol.

No wonder people make themselves sick, and then, die. It takes the matter right out of their hands! I used to live that way. I’m not doing that any more. So now, I’ve got to come up with an alternate plan. Running away is only one.

Bread Line NYC 2010

Yesterday, when I saw the great mass of people lined up waiting to go where I was going, I blurted, “Good Grief! It looks just like a bread line!” A woman in line shouted back at me, “That’s because it is!” Thankfully, it wasn’t the Great Depression kind of bread line. Food was not being given out. The bread that caused people to show up was money. This massive grouping of humanity was caused by a simple job fair. O.K. It had been advertised to the entire metropolitan area. However, it was, still, simply, a job fair.

I had gone because my career counselor thought it would be good for me. The excursion’s purpose was to help push my own job search into high gear. She wanted me to see what was on offer, who were the companies, ask questions, find out what kind of skills/people companies wanted to hire, and finally, to see how people dressed and what they said. The afternoon was fascinating on several levels. Why? Largely, because of the parallels I drew to the Great Depression. It was also rather a fiasco, but I’ll get to that later.

It’s a different time, different people from that America in the 1930s. Why am I calling this line leading to the job fair a bread line? Because, there were startling similarities. Also, there were major differences that emphasized the cultural changes which have occurred in the past 50 years. The Great Depression was a time of great economic deprivation, and of the Dust Bowl that forced a migration of thousands of people. (Today, it would be millions – except there’s really no where to go.) The whole country lived off of its newsmakers. Not so different from today.

Unlike the old bread lines, nothing was offered freely except admission, yesterday. Whatever you gained, you had to earn. However, before you got to the action, you had to wait. It took a good 10 minutes for me to find the end. The line stretched from the entrance of Madison Square Garden, to the corner of 7th and 31st; turned the corner, going all the way to 8th Avenue; and then, stretched back almost all the way to 33rd Street where I got on the line. That was a little after 2 p.m. Luckily, it was a beautiful Spring day. I got through the line to the job fair doors at 4:15 p.m. somewhat dehydrated, and vaguely delirious! Yes, two hours later.

The job fair was jammed. There were more, very long lines inside! The U.S. Census was there, along with US armed force recruiters looking for cannon fodder. Most of the names were business schools or employment agencies. The actual number and caliber of jobs were small and low level. The fair was held in a concrete-floored room with all the charm of a public toilet. They also had one of those, too, thank goodness!

After such a long wait, the fair was a disappointment. It was also very depressing. The sheer number of people looking for work was a sobering reminder, how truly recessed our economy is. When you are alone, you only see your own struggle. It’s rare to see the sheer number of other people who are “out there” and looking – just like you.

The similar parallels to the bread line are simple. First, there’s the obvious - a huge line of people waiting on a sidewalk to get in the door for “bread.” Next, most people in line refused to make eye contact with anyone, almost as though they were ashamed to be in this line. Third, all the people were eerily silent. There was almost no talking between folks. Fourth, everyone was amazingly patient. It became an endurance test of standing, and waiting. It’s not just the strong who survive. It’s those with the best bladders! And yes, we actually shuffled. It’s impossible not to when you’re in a line. And, in the end, it just wasn’t fun.

The differences between lines from the 1930s to 2010, were mainly cultural. First, because it was a job fair, everyone was very well dressed and groomed. We were a good looking bunch! Next, there were men and women. Third, because the event was co-sponsored by AARP, the age range was extremely broad. Fourth, there was a mix of races which in the 1930s would be unimaginable. And, in the end, when the silence got to be too much, most people hauled out their phones. However, most conversations were short and abrupt. No one wanted to be there.

I sincerely hope I do not go to another job fair. The effort really outweighs the reward! Not only standing in line, but also the time and cost of just getting to the job fair. A gentleman in the line behind me, said he’d been to one at Giant’s Stadium, where there were so many people – there was no parking. So, he left.

I’ve decided to use the power of positive thinking. The economy has turned around. More and more jobs will be created as the days go by. The strategies that do not work will be abandoned. And the job fair will become extinct. All my co-job fair attendees will soon be working in their desired fields, and getting the wages they deserve.

There’s such a thing as repeating the past. I’d rather not! Nor do I wish it on anyone else!

There Was A Tree .... There.

A lot of people in the northeastern United States – well, those who aren’t flooded out of their houses – are experiencing the above phenomenon after the most recent nor’easter. There was a tree there. In some cases, it’s the plural. And. Well…..They’re just not there anymore.

