I'm a little bit drunk, because my husband is breaking my heart.
(Yes, I do realize that probably made no sense. Hang on. It will...or maybe it will. But there will be a few non-sequiturs before we get there. Be patient with me. Did I mention I'm a tad tipsy?)
There are layoffs coming at work. I'm likely to be one of them, though hoping against hope not to be, and thinking that there's a vague, minute chance that I'll dodge the axe for now. But the chances that I will be among the fallen? Bigger than the chances that I won't. (I know better than to blog about work, however, so I'll leave it at that.)
Several agonizing, intensely painful weeks ago, when it was first announced that layoffs were coming (Note to all you HR professionals: making people wait weeks and weeks and weeks to hear about their future? May seem like it's a good, cards-on-the-table thing to do, but is actually--however unintentionally--sadistic), Baroy and I sat down and talked about what we'd cash out and when to get through the coming months (we want Em to be able to graduate with her sixth-grade class), and at what point we'd have to give up, put the house on the market, and decamp to New York to try our luck there before the bank would take the house from us without our permission. (My sister THINKS I was kidding when I asked her if we could move in for a while if necessary...)
I'm not looking for sympathy (yet) or ideas or options...I'm telling you this because, as I said above, my husband is breaking my heart. (I'm getting to it! Hold on.)
This afternoon, I took a walk down to Ralph's to pick up some stuff for dinner. It was a gorgeous day. Perfect SoCal weather for a cold-hater like me. Not hot, but not even a little bit cold. Short sleeves and cotton workout pants. I love Southern California. As I turned onto our block on my way back, I noticed a large group of people down at the end of the street; as I got closer, I realized there were too many bodies for it to be the usual kids-from-the-block gathering (which is, in itself, somewhere around 10 kids). Then, right when I realized there were a bunch of Big Kids out there, too, and began wondering what was going on, Baroy caught sight of me and yelled down, "Go get N; he's in the house. Tell him to come out and play with us!"
It was a kids-and-parents, spontaneous Superbowl-halftime block-party/football game.
I went inside, grabbed N (who wasn't willing to play--not surprising considering the size of most of the team members--but who sat on the sidelines with me) and watched as my 53-year-old husband outran our 13-year-old neighbor kid to score four out of his team's five ultimate touchdowns. (Em was on the other--losing--team; we cheered equally for both.)
There was screaming and laughing and trash talking and the realization--after Em caught a pass and then tried to thow it forward to one her teammates--that we need to teach our daughter the RULES of football. And when the game was over, there was an invite for everyone to converge on one of the houses and watch the second half all together. Em headed off with her friends to the house, while Baroy, N, and I came back here for Baroy to grab a soda before he and N went to join them.
Laughing and telling me about the parts of the game I'd missed, we walked into the house and into the kitchen. As he opened the fridge, Baroy voice dropped and said, "I have to figure out a way to keep this house. We can't lose this. We just can't."
Then, as N called from the front door, "C'mon, Daddy, I don't want to miss the game, and our friends are waiting" Baroy kissed me and ran out the front door. And I took out a half-finished bottle of Barefoot Pinot, poured as much of it as possible into my martini glass, and downed it in about three gulps in a pretty ineffectual attempt to keep my heart from shattering.
We can't lose this. But we may not have a choice.
Damn economy.
Showing posts with label money. Show all posts
Showing posts with label money. Show all posts
Sunday, February 1, 2009
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
Just Trying to Get Through
It's not fair, to mention the meetings, then fall silent. But last night was a terrible night, because those meetings were terrible meetings, and because these are such terrible times. And so I kept quiet here, because there was so much to say to my husband and to my children--or at the least to Em, who hears and understands and feels everything so deeply.
Then, today, things were less terrible. But not good. It feels like they'll never be good again. More importantly, they're not settled. And so it didn't feel like it was time yet to say anything. Until now, when the house has fallen silent and it suddenly seems wrong not to. Despite my not having anything really to say.
In short: Yesterday, the president of the university where I work spoke to all the staff members, having spoken to faculty separately. He did a great job, but the bottom line was, in order to protect the university long-term, cuts have to made, and they have to be deep. And they have to hit hardest in the areas that don't directly impact the main functions of this university: academics and research. Layoffs, he said, are a definite. He promised they'd do them as quickly as possible, that we'd all know by the end of the month.
A couple of hours later, we had our 'division' meeting. Now, I should say that my boss's boss is a absolutely LOVELY man, just turned 70, snowy white hair (that which is left), apple cheeks, Boston Irish, great guy. He stood up there and his voice cracked throughout and there were tears in his eyes. It was a seriously sad moment, seriously painful, gut-wrenchingly painful. Just one look at him, and you knew it wasn't going to be good. And it wasn't. The bottom line: Our division is getting hit hard, and there is literally no way to do the cuts required of us without getting rid of people. A lot of people. Whole swathes of people. By the time we left the meeting, silent, mournful, unsure what to say to one another, who to walk with, who to look at, I'd have put my chances of surviving this cut at about 10 percent.
Today, I'd put it higher. I'd say it's 50-50 now. There were things said--and things not said--today that implied that, despite my being new and despite my being relatively expensive, there are people who recognize the value of what I do, and that if I can be saved, I will be saved. But it's not at all certain that I can be saved. And they were only implications, not statements, and certainly not promises. Which is better than yesterday, but still sort of sucks.
