April 28, 2014

I really am grateful for having access to the Internet (finally) and for all the tools and possibilities that it allows me to take advantage of, especially while so remotely situated searching for a job.

But it also can be incredibly frustrating and sometimes near infuriating because of what it dumps into my inbox with regularity.

This morning there was an article distributed by a top job search site: How a Sense of Optimism can Doom Job Seekers.

Sigh...BIG heavy sigh.

With very few brief dives into self-pity or despair, I have managed to maintain a fairly positive attitude for the past 10 months...confident that my skills, experience and knowledge were such that I would certainly find my next challenge...eventually.

That I would find something that I could call my professional home. 

That is still my hope.

That is still my belief.

I weathered the lean times, when absolutely no visual jobs were opening; through the fall when there were a couple of bright spots that dimmed all too soon; through the end of the calendar year budgeting when everyone tightens their company belts; and into spring where the job market actually seemed to show just the slightest bit of growth...opening a couple of positions in my actual field.

I get it.

I really do.

Don't be OVERLY confident, but be confident enough to get noticed.

Reach out to colleagues for help, but don't make a nuisance of yourself.

Send out your resume as often as possible, but don't seem desperate. 

Be realistic about the time frame, thinking you'll be hired right away is unrealistic. (You should expect to spend three months to a year looking for your next position.)

In today's job market, the success rate of finding work through an ad is only 10 to 15%.

I know all that. I do.

There is a lot of information out there in the ether for someone in my position. 

Much of it is contradictory. You need to sort and sift and read voraciously, recognize when you find the tiny gem of "good advice," (take it) and reject the majority of the rest.

I have scoured articles with titles like:

• Practical and easy tips for the modern job search
• Update your job search strategy and save time
• Don't overlook your soft skills
• 3 Tips that make a difference with your job application
• Strategy of a successful job seeker
• Four essential traits to shine and get hired
• Sneaky job interview "trick" for job seekers
• Building a resume that makes your phone ring

I have learned a great deal about job hunting in the 21st century. Clearly, it is a very different landscape than the last time I left a job, more than eleven years ago. 

But I have never sought out a job before, the job always sought me out. 

So that makes this...very different.

I am a smart woman, but there are some things (in this process) that remain a mystery to me.

I have filled out...in excruciating detail...electronic form after electronic form listing key words (appropriate to my job search), attached resumes, cover letters, written paragraphs describing the position that I am seeking, location and salary details, skills set, talents, expertise...and yet this pops into my inbox this morning:

Defense Munitions Supply chain Management Analyst

Exactly WHICH key word from a 30-year career in visual journalism triggered that alert?

Argh.
.....

I just couldn't resist adding this: 

This job alert came popping into my inbox a day later...with the heading visual journalism jobs for you! The listing?

Counter Narco - Terrorism Police Advisor/Mentor

I'm shaking my head.

.....

On a beautiful day late last week, I accompanied my sister and my niece (her middle daughter) on a little road trip to the Amish General Store. 

We (the niece and I) met my sister at her school (where she is the self-titled "lunch lady") and drove to the Amish Bakery and General store.  

The Bakery parking lot.

 You can actually smell the bakery before you arrive there. They are unceasingly baking bread, donuts, pies, cookies and cakes. 

The dinner rolls are THE best, but they go fast. The only way to score those hot buns is to arrive when the doors open early in the morning.

Freshly baked bread.

The General Store offers a little bit of a lot of things, an eclectic mix. 

What brought me along for the ride were the vanilla beans. 

A modern grocery (or the disdained Walmart) offers them for about $7 or $8 dollars PER bean, sealed in a glass test-tube-like vial.  

The Amish sell them for $1.89 each, take them from a large glass jar that sits behind the counter near the register, and put them into a plastic bag with a twist tie. 

Vanilla Bean.

It's a long way to go for a bean, but worth every mile.

Homemade (the from scratch kind that you stir and stir and stir until your wrists are tired and aching) rice pudding with vanilla bean is on my "To Do" list.

Mmmmmmmm.

