This is No Bridget Jones

Jonathan promised to take me swing dancing when my ankle heals. SWING DANCING! :) I'm so excited that I just vacuumed the house (the thrill of anticipation somehow makes me more productive?)

Maybe we can pull off this look again:



The picture was taken before a Great Gatsby party we went to in Reno that lived up to its namesake in decadence. Women were decked out in fringe and pearls and some guys wore zoot suits and we had cocktails and dinner on the lawn. Sadly Jonathan is sans his dapper hat in this picture, but let me just say that if I had met him at one of Gatsby's roaring parties, he would have been first on my dance card.

Who Will Sign My Petition?

Not speaking from my own job, but generally, I've always wondered and especially wonder after being exposed to other countries' work philosophies...

Why do Americans work so hard?

Why are our work weeks bleeding into evenings and weekends?

Why is it so rare in this country to be given paid vacation automatically--or even more than a week or two--rather than requiring people to put in the time and prove their worth before they're treated like a human being?

Why do we believe the lie that work gives us our worth? That money equals success?

. . .

I'll sign any petition to change this. Please just don't tell me the answer is socialism.

One Small (but really quite big) Step

Anyone call fall in love. Not everyone can marry their life to another's. The same is true for any obsession. It's easy to fall in like, in lust, to be infatuated and passionate and let it take over your thoughts and time. It's not so easy to commit yourself to it when it ruts into routine, when it feels like a task, when it makes you sweat, when it loses it's glitzy sheen.

It didn't take me long to fall in love with stories when I first learned to read. It's been one of the enduring romances of my life, this appreciation for linking word pictures and sentences with the purpose of interpreting life, of explaining it in ways that you hope resonates with people who perhaps just needed a different way of looking at things. Last year was my honeymoon. Kind of like how in the Old Testament newlyweds were meant to take off an entire year from work to fully engage their new spouse, to understand each other and learn to communicate in their spouse's language, that's how last year was for me and my life's ambition. Without distraction, I had all day to process what I was reading and learning. I wrote, too, but for me the value was in the absorbing, not the actual writing, because like a newlywed I was so thrilled with the newness of the experience that my head was in the clouds and the writing was sometimes foggy, sometimes clear, but not without purpose. No work is purposeless.

Now here I am, faced with the commitment I made and encountering the problems I tried my best to mentally prepare for: disciplining myself to write without assignment, with a full-time job, with only my infatuation and honeymoon years grounding me. Anyone can write. Not everyone can marry their life to a passion. So today, with God and you as my witness, I'm here to make a public commitment to the work that's called me and consumed me for as long as I can remember. And starting tomorrow, I'm going to do what anyone should do when they've made a commitment. I'm going to take the first small step of discipline. I'm not going to finish a book or call an agent--that'll happen later, in its proper time. No, I'm going to wake up an hour earlier and write before I go to work, when my mind is fresh and clean. It seems like such a small thing, I know--but that's the trick. If I'm tricked into believing it's a meaningless thing, I'll be tricked into making light of it and getting out of it. But commitment requires practicality. Romanticizing is fun and has it's place, and there will be times when it's the only thing that gets me out of bed in the morning. But now I must act. I must avoid the snooze button. I must lift my feet out of bed and place them on the floor. I must walk to our guest room and turn on the computer and write without stopping. I must.

And after quite a few 'musts,' eventually I'll realize that I want.

A Taste of Italy

You must slice thin, not translucent, milky discs of real whole milk mozzarella to top a homemade marguerite pizza. Layer them on like petals. Ring them in, over the top, until a spot of sauce is left breathing in the middle. Cover it quickly before you think it looks pretty--wet tomato rose spinning in an English Garden--cover it quickly! and sprinkle fresh snipped basil over the pie. (Unless you prefer it underneath the mozzarella. Then you should perform this step after the sauce and before the cheese. I never said the steps in my recipes were chronological.)

. . .

I interrupt this blog to bring you . . . a pathetic excuse.

signed with deepest apologies,
The Working Amy Who Hasn't Gotten Her Sea Legs Back After Spending the Year Adrift in Unemployment.

More words to come soon.

Last Friday Hurrah

After two take-away coffees from home and a quick errand to church, today our daytrip to Sausalito turned into a daytrip to Yosemite. Springtime, after all, is the best time to see the valley's raging waterfalls and it was supposed to be a beautiful day. Yosemite is only two and a half hours of pastoral scenery from us and we got acquainted with the rolling countryside and Mexican fruit stands before arriving in the park early afternoon. We had just enough time to catch some nice pictures in partly cloudy/partly sunny weather when suddenly it started to sprinkle...and sleet...and snow! The first snowfall we've seen since Easter in London last year, now just a few days short of Easter 2009. We grabbed some lunch and by the time we had finished the sun came out. Bright sun! So much sun that it lit up the lush mountainsides and shrubbery in a haze of emerald and lilac. Haven't seen this much green since we left Ireland last summer, and after living in dry climates most of my life I couldn't seem to soak it all in fast enough.

Here's to Yosemite and the memories we'll soon be making together...