Here's what doesn't suck: My daughter. Oh, you guys, she is just so awesome. She'd overheard Baroy and me talking some of this through last night, deep-and-serious-voice discussions. We were discussing all the various contingency plans, and when we'd do this, and when we'd do that. She didn't hear details, but she knew what was going on. Finally, she came in and sat down with us, and asked a couple of questions, and started to cry. And then she turned to me and said, "If you get laid off, I'd like to try to help out. I could maybe babysit to make some money, or maybe I could help K at her vet's office..." My heart swelled and broke at the same time.
I told her that, for all the ways in which Baroy and I haven't exactly lived up to the financial goals we've set for ourselves, we have made sure that something like this does not bring us to our knees immediately, that we will have time to figure it all out, though during that time we'll have to keep things really, really tight, and there would be sacrifices, of course. And she started to cry, and I thought, "Ah, here it goes. Here's the self-centered child thing, worrying about whether she'll get a new Wii game any time soon. But, hey, she's done really well up until now."
But no. When I asked her what was upsetting her, she said, "Will we have to give Snug away?"
I was confused. "Do you mean if we have to sell the house? No, of course not. He's part of our family. We'll just find a place to live where we can have a dog."
But she shook her head. "No. I mean, it's expensive to feed a dog, and if we have to make sacrifices..."
This time, my heart only broke, into about a million pieces.
"Oh, honey, no. No. We will be able to feed our dog. Don't you worry."
And as she sobbed (with N, unable to process all of this but upset with the lack of drama surrounding HIM, suddenly climbing onto my lap and fake-sobbing right along with her...sigh...), Baroy and I held her, and told her we loved her, and told her that the only important thing was our family, and that we'd always have our family, and that everything would be fine, that maybe it would be hard, but it would be fine. I think she heard us, and I think she believed us.
Now if only we believed us, too.
Then, today, things were less terrible. But not good. It feels like they'll never be good again. More importantly, they're not settled. And so it didn't feel like it was time yet to say anything. Until now, when the house has fallen silent and it suddenly seems wrong not to. Despite my not having anything really to say.
In short: Yesterday, the president of the university where I work spoke to all the staff members, having spoken to faculty separately. He did a great job, but the bottom line was, in order to protect the university long-term, cuts have to made, and they have to be deep. And they have to hit hardest in the areas that don't directly impact the main functions of this university: academics and research. Layoffs, he said, are a definite. He promised they'd do them as quickly as possible, that we'd all know by the end of the month.
A couple of hours later, we had our 'division' meeting. Now, I should say that my boss's boss is a absolutely LOVELY man, just turned 70, snowy white hair (that which is left), apple cheeks, Boston Irish, great guy. He stood up there and his voice cracked throughout and there were tears in his eyes. It was a seriously sad moment, seriously painful, gut-wrenchingly painful. Just one look at him, and you knew it wasn't going to be good. And it wasn't. The bottom line: Our division is getting hit hard, and there is literally no way to do the cuts required of us without getting rid of people. A lot of people. Whole swathes of people. By the time we left the meeting, silent, mournful, unsure what to say to one another, who to walk with, who to look at, I'd have put my chances of surviving this cut at about 10 percent.
Today, I'd put it higher. I'd say it's 50-50 now. There were things said--and things not said--today that implied that, despite my being new and despite my being relatively expensive, there are people who recognize the value of what I do, and that if I can be saved, I will be saved. But it's not at all certain that I can be saved. And they were only implications, not statements, and certainly not promises. Which is better than yesterday, but still sort of sucks.
Here's what doesn't suck: My daughter. Oh, you guys, she is just so awesome. She'd overheard Baroy and me talking some of this through last night, deep-and-serious-voice discussions. We were discussing all the various contingency plans, and when we'd do this, and when we'd do that. She didn't hear details, but she knew what was going on. Finally, she came in and sat down with us, and asked a couple of questions, and started to cry. And then she turned to me and said, "If you get laid off, I'd like to try to help out. I could maybe babysit to make some money, or maybe I could help K at her vet's office..." My heart swelled and broke at the same time.
I told her that, for all the ways in which Baroy and I haven't exactly lived up to the financial goals we've set for ourselves, we have made sure that something like this does not bring us to our knees immediately, that we will have time to figure it all out, though during that time we'll have to keep things really, really tight, and there would be sacrifices, of course. And she started to cry, and I thought, "Ah, here it goes. Here's the self-centered child thing, worrying about whether she'll get a new Wii game any time soon. But, hey, she's done really well up until now."
But no. When I asked her what was upsetting her, she said, "Will we have to give Snug away?"
I was confused. "Do you mean if we have to sell the house? No, of course not. He's part of our family. We'll just find a place to live where we can have a dog."
But she shook her head. "No. I mean, it's expensive to feed a dog, and if we have to make sacrifices..."
This time, my heart only broke, into about a million pieces.
"Oh, honey, no. No. We will be able to feed our dog. Don't you worry."
And as she sobbed (with N, unable to process all of this but upset with the lack of drama surrounding HIM, suddenly climbing onto my lap and fake-sobbing right along with her...sigh...), Baroy and I held her, and told her we loved her, and told her that the only important thing was our family, and that we'd always have our family, and that everything would be fine, that maybe it would be hard, but it would be fine. I think she heard us, and I think she believed us.
Now if only we believed us, too.