Wash with this before going out into nature
 and the mosquitos won't bite.

More country store offerings.

Crystalized ginger.  Twice the quantity for half the price of
the same ginger sold at Whole Foods in Boston.

.....

One good weather day over the weekend meant even more yard work.

We started preparing Mom's "Prairie" for a burn-off.

The "Prairie" is a large swath of yard that is planted in natural grasses and flowers just off the real lawn to the left of the driveway.  

It hasn't been burned off in a couple of years. The burn (just like in nature) allows for new and healthy growth.  Locust trees (or are they Sumac?) have self-planted along with other undesirables (that choke out the desirables) and need to be removed.

The berry bushes have taken over about half of the back "Prairie," not producing much fruit but certainly causing some ferocious scratches if you get anywhere near their long thorny branches. (Trust me on that one...)

Berry bushes.

While Mom worked to clean off her riding lawn mower from the dust and dirt that covered it following our last yard project, I set about raking the perimeter of the "Prairie," to separate it from the lawn a bit for the anticipated burning. 

You start the fire on all four sides, simultaneously, and let it burn to the middle, controlling the fire as it burns.

My brother-in-law had come over to cut down the small pine tree in the front yard at Mom's request. (There were strange, inexplicable patterns on the trunk affecting the growth of the limbs, turning them - along with other parts of the tree - rusty).

The mystery pattern on the tree trunk.

Mom said she wanted to get it down and out of the yard, before what ever was eating it had a chance to spread and eat something else.

I told her that I could do it.

I could cut the branches off with the bow saw one by one, starting at the top and make my way to the bottom, then cut the trunk down in sections.

"Or," she said, "Gil could just go zzzzzip." And she made a loud buzzing sound accompanied by a quick motion of her arms, JUST like a chainsaw cutting the trunk of a tree in one swift, sweeping motion.

And it was...(quickly done) with Gil's chainsaw.

I carried the tree and its branches over to the "Prairie" where we spread the pine branches all around.

Pine branches spread to accelerate the burn.

The Prairie.

Mom said that the pine would burn "hot and fast" and she wanted that strong burn to help take out the berry bushes and tougher parts of the natural growth on the "Prairie."

I had mailed Mom a couple of boxes of mixed wildflowers (a gift from a dear friend's baby shower), specifically for planting on the "Prairie" some time ago, but they remained on a shelf in the dining room.  

We had talked about sprinkling them over the "Prairie" after the burn, where they could quickly sprout and grow for the summer and fall.

Wildflowers.

You can burn on your property after 6 p.m. with a burning permit, which we went to get at Miller's General Store, (actually owned by my niece and her husband) as long as the fire risk is acceptable.

It was posted outside the store when we arrived.

 Moderate.

The time is set at 6 p.m. because generally the wind of the day dies down by 6 p.m. (or after) but that was not the case on that day and our grand plans remain on hold. 

Our best laid plans were set asunder by the wind. 

It would have been perfect timing for the burn and the scattering of seeds...

Rain showers are predicted for the entire week. 

A perfect scenario for post-burn new growth on the old "Prairie."

April 24, 2014

Today is Tornado Awareness Day.

Actually it's Wisconsin Tornado and Severe Weather Awareness Week.

Today is Drill Day.

I have never "experienced" a Drill Day but I can only imagine that it is going to be LOUD!

A mock tornado watch will be followed by a mock tornado drill, beginning at 1 p.m.

The drill will be broadcast as a normal tornado watch and warning. It will be broadcast on the NOAA weather wire, across radio and television.

Sirens will go off state-wide.

It is pouring rain outside right now. 

The NOAA site cautions that if REAL weather conditions develop concurrent with the drill, that the drill will be postponed and rescheduled.

It does not, however, explain how we will be able to determine the difference?

