Travels with Badger Blue

Meet Badger (Breaksea Revolution)! He's handsome and sweet, he's 6 years old, and he fits into our pack as though he's always been here. He also has a fine appreciation of music, including that old Irving Berlin tune "Blue Guy's smiling at me...".

When I met up with Badge down in Virginia a couple of weeks ago, I didn't know whether I could ever help fix this poor dog. His owner had died at the end of January. He seemed sad and lost, as though his heart had been broken and he didn't belong anywhere any more. The light appeared to have gone out of him. He started to perk up a bit after a night's sleepover with my dad and sister in Massachusetts, but he refused to eat or pee, and he still seemed timid.

However, when we walked into the house here and he was introduced to the three resident Beardies, he turned and gave me the biggest, toothiest grin I've ever received from one of these shaggy buggers. He knew he was home. He simply fit into the pack and was accepted instantly -- no doggie-fraternity hazing, no discussions on pack hierarchy... none of that. Dinah loved him instantly because she never met a man she didn't like, but even the boys were romping around the dog yard with him within minutes.

I didn't fix this poor dog's broken heart -- my other dogs did. All he wanted was a pack to call his own. Now he's the Mayor of Everything, Mr. Hail-Fellow-Well-Met. Everyone loves him -- people, puppies, even a few cats here and there. I thought I would have to hard-sell Greg on the concept of a fourth dog, but Greg is as smitten with him as the rest of us are. Badger will be Greg's new running buddy.

Of course, only I could leave Maine for the South and get snowed on down there. Mother Nature laughs at me; we were visited with 10-18 inches of the horrendous white crap that i thought I'd left at home! I ended up staying an extra day in Virginia before the roads were cleared, but we made it home eventually.

Even though I could have made it to Richmond in one 11-hour stretch, it sure was nice to be able to break up the traveling into pieces and to see friends all along the way. This might be as close as I get to a vacation this year, so I'm glad I was able to mix in a little fun between rest stops.

Missions of Mercy

I would enjoy this not-working thing if only it paid better. Actually, I'm not un-employed, but under-employed -- I'm working part-time as a Web monkey for an office services company and taking on a bunch of fun Web site work. A month into my kiss-off from Sun, and I've been so busy that I haven't had the time to apply much serious effort toward looking for a full-time job. I've attended a couple of webinars (the person who invented that term ought to be slapped with a dictionary), talked with my outplacement counselor, and done some networking. My resume is still rusty and covered with cobwebs, though. That's the next task. I've just been too busy working to look for work.

This is one of those times when having a wide network of friends and acquaintances, many of whom have experienced the same situation at one time or another, will save one's sanity. I've been in touch with several friends who have experienced the same thing. They've supplied me with help, advice, leads to writing gigs, links to useful articles, and so on. One friend got me my current part-time job as a Web monkey for a virtual-office company. Dale has been more than helpful and generous, funneling a number of Web projects my way. Sue recommended that I talk to her neighbor about a site, and a whole new friendship is evolving thanks to her. If it weren't for the people I know, I probably would still be cowering under the blankets. Thanks, everybody, from the bottom of my heart.

Got Nothing But Time -- Oh, Don't Have That, Either

Spinoza knew what he was talking about when he coined the famous phrase "Nature abhors a vacuum" -- and he wasn't talking about our crappy old Electrolux, either. The very second I lost my job, dozens of tasks rushed in to fill the space where work used to be. How did I ever work 8+ hours a day and take care of all of the things that needed taking care of? Oh, yeah, that's right. I juggled. I juggled then as I do now, only twice as much and twice as crazily.

A couple of weeks ago, Dale and I were having a breakfast meeting at her favorite local hangout (the cafe at the local airport). That place serves up a pretty mean breakfast for not too much money, plus you get to watch planes come and go. Can't hate that! Anyway, while we were sitting there, I received a message on my Blackberry from Dinah's breeder in the UK saying that a mutual friend of ours had died in January. He owned a Breaksea dog (Dinah's uncle Badger), and did I know anyone who could help with the dog?

A few texts, some emails, and a bunch of phone calls later, and all was set: I would go to Virginia to pick up Badger and bring him here. I knew Badger back when he was living in the Old Country, and he became one of my best buddies when I went over to bring Dinah home. If I didn't have Dinah's dad Danny on my lap, I had her uncle Badger (Danny's half-brother).

Sure, Badger could have found a home in the area. The National Capital Bearded Collie Club has a crack network of rescue volunteers, and a number of people offered homes when they heard that our friend had died. I admit to being selfish about this one, though: I love Badger and didn't want him to go anyplace else. Greg will probably take us all to the animal shelter when he realizes that Badger isn't just here temporarily (if I can help it), but he's actually been fine with the idea thus far.