Wednesday, December 10, 2008
How Bad Is It Out There? Soooooo Bad.
It's just terrifying, isn't it? The way the world is imploding? Or is it just those of us in the world of publishing and such?
All I know is, each time I send out a press release to our list of media contacts, I get back a good half-dozen new bouncebacks that say something along the lines of, "I no longer work for Big Important Newspaper/Small Important Newspaper/Interesting Magazine. You can now reach me at Some University PR Office/the Local Burger King/the Unemployment Office."
But it's not even safe here in the ivory tower. We've been getting dispatches from the university's president telling us about the hits to the endowment we've taken, and the fears about promised gifts, the money for which may no longer exist in this stock market. Not to mention that there will be fewer gifts coming in in the future, and who knows what's going to happen to all the other sorts of funding we receive?
There are, these missives state uncategorically, going to have to be cuts. Nobody's saying yet what those cuts will be, and how deep, and where. But they will happen. And here I am, just three months into this job and with three months left on probation--which means they could let me go without paying me an extra cent, any time they want, for no reason at all. So, yeah. A little worried here.
Which of course has led me to look around for ways to soften the blow, if it comes. It'd be a huge blow, this being our only source of income. But if I could know that there are places to scurry off to, or if I could start gathering freelance jobs now--god knows my income alone isn't enough for us as it is, Baroy's freelance income is pretty minimal right now, and I've been too busy to search for freelance work to add to it--then I might feel a little less like throwing up 24 hours a day.
So off I went to ProBlogger to see what might be out there for an enterprising not-so-young blogger like me. And there was nothing...well, maybe pennies-a-post stuff that I would qualify for, but really. What is wrong with me? What am I doing wrong? I mean, so many people make Big Bucks out there in the blogging world. Why can't I find even Little Bucks (as opposed to little pennies)? And yet, I can't. I feel like an outsider in a field--writing, I mean--where I used to be a Big Fish. It's upsetting from an ego perspective, and terrifying from a "what happens if I'm laid off" perspective.
So then off I went to my old friend MediaBistro, to see what sorts of traditional freelance gigs might be in the offing, or even what sorts of jobs are out there, either here or in New York, should worst come to worst. And what I saw made me almost literally gasp out loud. Back in the day, when I'd go look there, I'd be depressed because out of the 1600 to 2000-plus job listings they'd have, only a small handful would be SoCal based. But now...omigod. Look in the left hand column of that link. As of this writing, there are 664 jobs posted TOTAL. Literally less than a third of what I normally would find there. If that isn't a sign of a media apocalypse, I don't know what is.
And, as I was saying to Kristen earlier today, it seems like all this economic illness is getting into people's bloodstreams. Every day, it seems, I have another friend telling me about her cancer diagnosis, her parent's imminent demise, the loss of a baby, the end of a marriage. It just feels ugly out there. Ugly and mean and scary. And whereas in years past I would have been able, at least, to tell myself that that's just my screwed-up neurotransmitters speaking, that's not the case these days. Right now, it's ugly, mean, scary...and real. Very, very real.
All I know is, each time I send out a press release to our list of media contacts, I get back a good half-dozen new bouncebacks that say something along the lines of, "I no longer work for Big Important Newspaper/Small Important Newspaper/Interesting Magazine. You can now reach me at Some University PR Office/the Local Burger King/the Unemployment Office."
But it's not even safe here in the ivory tower. We've been getting dispatches from the university's president telling us about the hits to the endowment we've taken, and the fears about promised gifts, the money for which may no longer exist in this stock market. Not to mention that there will be fewer gifts coming in in the future, and who knows what's going to happen to all the other sorts of funding we receive?
There are, these missives state uncategorically, going to have to be cuts. Nobody's saying yet what those cuts will be, and how deep, and where. But they will happen. And here I am, just three months into this job and with three months left on probation--which means they could let me go without paying me an extra cent, any time they want, for no reason at all. So, yeah. A little worried here.
Which of course has led me to look around for ways to soften the blow, if it comes. It'd be a huge blow, this being our only source of income. But if I could know that there are places to scurry off to, or if I could start gathering freelance jobs now--god knows my income alone isn't enough for us as it is, Baroy's freelance income is pretty minimal right now, and I've been too busy to search for freelance work to add to it--then I might feel a little less like throwing up 24 hours a day.
So off I went to ProBlogger to see what might be out there for an enterprising not-so-young blogger like me. And there was nothing...well, maybe pennies-a-post stuff that I would qualify for, but really. What is wrong with me? What am I doing wrong? I mean, so many people make Big Bucks out there in the blogging world. Why can't I find even Little Bucks (as opposed to little pennies)? And yet, I can't. I feel like an outsider in a field--writing, I mean--where I used to be a Big Fish. It's upsetting from an ego perspective, and terrifying from a "what happens if I'm laid off" perspective.
So then off I went to my old friend MediaBistro, to see what sorts of traditional freelance gigs might be in the offing, or even what sorts of jobs are out there, either here or in New York, should worst come to worst. And what I saw made me almost literally gasp out loud. Back in the day, when I'd go look there, I'd be depressed because out of the 1600 to 2000-plus job listings they'd have, only a small handful would be SoCal based. But now...omigod. Look in the left hand column of that link. As of this writing, there are 664 jobs posted TOTAL. Literally less than a third of what I normally would find there. If that isn't a sign of a media apocalypse, I don't know what is.