This whole dedicated day of weather preparedness made me curious, so I looked up a few Wisconsin weather facts (courtesy of the National Weather service Weather Forecast Office):

• Wisconsin averages 23 tornadoes per year, most tornadoes occurring in the 3 to 9 p.m. time frame.
• The busiest spin-up hour is 6 to 7 P.M. 
• The peak tornado season in Wisconsin is May through August, with June having the greatest number of tornadoes. 
• A record-setting 62 tornadoes occurred in 2005, followed by 46 in 2010. In 2008, Wisconsin had 38 tornadoes, including one EF3 tornado in western Kenosha County on January 7th. 
• The "average" Wisconsin tornado has a 7 to 8 minute duration period, a path length of about 4 to 5 miles, and a damage width of about 120 yards.

So, basically....tornado season in Wisconsin consists of the entire summer!

Good to know, following on the heels of the winter that coined the phrase: "Polar Vortex."

It also explains why Mom keeps talking about getting the "weather radio" set up.

I'm certain this kind of awareness saves lives. So, I'll do my part.

I just sent a text to Miss Margie to remind her (following my Mother's email reminder to me), she replied that the "kids" will be napping.

Can you really nap through Drill Day?

.....

I've spent the last few days mad at work in the yard.

Raking.

Tree trimming.

Digging out the path (round) and sidewalk (square) stones from the grass that had long grown over them.

And more raking still.

In a rare convergence, Mom took a vacation day off from work, Harry was home from school (Miss Margie needed a personal day and closed the school) and I? Well, I was...available as well.

So, we three, spent the day outside...the whole day.

It started out a bit chilly, but the sun was shining and it soon warmed up to be a lovely day.

Mom was atop her riding lawnmower with the leaf/mulch bag attached collecting and shredding the leaves and sticks from the back yard. She hadn't gone very far before her bag was full and then the whole cart too.  

The back yard was carpeted with the fall's leaves and sticks, finally loosening from the ground after the winter's icy grip held them there well into April.

When she had collected as many leaves and sticks as was possible, she would drive the mower, cart following, across the road and into the corn field to spread the leaves over the remains of the corn stalks. Those stalks soon to be plowed under, along with the leaves, when spring planting begins in earnest.

Harry was a bit timid about the whole idea, but he rode in the wagon (atop the leaves) on the first trip, as I walked beside him holding his hand, providing what comfort he needed for the mini adventure. 

He had absolutely no interest in riding on the second, third for fourth trip, despite Mom's offer each time she had accumulated an overflowing load of debris.

Harry did play happily in the newly exposed dirt where I'd battled and won the removal of the 3 Sumac trees along with the mighty root of the Burning Bush.

We borrowed a huge Tonka dump truck and a bright yellow grader from my sister's sandbox. Harry set up his own construction site and went to work plowing and loading and dumping, using Mom's new hand trowel as a Harry-sized shovel.

I spent the morning digging around the edges of the round stones on the path to the back door, and the square stones that lead from the driveway to the front porch. 

Some of the stones were half buried under sod and grass, and I presume, have been that way for some time. 

Some stones have sunk into the ground, some remain raised, making the path uneven at best. Some round stones have hollowed and curved and collect rain water in little pools when it's warm, and mini ice rinks when it's below zero. 

Resolving that is a project for another day.

Break time.

We took a break for lunch and for a nap (for Harry.) Then Mom and I were quickly back outside to take advantage of our momentum.

Mom said that she would have to get a "tree trimmer fellow" out to trim up a large pine tree that used to be part of the back lawn, but that had become surrounded by berry bushes and other growth, and taken back into the woods. 

Its prolific branches had sprouted from the very bottom of its trunk, continuing upward.  Most of those branches were dead and needed to be trimmed off, so that Mom could reclaim that part of the yard, including the pine tree.

I took one look at the tree, determined it to be a project that I could accomplish fairly easily (confidently without further injury to myself) and set about doing it. 

I spent the afternoon that day trimming branches with a hand saw, dragging them out to the pile of brush that I had started when removing the Sumac trees and the Burning Bush, breaking and sawing them into manageable pieces.

Final count? Forty seven branches trimmed.

Mom and I were both exhausted that night. Fresh air and physical work taking its toll.

I returned to the yard the next day, despite the predictions for rain.