Since I'm technically out of work, I have the opportunity to make a mini-vacation out of the trip. I could just drive the 11-12 hours straight, pick Badger up, and beat it home, but why rush? I can visit people along the way -- stop in to see my dad in Massachusetts and give my sister some time off, crash overnight near Baltimore with a Beardie friend and go to a huge local craft fair, visit another friend's new house in the DC suburbs, and enjoy my time in Richmond seeing old friends. If Mother Nature cooperates, it could be a fine little excursion. Badger's a good traveler and gets along well with everybody -- we could celebrate our first road trip together.

That's the thing about being laid off -- the first instinct is to berate oneself for not getting a new job right away, coupled with the fear of what happens if you don't find one before the severance package runs out. It takes some time before you can look past that fear to the opportunities beyond. Having time is a vastly underrated opportunity. I can't say as I've used it all wisely in this first month, but at least I understand that my time is now mine to make use of, or to squander, as I decide.

More On the Time Thing

Although I haven't realized my dream of going straight back to art school as soon as I became newly unemployed, I did sign up for a daytime knitting class with a friend of mine. It's nice to be able to get out of the house and concentrate on nothing but knitting for a couple of hours. The instructor is a mutual friend of ours who once worked at our late lamented local yarn shop, and who has been teaching multiple knitting and crochet classes for the local adult education department since then.

I've taken the opportunity to learn lace knitting. Sure, I can do yarnovers with the best of them, but I've been averse to taking on projects that involve much counting just because I am constantly interrupted here. Any time I have to set down my work mid-row to answer the phone/answer Greg/let the dogs out/go to the door/change channels on the TV, I'm lost. This explains why I've had a simple basketweave throw sitting in a bag in the Frog Pond since the 2004 World Series -- being able to concentrate on anything here for more and a minute at a time is impossible. If I were smart, I'd just frog the poor thing and take it with me to class.

Anyway, the prospect of doing some dedicated lace knitting is exciting. I'll be making something tiny like a bookmark, but no matter. The important thing is that I get to devote two hours to nothing but lace knitting.

Bittersweet Man News

Greg says that he's almost finished with the editing of the recordings for the Sax Quartets CD. He took on the editing tasks for his piece and that of his former professor at BU, Lukas Foss. This past week, we got word that Lukas had died on February 1. We had known he'd been in declining health for a while, and the New Hudson Sax Quartet had to record his piece at Lukas's apartment in New York because he wasn't able to go to them. Still, it's sad news. I never met Lukas, though I answered the phone a couple of times when he called looking for Greg. Sad to think that Lukas won't be around when this CD comes out.

The same label that is issuing the Sax Quartets recording is also recording and releasing Greg's String Quintet. You might remember this piece from my post about "The Ugly Quintet." Anyway, in its new and beautiful form as a piece for strings, the Quintet will be recorded in the Czech Republic sometime soon (if it hasn't already), and will be released at some point. I have no idea whether the piece will be included in another collection, released on its own, or whether it will be part of an all-Greg CD. The label has a whole spiderweb of distribution agreements with Naxos Records, iTunes, and a gazillion other musical outlets. I've been promising that all these CDs in the works will be released Any Time Now, so I'm not going to make any more announcements until I have a copy in one hand and am typing into this blog with the other.

Diary of a Bad Housewife

It's been a week since my job of 11+ years and I parted ways, and it's been one of the strangest, busiest weeks I've endured in a very long time. I wish I could tell you that things were falling into place, and that I'm adjusting to my new status as an economic statistic, but I just haven't made it that far yet. There's still so much to do, and organize, and think through -- and I haven't even had a spare moment to compile a to-do list or four.

The first few days have been somewhere beyond weird. My head's been spinning with all of the strange and unfamiliar tasks I've had to do, plus I've experienced a different emotion every five minutes. I'm told this is a normal part of the process, but it doesn't please me or comfort me much that I'm having to go through it in the first place.

One of the weirder tasks involved having to pack up all of the company-owned equipment here in my home office and drive it down to the office building, then surrender it (along with my badge, my access card, and my Amex corporate card) to one of the security guards. The guards were very sweet to me; it's just that I realized that I was now a guest in the building, and not allowed beyond the front lobby any more. I'm somewhat glad that I didn't run into anyone I know. That would have made for more awkwardness that I think I could have handled.

The Universe does provide, though. When word got out that I was out of work, I was deluged with offers of Web site work -- so many that I need another to-do list just to keep them all organized. In a way, you might say that I got my wish. At one point, I was working on one Web site or another and thinking, "I LOVE this stuff. I wish I could do this for a living." At least for now, that's what I'm doing. The going rate for such work is approximately half what I was making, though -- so I'm afraid that Web work will always have to be part-time for me. I'll have to find another full-time gig doing what I was doing. In the meantime, I have as much "fun work" ahead of me as I can possibly handle. (Thanks to Sue and Dale for getting things started. I am grateful.)