And, as I was saying to Kristen earlier today, it seems like all this economic illness is getting into people's bloodstreams. Every day, it seems, I have another friend telling me about her cancer diagnosis, her parent's imminent demise, the loss of a baby, the end of a marriage. It just feels ugly out there. Ugly and mean and scary. And whereas in years past I would have been able, at least, to tell myself that that's just my screwed-up neurotransmitters speaking, that's not the case these days. Right now, it's ugly, mean, scary...and real. Very, very real.
Monday, December 17, 2007
Books I Read in 2007, Part I
In a vain attempt to not let this become The Blog of Doom and Destruction, I am not going to devote this entry to discussing how, after the washer and the tires and the teeth, Baroy's transmission died on Sunday morning, soon to leave a $2,000-we-don't-have hole in our bank account. And I'm definitely not going to devote this entry to detailing how, for the first time, we talked seriously about When It Will Be Time to Give Up and Put the House on the Market Before We Lose Everything (well, OK, it was more sobbing than talking, but you get my drift...). No decisions have been made, so maybe it's best I'm not going to get into it; there are still miracles possible, I suppose, and even if there aren't, the Time to Give Up is not yet. It's only a few months away, best I can figure, but it's not yet.
And so I don't want to think or write about it any more. Instead, let's talk books. Ah, but first, a quick, self-indulgent, if-this-doesn't-cheer-me-up-nothing-will bit of conversation from about 15 minutes ago:
Baroy (calling from N's room): N, come help me clean up in here!
N (standing by the whiteboard in the kitchen and immediately bursting into tears): BUT!
Baroy: No buts. Come here now.
N: BUT!
Baroy: NOW.
N (in full wailing mode): BUT I'M WRITING A LOVE LETTER TO MOMMY!
I have a 6-year-old who writes me love letters. What could put a damper on that?
And so, onward to the first installment of Books I Read in 2007:
1. First, I should mention that I read large chunks of a number of different books for my adult education class at my temple this year. The one that really stuck out (aside from, you know, the Torah) was one that I have really only had time to 'taste' along the way: Jewish Literacy, by Joseph Telushkin. If you have questions about Jewish history or ethics or traditions or what-have-you, Teluskin's hefty-yet-concise volume has the answers. Especially to the what-have-you questions. This is now a permanent bedside-table book.
2. Fun Home: A Family Tragicomic by Alison Bechdel: Frankly, my dear, I expected better. I'd heard so much about Bechdel, and while I've never been a regular reader of Dykes to Watch Out For, I've always been impressed with what I did manage to catch. But this...memoir...just seemed somehow shallow. Or something. It's not just that it didn't resonate, but it didn't capture me, either. And I expected it to.
3. I'm a member of romance writer Shirley Jump's yahoogroup, Just Write It, and find both her and her writing totally captivating. (Don't even think about judging me, you book snob over there in the corner. I have a long-standing love of the Harlequin genre that can be traced back to my preteen years, when my grandmother used to subscribe to Harlequin Romances, and passed each batch of books on to me. Together, we devoured dozens of the suckers each year, and even went to fan luncheons together. Every time I read a romance novel these days, I think of Grandma. And I miss those luncheons.) And so, I've made it a point to pick up all of Shirley's books along the way. This year's crop included: Pretty Bad (in which I had the added fun of seeing characters from a previous book come back to visit); The Legacy; Back to Mr. & Mrs.; Married By Morning; Miracle on Christmas Eve; and Really Something. They were all really fun. Which is exactly what they're supposed to be.
4. A Good Dog by Jon Katz: I love Jon Katz. And not just because I once emailed him after reading an article of his in Slate, and he wrote me back, just like a real person. I also love all his books. But this one just about tore my heart open. There will never be another Orson.
5. Night by Elie Wiesel: I wrote about this on my old blog, when I first started reading it. It never got any easier. It never got any less painful. It never got any less beautiful.
6. Rashi’s Daughters (Book One: Joheved) by Maggie Anton: Maggie's a member of some sort at my synagogue, and our rabbi and his wife just adore her, as do a number of other members there. When this book first came out, the synagogue's book club read it and--when I decided to join the club in the beginning of this year--they told me it was a Must Read, even if I'd missed the discussion by several months. At first I found it, frankly, slow. Not at all what I'd expected. And yet, its language and its ideas are rich and intriguing in many ways, and it...it held me. I could not stop reading it. Nor could I quite figure out why. By the end of the book, I found that I much preferred Joheved's younger sister, Miriam, and was really looking forward to reading 'her' book when it came out later in the year. I'll be talking about that book later, but here's a hint: It was Not At All Slow. And also not at all what I'd expected, based on this first installment.
7. The Modern Jewish Girl’s Guide to Guilt (essays, edited by Ruth Andrew Ellison): This book of essays, which includes funny and touching pieces from people like Ayelet Waldman, Aimee Bender, Molly Jong-Fast, and more, was the first book I read for my temple book club. And, as I told my fellow book club members, I have to say that while many of the essays were in many ways wonderful...the book as a whole depressed me a little. It was all about people walking away from Judaism, walking away from faith. And because, in certain ways, I’m walking TOWARD it these days, I’d have liked to have heard more about modern, young (in my dreams, I know, but I still do think of myself as young) Jewish women who are embracing and finding something to savor in Judaism. (Yes, I realize that then it couldn’t be called The Modern Jewish Girl’s Guide to Guilt. Work with me, will you?)