It’s a very strange feeling when you lose a grown tree. It’s like a visible piece of your world has disappeared by magic. Irrationally, it just doesn’t seem to matter that you know exactly how it came down. Or that its down fall was due to a soaked ground and a massive wind. Not having the tree where it’s always been, is very strange. The missing tree really leaves a gap in your world. You can feel rather exposed. I know I do.

In my case, the tree was a major psychological buffer between my apartment and the harsh condominium lights from the building on the other side of my neighbor’s lawn. Especially in the summer with its full foliage, I could pretend the other condominium wasn’t there so much. Since being unemployed, my tree had become a steady companion while I did my morning writing. I’d watch the sunrise light up its branches. I'd watch the birds coming and going, and squirrels chasing each other all over it. When the mulberrys were ripe, it was fun to watch the squirrels fighting each other and all manner of birds for branch space, barely hanging on.

Now, I wonder if “they” can see me in my apartment at night, or early in the morning. (This is assuming, of course, that "they" care!) I find myself making sure the blind is down more often now in my living room. It’s not that I’m doing anything remotely interesting. However, I do spend a lot of time in there. Talk about self-conscious. Oy. And, too, any time, I glance through the window, I’m startled by the tree’s absence. The view seems much harsher.

Needless to say, one of my priorities, aside from getting a livelihood, is to have a new tree put in! I’ve even offered to pay for part of one, so that something more than a tiny sapling will be purchased. Silly? Perhaps. Though I think of it more as an investment in my perceived privacy and feeling of security – not to mention, my early morning entertainment!

Census 2010 - What's Wrong With This Picture?

Have you received your 2010 Census form yet? After a bevy of reminders on the news, public advertisements on television (on heaven knows how many channels) and radio, and then, a mailed notice to your address saying “Hey! Your 2010 Census form is coming!” I sincerely hope you have. I suspect all this brouhaha has cost us all another billion dollars or so. You’d think it was the second coming of a Messiah.

So then, you open it up. What’s the big deal here? There are only about 10 questions all told. O.K. I understand “they” need the numbers for an allocation of political state representatives country wide, and “government funds for highways, schools, health facilities and many other programs you and your neighbors need.” Cool. However… Would you please tell me why it’s any of the government’s business to know our marital status? The IRS already has those figures. What exactly does that serve here?

Now. Here’s my major complaint causing me to blog about the 2010 Census:

Why on earth is it important for the government to know our racial makeup?????? Good Grief! This smacks of blatant racial profiling. For the disbursement of government funds? That only makes it much worse. Paranoia? Perhaps that’s it. The government wants to identify communities of one predominant racial type. That way, should the gov’t get nervous – all those folks of one racial type can be “easily” rounded up, and held in modern-day internment camps (or less politely, concentration camps). I am appalled that here in the 21st century, our government is apparently going to base a lot of its decisions upon the racial makeup of neighborhoods, communities, cities and states. If this isn’t racial profiling, it’s damn close!

And hey – writing as a “white person” – all whites are not the same! Why only one category for whites????? For instance, I’m an Anglo Saxon white person with a genetic makeup from at least 5 countries. Is that the same as an Eastern European white person with a genetic makeup of 5 other countries? Or is the cultural background unimportant?

It’s all a matter of perception. Why our government needs to know what color its populace is - is beyond me. Is this a hangover from the early history of this country when it was solely run by rich white males? Are their descendents still worried about “other” folks taking away their power – both economic and political? If so, that might explain why they want to know how many people are male vs. female. Maybe they should ask how many people identify as neither gender, or both, or something entirely new. No. That might prove to be too worrisome.

To review the main 2010 Census questions: Age – o.k. Location – Great. Number of children vs. adults – Great. Gender – pushing it. Marital Status – Why? Looking for a date? Racial Makeup – Completely unacceptable. As I understand it – they need a simple head count of the number of people in this country, and where they live. They really need to stick with that. Anything else is highly provocative.

Snow White

I found Snow White on the beach today. It was very unexpected. I was cruising for interesting shells when this unnatural smoothness against the beaten shore stood out. The color was a far cry from the gray whiteness of the usual oyster shell scatterings. I bent down for a closer look. Still, it wasn’t clear. Once picked up….there she was.

Snow hadn’t been dropped. She was all alone, and looked like she’d been out there for a while. When I found her, she had her head in the sand with seaweed and pebbles up her skirt. She’s all of 31/2 inches high, and her hair – black in color – has been rubbed away from the top and crown of her head. One cheek shows a great patch of wear. (I can relate.) Her left arm appears to have a bad case of psoriasis tho’ it’s artfully posed. Her costume is a bit thin over her chest, and there’s sand everywhere. However, Snow’s petticoat appears intact, and her great big eyes with impossible eyelashes are still in place. Her smile, slightly weary from her unknown trials and tribulations, is sweet.