Another thing I caught myself saying was, "If I only had a little time off, I could REALLY straighten up this house." That hasn't happened yet, either. I've been so taken up with all of the crazy details of work (new and old) that I've only been able to keep up with the bare minimum of routine tasks, let alone tackle any of the real messes.

At least cooking is fun again. While I've been working, much of the day-to-day meal prep has fallen to Greg. He can cook better than he thinks he can, but his big meal is breakfast. There are two camps of cooks: those who eat to live, and those who live to eat. Greg is an Eat-to-Live. I'm a Live-to-Eat. In my version of Hell, you get served microwaved spaghetti topped with Ragu every single night. At least this whole new spare-time phenomenon means that I can get to the fish market before it closes, so we've been eating more salmon and less pasta.

My youngest sister sent me a call for help this past week that will result in some more cooking -- only not for us. She lives with my dad, and as his health issues get more complicated, she has had to assume more of his day-to-day care: food preparation, getting him to appointments, listening to the doctors, coping with the increasing number of emergencies, and so on. She asked me to drive down there and take Dad out to lunch a couple of times a month so she can have a respite and some time to herself, and also to make some food that agrees with his diet, freeze it, and bring that. It isn't really so much to ask, aside from the 300-mile round trip drive. My siblings have been helping some, and it's just my turn.

At Least the Knitting Statistics Are Showing an Upward Trend

Thus far, I haven't indulged my very small-but-sweet fantasy of spending an entire day just knitting. I did manage to finish another scarf for Susannah out of some pretty reddish-bronze ribbon yarn in my stash, and I've shipped it off to her. I've pulled some skinny chenille yarn from the same stash and have cast it on for the next scarf (I loathe chenille yarn, but the colors were irresistible). I've also turned the heel on the second of my dad's Scheepjes socks and am making my way slowly down the foot. At the rate I'm going, he might actually be able to wear them before the vernal equinox.

Greg mentioned how much he loves watch caps. At least now I know what I can knit for him that he actually would wear. Now, if only I could find where my Denise needles got off to...

This Too Shall Pass

Yesterday was my birthday. I like to think that I can now bid good riddance to a bad year -- or, as Queen Elizabeth said about the year 1992, "it has turned out to be an Annus Horribilis."

Just in time for the celebration, I was laid off from my job of 11+ years. I knew I was in trouble the minute my boss, who has always been friendly and chatty during our phone meetings, launched into reading a script: "As you know, Sun has been going through some changes...". In better times, I simply would have laughed, thanked her for the paid time off, and picked up a contract job to tide me over while I looked for a suitable permanent gig. However, this is early 2009, and we're still cleaning off the residue of the last 8 years of plutocratic rule. No doubt about it, I'm going to have to work hard to find another gig, and I am less than 100% confident that I'll find one very soon in these times. I do get a severance package, but it's hardly generous. Wish me luck.

In between (frequent) bouts of terror, though, I actually welcome a chance to regroup. I've had a long list of things that I hoped to do someday. Once I cross off the ones (such as "vacation in Tahiti") that would cost money, there are still plenty of things I never had time to do. I can spend more time on freelance articles! I can knit in the middle of the day -- and can even take a morning knitting class with my friend Fran! If the weather didn't suck, I could take long walks with the dogs and tire them out for a change. I can even take morning classes with them, if I can find the money. I can go to the gym -- the one I've been paying membership fees to all this time. I have time to get back into learning PHP, which I was just starting to do.

Plus, bless everybody's hearts, I now have a bunch of Web sites to do. I LOVE doing Web work, and would sit here at the computer at night, thinking, "I just LOVE this. I wish this were my day job." Well, at least for now, it is. I just wish it paid anything like my previous gig. If I could make a living at it, I'd never go back.

Greg has really been a rock since the whole thing happened. He's been coming up with plenty of ideas how we can both make money and save it. In spite of the impending austerity of our future existence, he took me out to a sumptuous dinner at 555 in Portland for my birthday. The food was exquisite and imaginatively prepared and presented, the service was attentive, and we had ourselves a grand old time. We made a reservation for Valentine's Day, and I'm hoping that times will get better soon enough that we can return on a regular basis. We haven't had a meal like that since the chef from Windows on the Water retired. I feel guilty that Greg spent that much money on a dinner while we're on the edge of some mighty hard times, but I hope that we'll have something to celebrate soon.

Rally: It Really Is a Sport for Everyone!

A friend of mine sent this video to me with the comment, "When they get a monkey to do this, we're in big trouble."

If this doesn't make me get off the couch and train, I don't know what will.