8. Small Island by Andrea Levy: What a great book. Well deserving of its awards; well deserving of being read. Fabulous writing. You could absolutely hear the accents and feel the emotions--despite the fact that there were four major characters, and the book skipped around in time and place and voice. And not only that: It was also a great story. A really, really great story. Socked me in the stomach at the end...a feeling which caught me by surprise. I truly didn’t see it coming, though I was well aware of my attachment to some of these folks, despite all their faults and foibles.
9. Davita’s Harp by Chaim Potok: I read this on the recommendation of one of the older ladies at my synagogue; she bought a copy for our temple library, but first insisted I take it home and read it. And so I did. It was not at all what I thought it would be. Such spare writing, such an interesting story. I won’t say it changed my life, but I’m glad I read it. Which sounds trite, in retrospect, but is nonetheless simply and completely true.
10. Bobbie Faye’s Very (Very, Very, Very) Bad Day by Toni McGee Causey: I’ve ‘known’ Toni--in that weird blogger-to-blogger-plus-having-friends-in-common way--for a number of years now, but I didn’t know what her fiction writing was like. This was wildly fun. Silly, implausible, but laugh-out-loud funny, romantic, and—did I mention?—fun. Not my genre, not what I’d normally read, but that made it even MORE fun, I think. Plus, I didn’t see the final twists coming, so that was cool, too. Looking forward to reading the second book soon. I can't IMAGINE how she's going to keep this much momentum and energy going.
[More to come...]
And so I don't want to think or write about it any more. Instead, let's talk books. Ah, but first, a quick, self-indulgent, if-this-doesn't-cheer-me-up-nothing-will bit of conversation from about 15 minutes ago:
Baroy (calling from N's room): N, come help me clean up in here!
N (standing by the whiteboard in the kitchen and immediately bursting into tears): BUT!
Baroy: No buts. Come here now.
N: BUT!
Baroy: NOW.
N (in full wailing mode): BUT I'M WRITING A LOVE LETTER TO MOMMY!
I have a 6-year-old who writes me love letters. What could put a damper on that?
And so, onward to the first installment of Books I Read in 2007:
1. First, I should mention that I read large chunks of a number of different books for my adult education class at my temple this year. The one that really stuck out (aside from, you know, the Torah) was one that I have really only had time to 'taste' along the way: Jewish Literacy, by Joseph Telushkin. If you have questions about Jewish history or ethics or traditions or what-have-you, Teluskin's hefty-yet-concise volume has the answers. Especially to the what-have-you questions. This is now a permanent bedside-table book.
2. Fun Home: A Family Tragicomic by Alison Bechdel: Frankly, my dear, I expected better. I'd heard so much about Bechdel, and while I've never been a regular reader of Dykes to Watch Out For, I've always been impressed with what I did manage to catch. But this...memoir...just seemed somehow shallow. Or something. It's not just that it didn't resonate, but it didn't capture me, either. And I expected it to.
3. I'm a member of romance writer Shirley Jump's yahoogroup, Just Write It, and find both her and her writing totally captivating. (Don't even think about judging me, you book snob over there in the corner. I have a long-standing love of the Harlequin genre that can be traced back to my preteen years, when my grandmother used to subscribe to Harlequin Romances, and passed each batch of books on to me. Together, we devoured dozens of the suckers each year, and even went to fan luncheons together. Every time I read a romance novel these days, I think of Grandma. And I miss those luncheons.) And so, I've made it a point to pick up all of Shirley's books along the way. This year's crop included: Pretty Bad (in which I had the added fun of seeing characters from a previous book come back to visit); The Legacy; Back to Mr. & Mrs.; Married By Morning; Miracle on Christmas Eve; and Really Something. They were all really fun. Which is exactly what they're supposed to be.
4. A Good Dog by Jon Katz: I love Jon Katz. And not just because I once emailed him after reading an article of his in Slate, and he wrote me back, just like a real person. I also love all his books. But this one just about tore my heart open. There will never be another Orson.
5. Night by Elie Wiesel: I wrote about this on my old blog, when I first started reading it. It never got any easier. It never got any less painful. It never got any less beautiful.
6. Rashi’s Daughters (Book One: Joheved) by Maggie Anton: Maggie's a member of some sort at my synagogue, and our rabbi and his wife just adore her, as do a number of other members there. When this book first came out, the synagogue's book club read it and--when I decided to join the club in the beginning of this year--they told me it was a Must Read, even if I'd missed the discussion by several months. At first I found it, frankly, slow. Not at all what I'd expected. And yet, its language and its ideas are rich and intriguing in many ways, and it...it held me. I could not stop reading it. Nor could I quite figure out why. By the end of the book, I found that I much preferred Joheved's younger sister, Miriam, and was really looking forward to reading 'her' book when it came out later in the year. I'll be talking about that book later, but here's a hint: It was Not At All Slow. And also not at all what I'd expected, based on this first installment.
