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