Yes, still radiating her wonderful, wide-eyed optimism, Snow manages to convey her Disney lineage as clearly as the day she discovered celluloid. Makes me think that she decided to dump the Dwarves and go explore the world. Wonder what she’s seen. She certainly looks as though she’s had a few adventures out there, and could use a rest. So, today, I brought Snow home for a visit. When the weather’s a bit warmer, I’ll return her to shore so that she may continue her travels.

A Sunday Brush with Wealth and Whimsy

This past Sunday I was at sixes and sevens. Had no idea what to do with myself, had no desire to call anyone, and my apartment was NOT working it. Couldn't stay in. It was a lovely afternoon. The sunshine so delicious it was calling me out. So, I fell back onto a family habit of the last century.... When all else failed, we'd go for a Sunday drive. The whole point of a Sunday drive was to go down roads you hadn't before, explore neighborhoods you would not ordinarily visit, and limit your time only by how far you could go and return in an afternoon.

So. I determined to drive up the coast as close to the water as I could get without getting out of my car. As a result, I ended up traveling past some magnificent mansions. Many of which appeared to have been built in the early part of the 20th century. All were placed as close to the water as possible, and as far from the road and prying eyes as they could get. That is, the ones that were not completely hidden behind old stone walls, fences and hedges. The ones that could be glimpsed from the road had beautifully landscaped lawns and gardens. And the trees! The trees were beautiful, old, large, and either magnificently tall and imposing or had branches widely spread across the winter grass.

One such immense lawn contained three huge sculptures. The form that had me jamming on my brakes and laughing in delight, was a 20 to 25 foot high sculpture of an old-fashioned typewriter eraser! On the end touching the ground, was the huge pink eraser wheel. On the other end, a brush made out of blue painted metal. I once used such an eraser! Seeing this totally incongruous item preserved in gigantic form and casually displayed on someone's lawn made my afternoon. Later, it got better.

On my way home, I stopped for a latte. Parked royally near the entrance to the coffee shop was a large, modern, white Rolls Royce. It sat there - glowing - in the late afternoon dusk. There was not a smudge, or speck of dust, or water mark anywhere on it's surface. Inside, - yes, I had to look - it was as immaculate, I imagine, as the day it rolled off the lot. The - dare I say car? it seems so mundane - reeked of the exquisite care that only a great deal of money can provide. It was truly an awesome object. Honestly. How many times have you come across a Rolls Royce???? I certainly haven't. Usually the closest I get is to see one is in the movies. This was my first Rolls - in the flesh! - so-to-speak. Could the owner be getting a coffee too? Hmmmm. I looked. Nope. There doesn't seem to be anyone special enough to match the car inside the shop.

Suddenly, out of the Gents' comes this very tall, very slender, pale, gentle man with a very high forehead. He was dressed in a long, black, knitted cardigan which reached all the way down to his knees, black trousers and absolutely spotless white shoes. Aha! An unusual looking person! He was an excellent candidate to be the Rolls' owner.

We both ended up turning to leave at the same time with our coffees, when what should come through the front door, but 4 or 5 people dressed in costume. They all appeared to have arrived non-stop from the Tales of Mother Goose! I swear one was wearing Bo-Peep's bonnet. No staff, alas. When, passing them to leave, and on closer inspection, I saw that their eye makeup was verging on Goth and there were various piercings of nostrils and brows, etc. What a marvelous combination! Goth interpretations of Mother Goose stories? One can only hope.

Me and Mr. Cardigan left together. As we approached this gleaming, magnificent Rolls, Mr. Cardigan swooped around and opened the driver's door. I asked, "Is this yours?" He rather abashedly nodded yes. I think he was a little shy and non-plussed that I'd spoken to him. When I asked him if it was fun to drive, he, again, nodded and smiled. I said, "Enjoy!" With that he got into his brilliantly white Rolls Royce, and I headed off to my tan, road be-grimed Corolla. From the sublime to the commonplace. I was very satisfied with my Sunday afternoon.

May whimsy cross your path. It's wonderful.

For What? You Ask....

This is a forum I've created to avoid burning out my friends' ears with my observations. Breezin' also provides an outlet for when welcoming ears are unavailable. My interests are many. My comments will range from the mundane to the exotic. My perceptions are my own. My desire to share - my vanity. Please feel free to visit anytime you wish. You are welcome. Being new to this form, my posts may be slow to start, if not madly uncertain. There will be the occasional rant tho' I hope they are predominantly outweighed by stories and the odd bits of humor. And as my experience grows, there actually may be a graphic or two.

Here's to the beginning. A commitment. A plan. With a bit of luck, it's all going to be grand!