7. The Modern Jewish Girl’s Guide to Guilt (essays, edited by Ruth Andrew Ellison): This book of essays, which includes funny and touching pieces from people like Ayelet Waldman, Aimee Bender, Molly Jong-Fast, and more, was the first book I read for my temple book club. And, as I told my fellow book club members, I have to say that while many of the essays were in many ways wonderful...the book as a whole depressed me a little. It was all about people walking away from Judaism, walking away from faith. And because, in certain ways, I’m walking TOWARD it these days, I’d have liked to have heard more about modern, young (in my dreams, I know, but I still do think of myself as young) Jewish women who are embracing and finding something to savor in Judaism. (Yes, I realize that then it couldn’t be called The Modern Jewish Girl’s Guide to Guilt. Work with me, will you?)
8. Small Island by Andrea Levy: What a great book. Well deserving of its awards; well deserving of being read. Fabulous writing. You could absolutely hear the accents and feel the emotions--despite the fact that there were four major characters, and the book skipped around in time and place and voice. And not only that: It was also a great story. A really, really great story. Socked me in the stomach at the end...a feeling which caught me by surprise. I truly didn’t see it coming, though I was well aware of my attachment to some of these folks, despite all their faults and foibles.
9. Davita’s Harp by Chaim Potok: I read this on the recommendation of one of the older ladies at my synagogue; she bought a copy for our temple library, but first insisted I take it home and read it. And so I did. It was not at all what I thought it would be. Such spare writing, such an interesting story. I won’t say it changed my life, but I’m glad I read it. Which sounds trite, in retrospect, but is nonetheless simply and completely true.
10. Bobbie Faye’s Very (Very, Very, Very) Bad Day by Toni McGee Causey: I’ve ‘known’ Toni--in that weird blogger-to-blogger-plus-having-friends-in-common way--for a number of years now, but I didn’t know what her fiction writing was like. This was wildly fun. Silly, implausible, but laugh-out-loud funny, romantic, and—did I mention?—fun. Not my genre, not what I’d normally read, but that made it even MORE fun, I think. Plus, I didn’t see the final twists coming, so that was cool, too. Looking forward to reading the second book soon. I can't IMAGINE how she's going to keep this much momentum and energy going.
[More to come...]
Tuesday, July 10, 2007
Stop it. No, seriously. STOP IT.
So there are a million and one work stressors, which I won't even get into, because it's neither professional nor appropriate. Just trust me. Unusually stressful.
On top of that, since Friday, there have been no fewer than seven phone calls about my dad, who--according to himself and his girlfriend--is nearing the end. This would be sad enough on its own, particularly considering that I got to hear about it from him in his very weak, very shaky, very confused voice. But sadder still? From the outside looking in, I don't think it's all that near the end. He's still making phone calls, and he's still walking around the house. He's still even taking showers by himself. His girlfriend says he's spending enough time in bed that she thinks he has the beginnings of bedsores, but what I fear, paradoxically, is that he's not sick enough. He's sad and confused and you can just HEAR how terrified he is...and I think he's still got a ways to go. It seems unfair, somehow.
Then, yesterday, I got a call from Baroy, who had taken Em and N to see the 'kids' from Harry Potter put their handprints onto the Hollywood Walk of Fame. His car had overheated; he thought it was probably because his fluid levels were low, and it wouldn't be a big deal, but he was going to take it in to the mechanic's shop on his way home. $500 later, he has a new radiator. It's just money, but really...like we needed this?
But wait! There's more.
Yesterday evening--after seeing the Potter handprints, after swimming across the street in S and B's kiddie pool for hours, after having dinner at J's house (with Em swimming in J's 'real' pool and N just hanging out)--N looked like he might have either gotten too much sun or some mosquito bites or something. By the time he went to bed, it was definitely mosquito bites...or maybe a couple of hives. When he came up to my room at 1 AM, it was...I don't know what the fuck it was, but it was something else. Huge, burning red, itchy-as-hell splotches across his entire chest and belly, under his arms, on the inside of one leg and on the back of the other, across his shoulders, etc., etc., etc. I gave him a big dose of Benadryl, slathered him in this Aveeno product I have that's a mixture of calamine lotion, a skin anesthetic, and colloidal oatmeal, and made him sleep next to me in bed so I could listen to make sure he was breathing OK, since he was clearly having a full-body reaction to SOMEthing. (Baroy slept in N's bed; both of our kids are AWFUL to have to sleep next to even when there's only one other person in the bed. WHY do children insist on turning sideways on a queen-size mattress and either ramming you with their hard heads or kicking you with their hard feet? Sheesh.) So, yeah. THAT was a good night's sleep.
He seemed much better this morning, and all day...until around 5 pm, when they were over S and B's house again and Em called to say that N was "all red and blotchy on his back and his face and it's kinda scary."
Long story short, I Benadryl-dosed him again then dragged him over to Urgent Care where the so-brand-spanking-new-I-have-more-medical-experience-than-he-does doctor took one look at him...and went to get an attending. Thank goodness. A real doctor. (I hate July, when the latest crop of newly minted physicians is loosed upon an unsuspecting public.) I was thinking this might be a viral rash rather than an allergic reaction, because his nose was stuffy and he was coughing, but the doc said no, that it was likely the other way around, and the stuffiness and coughing was a result of the allergy to we-have-no-idea-what that was causing these blotches. He showed me the difference (a viral rash doesn't turn white when you press down on it, for instance), gave us a prescription for a low-dose steroid ("to make sure it doesn't get a chance to get into his windpipe and affect his breathing"--yup, I'll be sleeping well again tonight!), told me to keep up the Benadryl and Aveeno, and sent us on our way with orders to try and see The Best Pediatrician In The World, who we haven't visited in a long time due to my lack of good insurance, in the next day or so.