Succumbing to Tea-tation

"A cup of tea! Is there a phrase in our language more eloquently significant of physical and mental refreshment, more expressive of toil and restful relaxation, or so rich in associations with the comforts and serenity of home life, and also with unpretentious, informal, social intercourse?" --Francis H. Leggett and Co., Tea Leaves, 1900

Jive N Wail

If you make reservations for a fairly large group of people (say, 10) at the Jive and Wail dueling pianos bar in St. Louis, don't expect a table. But if you ask the right server, he might just set you up with a great spot to stand and free shots (or swallows) to go around. Our reserved "area" was the alley/ramp that led to the backstage area, and after we got situated he sent us a round of shots in paper cups-- a liquid a bit too sweet but tasty. I was a bit wary, since I only had one good foot to stand on and because we were to the side/a little behind of the stage of the piano guys. But after the pianos vamped up, I realized we had the best spot in the house. We weren't in the overcrowded general area, smashed up against people who shouted with the music. We had a ledge to lean on and put our drinks. We saw enough, but not too much of the over-confident audience members intoxicated enough to do anything for a laugh on stage. (Like the woman who got up on the piano and fell off, injuring herself so that she had to be taken away in an ambulance). It was like we had our own VIP lounge (without the velvet couches), with a decent view of the piano guy who looked like Ben Folds (really. If Ben Folds was from St. Louis I would have wondered if the guy was his brother. See picture below, but sorry for the side view. I didn't want to hound him paparazzi style for an up-close.)

In the end, we did get a spot at the end of a table up front, but I really didn't mind the alley. In fact I recommend it.

Update

The past two weeks have spun as fast and unpredictably as the tornados that almost reached my brothers and grandparents in Seward, NE.

A couple of weeks ago I learned from a fellow un-employed friend that she had gotten a job through a staffing agency nearby. Apparently that's how companies hire out here. With a jolt of adrenalized ambition, I headed home and applied for interviews with two staffing agencies and the very next day got a call from one of them, telling me about a job that he thought would be perfect for me. He described the company and I realized that I had come across the company's profile through a few other job search sites--in fact I thought I had applied for an online content manager position with them already. But the position my staffing agency rep mentioned was in the marketing/editorial dept.

I interviewed with the rep on Thursday. He passed the tests/info on to the company who interviewed me the following Monday, then called for a second interview on Tuesday. I met with the president who told me about two positions they were considering me forwere for--an Admin Assistant position to the president and a Webinar Marketing Coordinator. I was confident that I could handle the jobs, but not extremely interested. However, I knew I wanted to work for the company in whatever way I could, because I really appreciate their mission, management style, philosophies and size--lot's of opportunities for growth.

I left on Thursday for a St. Louis trip with my college girlfriends, and on Friday heard that the company wanted me, but didn't know in what capacity or when. Finally I got a call this last Tuesday from the rep, offering me the position of... (drumroll please...)...Online Editorial Content Manager! Surprise! Not expected, but definitely appreciated. Funny that it was the first position I applied for. (Am still confused how I got it, since my first app for it went in their junk mail and so the position was filled before I got in for an interview... but I won't question a good thing.)

On Monday I'll start work with them, a pharmaceutical publishing company that publishes two national (and for Canada) newsletters on the latest drug and natural medicine research--one for pharmacists and one for physicians. I'm excited that I'll be doing editorial work, that it's with an industry that's not really effected by the recession, and that I have a friend who just got a job at the same company and we can carpool! God's taken care of all the details (as always) and four months have been worth the wait.

So to all of you who have listened to me rant about unemployment stress, daytime television ("who's Bonnie Hunt?") and cabin fever, thanks for sticking with me. Now I can move onto new rants. :)

"gather my insufficiencies/place them in your hands"

A few minutes ago two little kiddies stopped on the sidewalk in front of my townhouse. I watched from the couch as they stepped onto the porch, inches from the door. One of them stared into the dark entryway, confused. "Is this our home?" she asked her brother. "No, come on!" Her brother said. And I guess they ran off together in search of their real home.

How do you know you're home? Is it your favorite city? A house that smells like homemade bread? The comfy flannel sheets you got for Christmas? Family and friends who get you through a hard work week?

My faithfulness to Lodi has been tested since I sprained my ankle last Thursday. Nothing like an incapacitating injury to purge me of self-sufficiency and to teach me to rely on strangers and neighbors and friends alike. I admit I've thought often about how nice it would be to have family around, people I can call at a moment's notice, without feeling guilty, to drive me around for daily errands. Because that's what family is for, right? The only family I have here (aka Jonathan) has been gracious enough to take a lot of time from work for me, but I can only ask so much of him. So I've been forced to turn to friends.

It's hard to ask for help... in my case, I'm guessing it's a pride thing (I hate to admit it--but that just proves it's a pride thing.) So I think it's been good for me.

I was blessed to have immediate help after I sprained my ankle. Just a few houses down from my fall were two roofers and an older gentleman who drove me to my complex and then literally carried me halfway through my complex to my door.

I'm blessed with a friend who will let a friend drive her car to drive me to an interview, even if that means she'll be late to an appointment.

I'm blessed with a friend who will leave work and drive an unfamiliar car to take me to work, and then wait for an hour until the interview is finished.

I'm blessed with a friend who not only picks me up and takes me out to lunch, but who then drives me to the dentist and comes back for me to take me home.

And I'm blessed with friends who are on standby, waiting and willing to help when they can, shouldering me on their back through the airport if they need to.

It may take me awhile to feel comfortable in Lodi, but now I guess I would add "sprained ankle" to the list of things that makes a home.

Free Music

Does it help or hinder the music industry? Read more on Hounds to the Music.

Book Winners Announced!

And the winners of Susan Isaacs's Angry Conversations with God are:

alaina
Allen L
blissbloom
Lauri
robyn

Winners: to get your copy, please email your mailing address to amykopecky(at)gmail(dot)com. Congratulations!