I raked the parts of the yard that had been resistant to Mom's efforts aboard the riding mower, making piles of debris to be collected this weekend when we are hoping for at least one day of sunshine, without rain.

I also raked the Tiger Lily bed (orange flowers spotted with black) under the four Black Walnut trees and the newly reclaimed lawn under the big pine.

Tiger Lilies.

I dug up the Nettles (a plant covered with stinging hairs that make you itch like a fiend, turning your skin bright red) that surrounded the pine.

Nettles.

I filled the bird feeders, vacuumed out the 4-Runner, scrubbed the salt stains from the carpeting, washed the floor mats, vacuumed the living room, dining room and our bedroom upstairs, and scrubbed the kitchen floor. 

I also consulted with the plumber who came to address the leak...again...under the kitchen sink.

Oh, and I think it's worth mentioning...the only injury I sustained were some scrapes and scratches from the ferocious berry bushes along the border of the yard, under that pine.

I'd call that progress.

There was also the slightest bit of progress on the employment front.

I got an email from the organization that I have interviewed with twice, saying: 

"Hang tight, I will have some news on where we are soon."

There seems to be no other option but to do just that.

.....

I've spent the morning at the Public Library, backing up iPhones, iPads and computers, updating Apps and software, but I've got to get going. 

I need to make it home by one o'clock...to the country...where I'm hoping the state-wide sirens will be slightly less apparent than smack in the middle of the city on Drill Day!

OH, Wisconsin!

April 21, 2014

Spring is springing and more yard work beckons.

Crocus.

Sigh.

I almost gave myself a really nice shiner...black eye, that is.  As it is, I narrowly missed my eye with the shovel handle but managed to hit the orbital bone squarely.  The purples and reds of the new bruise matched my previously bruised and swollen lip quite nicely for a day or two.

That late, heavy April snow, weighed very heavy on a couple of small trees in the backyard forcing them to come up from the roots a bit and keel over, the weight of the snow bringing them top-heavy to the ground.  I mentioned it to Mom one morning when we were in the kitchen.  She said that none of those trees (and she motioned to the spot where the trees grew) were supposed to be there and that my brother was actually supposed to have dug them out.

Great project for a semi-warm afternoon, I thought.  It took a lot more time than I thought it would.  And by the end of my epic efforts, I was exhausted...

Mom had told me that they were Locust trees.  They were actually Sumac.  And...as it turned out, one of the trees (the one with a double trunk) was actually a "Burning Bush," that I mistook for a Locust which was actually a Sumac.

Anyway, I dug them ALL up that afternoon.  While digging, I was using the shovel as a pry bar to loosen the roots from under the firmly-packed dirt around them. It must have slipped out of my grip and the shovel shot back at me, hitting me in the eye.

Latest (and I hope...last) injury.

OUCH!

I just sort of bit my lip (not the bruised one) and went back to work.

At this point the circumstantial evidence might suggest that I am a bit clumsy, but that would be wrong.  

I've just had a short run of bad luck encounters with tools...and carts.

The root systems on those trees were incredible!

Truly incredible.

The diameter of the roots (measuring 3 to 4 or more inches) was almost the same size as the trunk of the tree itself, and they snaked (underground) on and on and on, for yards and yards!

I chopped at them and pulled at them and chopped some more.

I have never seen anything like it. 

The mistaken "Burning bush" roots.

When I had battled the last stump (which was buried the deepest and required the most concentrated efforts to dig and wrestle it from the ground) I had a pile of roots that very nearly equaled the pile of brush from all 4 trees: the "Burning Bush," and the 3 other trees thought to be Locust, but actually Sumac.

I dismantled the trees with a hand saw and cut their trunks into nice-sized wood and stacked it in the back yard. 

Locust...actually Sumac.

My brother-in-law turned up his nose at my offer of the slightly larger than kindling wood. 

"Can't burn Sumac." he said as he continued to scrunch his face. 

"Sumac? Mom said it was Locust." I replied.

"Sumac. No good for burning," he said dismissively and walked away.