I know. It's not like the world is ending. But, really. My job, my dad, my car...and now my kid? What happened to the frickin' rule of three? Shouldn't I have gotten a break by now?
I'm expecting the locusts to arrive in the morning.
On top of that, since Friday, there have been no fewer than seven phone calls about my dad, who--according to himself and his girlfriend--is nearing the end. This would be sad enough on its own, particularly considering that I got to hear about it from him in his very weak, very shaky, very confused voice. But sadder still? From the outside looking in, I don't think it's all that near the end. He's still making phone calls, and he's still walking around the house. He's still even taking showers by himself. His girlfriend says he's spending enough time in bed that she thinks he has the beginnings of bedsores, but what I fear, paradoxically, is that he's not sick enough. He's sad and confused and you can just HEAR how terrified he is...and I think he's still got a ways to go. It seems unfair, somehow.
Then, yesterday, I got a call from Baroy, who had taken Em and N to see the 'kids' from Harry Potter put their handprints onto the Hollywood Walk of Fame. His car had overheated; he thought it was probably because his fluid levels were low, and it wouldn't be a big deal, but he was going to take it in to the mechanic's shop on his way home. $500 later, he has a new radiator. It's just money, but really...like we needed this?
But wait! There's more.
Yesterday evening--after seeing the Potter handprints, after swimming across the street in S and B's kiddie pool for hours, after having dinner at J's house (with Em swimming in J's 'real' pool and N just hanging out)--N looked like he might have either gotten too much sun or some mosquito bites or something. By the time he went to bed, it was definitely mosquito bites...or maybe a couple of hives. When he came up to my room at 1 AM, it was...I don't know what the fuck it was, but it was something else. Huge, burning red, itchy-as-hell splotches across his entire chest and belly, under his arms, on the inside of one leg and on the back of the other, across his shoulders, etc., etc., etc. I gave him a big dose of Benadryl, slathered him in this Aveeno product I have that's a mixture of calamine lotion, a skin anesthetic, and colloidal oatmeal, and made him sleep next to me in bed so I could listen to make sure he was breathing OK, since he was clearly having a full-body reaction to SOMEthing. (Baroy slept in N's bed; both of our kids are AWFUL to have to sleep next to even when there's only one other person in the bed. WHY do children insist on turning sideways on a queen-size mattress and either ramming you with their hard heads or kicking you with their hard feet? Sheesh.) So, yeah. THAT was a good night's sleep.
He seemed much better this morning, and all day...until around 5 pm, when they were over S and B's house again and Em called to say that N was "all red and blotchy on his back and his face and it's kinda scary."
Long story short, I Benadryl-dosed him again then dragged him over to Urgent Care where the so-brand-spanking-new-I-have-more-medical-experience-than-he-does doctor took one look at him...and went to get an attending. Thank goodness. A real doctor. (I hate July, when the latest crop of newly minted physicians is loosed upon an unsuspecting public.) I was thinking this might be a viral rash rather than an allergic reaction, because his nose was stuffy and he was coughing, but the doc said no, that it was likely the other way around, and the stuffiness and coughing was a result of the allergy to we-have-no-idea-what that was causing these blotches. He showed me the difference (a viral rash doesn't turn white when you press down on it, for instance), gave us a prescription for a low-dose steroid ("to make sure it doesn't get a chance to get into his windpipe and affect his breathing"--yup, I'll be sleeping well again tonight!), told me to keep up the Benadryl and Aveeno, and sent us on our way with orders to try and see The Best Pediatrician In The World, who we haven't visited in a long time due to my lack of good insurance, in the next day or so.
I know. It's not like the world is ending. But, really. My job, my dad, my car...and now my kid? What happened to the frickin' rule of three? Shouldn't I have gotten a break by now?
I'm expecting the locusts to arrive in the morning.
Thursday, June 28, 2007
A paucity of certainty
I used to think the problem with my life (if one's life could be reduced to a singular problem) was that I had no choices. I was stuck in an office, doing work I didn't enjoy, and there was seemingly no way out. All I wanted was to be home, and I couldn't find my way there. Yup, I concluded. No choices.
Time and therapy changed all that. I soon came to realize just how many choices I did have. So many choices.
And so I made those choices. I came home. I took some jobs and gave up others. And today, well...frankly, today I'm equally miserable, just in an entirely different way. I'm home, but there is so much work to be done that I might was well not be. I spend so much time watching my kids, wanting to spend time with them, and yet knowing I can't, because there's always work, more work. Instead of being holed up in an office, I'm holed up at home. Where the end of the work day never comes. Where I find myself yelling at the kids to leave me alone, because there's pressure building up on me, pressure to get stuff done. Plus, there's that ever-present concept to battle--the one that says that because I work from home, I'm goofing off. When, in reality, it's the opposite. When I was office-bound, I used to spend hours chatting away with my coworkers, talking about movies and kids and weekend plans, gossiping about hirings and firings and our bosses' foibles. Doing everything but meeting my deadlines or getting work done. Now? If I spend ten minutes sitting with N watching TV, or doing Em's hair, or even putting in some laundry, I feel guilty. I may run errands for an hour or two during the daytime, but then I'm up until midnight, one, two am, catching up, getting ahead. Making sure nobody can accuse me of not pulling my weight. And then still having those accusations come.