The Cult of Elvis

Thursday the 8th was Elvis Presley's 74th birthday. The mind boggles. Makes you wonder what his Las Vegas act would have been like if he were alive today.

Mind you, I am not an Elvis fan. I was in diapers when his music was popular, and it wasn't until many years later, seeing the old video of the Ed Sullivan show, that I caught even an inkling of why people thought he was so cool or controversial back in the early '60s. The dancing fight scenes in West Side Story looked a whole lot more dangerous to me, frankly -- not to mention more interesting musically. I'm much more into Elvis Costello than Elvis Presley.

The only thing I've understood less than the attraction of Elvis is his continuing popularity. I mean, sure, he had a good voice and made some records that sold lots of copies -- but he's freakin' DEAD, people. He's not living in Africa with JFK and Jim Morrison. (Neither are they.) He should be a poster boy for the dangers of high cholesterol -- and bad fashion.

On the other hand, I've always had a major-league fascination for pop-culture kitsch -- and since The King's untimely demise while on the throne back in 1977, a whole industry has sprung up around the production, marketing, and sale of Elvis-related crap. Porcelain collector plates! T-shirts with sequins and glitter! Figurines! Light-up mirrors with roses painted on them! "LOOK at this!" I'd call out to my youngest sister. "They're actually selling this stuff -- but not in any store!" We'd laugh our butts off. We love Elvis impersonators. The movie Bubba-Ho-Tep was okay by itself, but the DVD audio commentary by Bruce Campbell was (and is -- buy the DVD!) absolutely hilarious. I can't even describe the Graceland scene from This is Spinal Tap without howling.

And then there was the day when someone gave me a freakin' velvet Elvis as a gag gift -- I forget whether it was for Christmas, my birthday, Be Kind to Animals Week, or whatever. I laughed until I couldn't stand it any more, and then awarded it pride of place in my front hall closet. A few years ago, I posted a condensed version of the Saga of the Velvet Elvis to this blog. The condensed version is enough; you really had to be there to appreciate the details. Suffice it to sat that the velvet Elvis, now parted from its distinctive faux driftwood frame, is still living in a barn in the Northeast Kingdom of Vermont. I dread this particular Return of the King.

Ever since people witnessed the gift of the velvet Elvis, I've been dragged into the Cult of Elvis. People still give me Elvis crap, and it still strikes me funny. I have Elvis playing cards, Elvis lunch boxes, at least one nasty-looking Elvis T-shirt (never worn) with glitter on it, Elvis Christmas CDs, Elvis fridge magnets, and more fine products from the Elvis-crap industry. This Christmas, I received a particularly fine (and hilarious) Elvis purse made out of a recycled tin can and festooned with a bottle-cap clasp -- and lots of blue rhinestones. Will it ever see the light of day (or of neon)? HELL NO. I can still take it out, lovingly undo the tissue paper wrappings, and laugh. I am SO going to Graceland one of these days -- preferably with my sister and a bottle of Captain Morgan.

To be honest, I wish people would give me stuff I can actually use, rather than stuff I keep hidden away lest anyone (the electrician, the UPS man, any of my friends not in on the joke) see it. One main problem with having any Elvis crap at all is that it breeds in captivity. People see you have anything at all with Elvis's image on it, and they rush out and buy you more Elvis crap! Before you know it, you're overwhelmed with the stuff -- and too chicken to sell it on eBay, for fear the giver sees it up for auction and takes offense -- or worse still, buys you more crap to keep the other crap company.

All the same, I still laugh my butt off every time I look at any of it, and laughs are hard to come by these days.

I have a co-worker who is about my age, and who actually is an Elvis fan. He has even gone to Graceland with a straight face, and without the Captain Morgan. When he had an office in one of the company buildings, it was generally regarded as one of the great landmarks of our little slice of Silicon Valley. It was a complete shrine to Elvis, from the life-sized cardboard cutout standing in the window to the horrendous tapestries hanging on the walls. His collection of Elvis crap made mine look pathetic. (Okay, it was pathetic anyway.)

I asked him about the collection, and he admitted that he had never bought a single article of Elvis junk for himself, either. Everything in the shrine had been given to him as gifts from other people who spied the junk he already had, and then gave him more of it. When he left the company for a startup gig, he probably needed to get a moving truck just to transport all the Elvis crap. He's back at the company again, but works from home now. I wonder whether his home office contains any of the original decor. Probably not. He probably has boxes of the stuff breeding in his garage, and someday it will burst from its container and overwhelm his entire neighborhood. eBay is looking better all the time.

Please Vote for The Man!

Greg submitted his "Dona nobis pacem" variation to this site, and would love to win a chance to collaborate with Yo-Yo Ma. If you feel thusly inclined, please vote for him...