I had actually discovered that I was only supposed to be removing 3 trees (the misidentified Sumac) and not the "Burning Bush."  (I later confirmed this with Mom.) The point at which I recognized my mistake was when I sawed through the double trunk to see that the wood was different than the previous three trunks. In recognizing that difference, I examined the bark on the final tree and confirmed it to be something else indeed.  I did not know what...at the time, as I still thought that I was cutting down Locust trees.

Luckily, Mom took it all in stride (as she is known to do) and said that the tree (or bush) had "never turned red" like it was supposed to anyway and that it was probably planted too close to the pine tree.

"Pine trees don't like anything to be too close to them," Mom explained, sort of the "invisible bubble" or "personal space" theory for trees.

Collection of other post-snowstorm debris.

If ONLY I had known...

Easter was terrific even though rain moved in to spoil our master plan of getting Mom's yard work all done.

My sister, Laura, and I had come up with the idea simultaneously. 

She had explained that "all the kids" had gotten together in the past (last year on Mother's Day) to help Mom (their Grandma) with her lawn. I thought it would be great if we could all get together for the task on Sunday before Easter brunch, when we would be gathering anyway.

Laura and her husband Gilbert, their four children and their children along with Harry and I gathered with rakes, shovels, carts and wagons to rake the leaves, pick up the sticks, thatch and seed the lawn.

We didn't get very far.

Just the front lawn on the other side of the fence, near the road, was raked, and the leaves collected before it started to rain too hard to continue and we had to "call it," as my sister said. "Before everyone ends up with a cold."

It was a nice surprise for Mom, even though it didn't exactly go as planned.

Luckily, the morning weather was conducive to Easter basket and egg hunting. 

Harry had a blast. 

The hunt.

Every single time he found a brightly-colored plastic egg, he said very excitedly, " An Easter egg...I wonder what's inside?" 

EVERY time.

There were at least 25 eggs hidden around the yard.

He would stop, crack open the egg, discover its contents, announce them to Grandma and to me.

"Golden money!

Or...

"Balloons!" 

Or...

"Green grass!" (The fake Easter grass stuffed inside the egg to hold the "golden money" in place.)

Then he would move on to the next egg, "An Easter egg...I wonder what's inside?"

Hilarious.

He had so much fun hunting for eggs that we have a plan to disperse them into the yard again tonight and have another hunt.

Harry's idea.

He's actually had more fun with the plastic eggs and the Easter grass than with anything else.

Giant chick cookie.

Easter wishes on antique postcards.

There's no news from either prospective employer. 

Things can move rather slowly in this process.

Much more slowly than I would like.

April 16, 2014

There are a lot of things swirling about in my head today.

Not the least of which are thoughts of my two pending job applications.  I wish there was something that I could do to insure that one of them would happily be my next employer, but the truth is...

Well...the truth is, that I just have to wait.  As Harry says, "Wait patience, Mommy. Wait patience"

So, I wait.

I sent a quick email to one of the decision-makers of the second application, just to express my interest and excitement at the possibilities.

I tweaked my LinkedIn profile...again.  Adding content, removing content, editing the text.  The same text that I have written and rewritten and rewritten time and time again over the last 10 months, hoping at some point to reach the Zen of introductory paragraphs.

It is, I think, anybody's guess what that really is. The phrase or two that makes you stand out from hundreds of other qualified applicants? 

Certainly a mystery to me at this point. 

I've read (and followed) advice on how to "write the winning cover letter." The one that "cannot be ignored" by the hiring manager. Used "the phrase that guarantees you'll be interviewed" over all the others. 

I've followed my intuition and my instincts and then threw in a few fairly educated guesses.

And now, I wait...patience.

...

Yesterday when we returned home from school, Harry went ahead of me around the house to the back door. As I followed behind him, at some distance, I heard him talking with great animation.

When I came around the corner, I found him standing by the gutter drain pipe (sometimes called, the "water spout," Why? will become clear shortly). He was looking up, his neck straining backward, with a pinched expression of concern on his little face. And then I heard him repeat, "Come on now. You can do it. I know you can. Come on down." 

When I asked him what he was doing, who he was talking to?  