The pressure is intense. The urge to quit, to walk away, to move on, is equally intense of late. I don't like the way I'm being treated; I don't like the direction things are going in. But at the same time, there are benefits about to kick in. And I still believe in the project, and when I'm not made to feel inadequate, I enjoy the editing I'm doing.
And so, once again, it's time to make a choice. But this time, rather than feeling hemmed in, I'm feeling confused. There are too many choices, way too many variables. And there's no clear-cut path. Should I go back into an office environment, where I know I'll be resentful and angry, but where I also know there will be considerably more stability? Should I hang on here, knowing that the money is not-quite-adequate, but better than I could do on a purely freelance basis--knowing that there's a chance my job could disappear any day now in favor of an office-based worker who can put in that all-important face time? Can we live on this salary? Can we live on this salary plus the freelance work I'm managing to pull in? Should I make choices based on the status quo, or will one of Baroy's many leads actually pan out one of these days soon? (He's trying so hard; he's getting so close. It's just been a long time since 'close' meant 'there'. Not his fault, but a fact of our life.)
If I knew what the future held, maybe it would be clearer. Can we really survive on not-quite-adequate? Is it actually adequate? Or is it actually inadequate? What cuts can we make in the budget to make it definitely adequate? Will it be worth those cuts? Will I continue to be miserable, watching my kids wanting me and not being able to be with them? Would I be more or less miserable in an office, not watching but knowing my kids wanting me and still not being able to be there with them? Would I then realize that I'm currently able to be with them more than I think? Will they suffer by my not being physically there, even if I have to be emotionally remote? Or would they be better off not having me tantalizingly in sight yet unavailable?
If only I had some certainly--even just a little certainty--about what would be the best course of action, maybe I wouldn't feel so frozen in confusion. If only I knew what to do, maybe I could do something. I can't believe that I'm complaining about having too many choices and yet...I am. Or, rather, I'm kvetching about it. I know it could be worse--I could truly BE without options, like I once thought I was--but that doesn't stop me from looking the choice-horse in the mouth. Whatever that means.
Time and therapy changed all that. I soon came to realize just how many choices I did have. So many choices.
And so I made those choices. I came home. I took some jobs and gave up others. And today, well...frankly, today I'm equally miserable, just in an entirely different way. I'm home, but there is so much work to be done that I might was well not be. I spend so much time watching my kids, wanting to spend time with them, and yet knowing I can't, because there's always work, more work. Instead of being holed up in an office, I'm holed up at home. Where the end of the work day never comes. Where I find myself yelling at the kids to leave me alone, because there's pressure building up on me, pressure to get stuff done. Plus, there's that ever-present concept to battle--the one that says that because I work from home, I'm goofing off. When, in reality, it's the opposite. When I was office-bound, I used to spend hours chatting away with my coworkers, talking about movies and kids and weekend plans, gossiping about hirings and firings and our bosses' foibles. Doing everything but meeting my deadlines or getting work done. Now? If I spend ten minutes sitting with N watching TV, or doing Em's hair, or even putting in some laundry, I feel guilty. I may run errands for an hour or two during the daytime, but then I'm up until midnight, one, two am, catching up, getting ahead. Making sure nobody can accuse me of not pulling my weight. And then still having those accusations come.
The pressure is intense. The urge to quit, to walk away, to move on, is equally intense of late. I don't like the way I'm being treated; I don't like the direction things are going in. But at the same time, there are benefits about to kick in. And I still believe in the project, and when I'm not made to feel inadequate, I enjoy the editing I'm doing.
And so, once again, it's time to make a choice. But this time, rather than feeling hemmed in, I'm feeling confused. There are too many choices, way too many variables. And there's no clear-cut path. Should I go back into an office environment, where I know I'll be resentful and angry, but where I also know there will be considerably more stability? Should I hang on here, knowing that the money is not-quite-adequate, but better than I could do on a purely freelance basis--knowing that there's a chance my job could disappear any day now in favor of an office-based worker who can put in that all-important face time? Can we live on this salary? Can we live on this salary plus the freelance work I'm managing to pull in? Should I make choices based on the status quo, or will one of Baroy's many leads actually pan out one of these days soon? (He's trying so hard; he's getting so close. It's just been a long time since 'close' meant 'there'. Not his fault, but a fact of our life.)
If I knew what the future held, maybe it would be clearer. Can we really survive on not-quite-adequate? Is it actually adequate? Or is it actually inadequate? What cuts can we make in the budget to make it definitely adequate? Will it be worth those cuts? Will I continue to be miserable, watching my kids wanting me and not being able to be with them? Would I be more or less miserable in an office, not watching but knowing my kids wanting me and still not being able to be there with them? Would I then realize that I'm currently able to be with them more than I think? Will they suffer by my not being physically there, even if I have to be emotionally remote? Or would they be better off not having me tantalizingly in sight yet unavailable?
If only I had some certainly--even just a little certainty--about what would be the best course of action, maybe I wouldn't feel so frozen in confusion. If only I knew what to do, maybe I could do something. I can't believe that I'm complaining about having too many choices and yet...I am. Or, rather, I'm kvetching about it. I know it could be worse--I could truly BE without options, like I once thought I was--but that doesn't stop me from looking the choice-horse in the mouth. Whatever that means.
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