He didn't hesitate a beat and answered, "the spider, of course." 

My son is in possession of a phenomenal imagination and shares his Mommy's sense of humor.

...

The "surprise" 4 inches of snow was followed by a partly sunny (partly cloudy) day that managed only in part to melt away some of the stickiest of snow we've seen in a long time.

We lost tons of branches and twigs, and actual trees to the heavy, wet precipitation.  Two Sumac trees in the back yard came out of the ground by the roots, the weight of the snow on their branches causing an imbalance that couldn't match the root growth.

Two large branches from our very, very old Lilac bush that lines the driveway, gave way to the weight of the snow as well. That was sad to see, as the bush itself has never really recovered fully from a major "trimming" many, many years ago.

Sticky snow-covered trees.

Resisting the sun's rays.

As I made trip after trip from the front porch, carrying bound magazines and cardboard to stack them at the end of the driveway for recycling day, I had to dodge big, wet clumps of snow falling from the branches of the Maple tree in the front yard. This snow has really got clinging power. It's obvious that much of the snow was deposited onto the trees as a result of a strong wind, carrying the snow. It remains, covering the sides of tree trunks and branches, and clings ferociously despite the new winds and sunshine, trying to melt it away.

There is good news for the weekend (as of today's weather report, that is.) Some sun and no moisture - rain OR snow.  Temperatures for the rest of the week and weekend are predicted to be in the mid-50s and low 60s. There is just the slightest chance of rain for Sunday, but I am going to ignore that away, in hopes of proceeding with Harry's very first Easter egg hunt.

If it still looks like rain on Friday, we'll consider hunting on Saturday after his nap. We might even take a gamble and stick with Sunday. It would be a warm 63 degrees and the eggs are plastic...

...

I spent a couple of hours sorting through another old box, this one containing old school papers from the early 70s, from all three of us kids. 

It has turned out to be another now treasured box of memories. 

I was actually writing "Peace" and "Love" in the 70s.

There were drawings done by my brother. He was eight years old.

And there was a letter to "Santa Claus", with a likeness of the jolly old elf in his sleigh with a reindeer or two.

Letter and drawing for Santa.

There were more poems too.  My little brother (he turned 50 this month) was quite the poet.

Easter (circa 1972) poem.

There were the classic dotted line papers from grade school in those days, used to practice script or cursive writing. He joked that his writing was "pretty much" the same today.

There were spelling tests, math papers, reports in my sister's handwriting and drawings by her hand as well, including a birthday card for Mom.

My sister's likeness of our "sexy" mother.

I also found the draft of a letter that I had written to my father.

My parents were divorced when I was almost 5 and my father hasn't really been a presence in my life since shortly after that time. 

Our family, post divorce.

It's fascinating, really, how you go through life dealing with certain things because of your own personal history. It influences your decision making, your relationships with people. So many things. My history has certainly influenced my relationships with men over the course of my life so far. 

You learn as you go, you push back the sad memories and the disappointments, thinking you've dealt with them or just accepted them as fact. Tuck them away. Then, something simple, like an old letter, brings it all back as if it were just yesterday that the disappointment came.

The letter.

The letter was written asking my father to attend a "father-daughter" banquet. There was even an anticipation of disappointment written there: 

"On March eleventh, which isn't very far away, there is a cadette sponsored father-daughter banquet. And I was am asking you if you could come? Please write or call to tell me, as soon as you can, so I can ask Grandpa or somebody. Well, this is just a note to ask you about the banquet. But I'll be writing you soon so I'll be seeing you!"

 "Love XXOOX, Paula"

"P.S. Don't forget to call or write."

As I read it, my eyes welled up with tears, some 42 years later.

That expectation and disappointment are the same things I struggle with today.

They are real triggers for me.

But our history can also make us better people, better parents. 

While I realize some disappointment in life is unavoidable, I try very hard not to disappoint my son, Harry, knowing the pain it can bring when it's repeated over and over again.

I use my Mother's example of parenting.

And I think I'm all the better for it.

Actually...I know I'm all the better for it.

Thanks, Mom.

XXOOX