One Last, Deep, Long Loving Look

My Mom died November 14, 2011.  She would have been 77 November 16, 2011. I miss her so much -- my friend Debbie.  We talked every day for the past year.  Is this what lost and alone feels like? I love you Mom.   SJA

So long as the mind keeps silent in the motionless world of its hopes, everything is reflected and arranged in the unity of nostalgia. But with its first move this world cracks and tumbles: an infinite number of shimmering fragments is offered to the understanding.

-- Albert Camus, from The Myth of Sisyphus

Transformer Transitioning :: A Minute Reflection

My dearest pal I have ever known gave me a little trinket I have on my piano. It is an aqua blue clothespin upon which there is a ceramic square filled with a vibrant butterfly:  Behold, I make all things new.  Rev. 21:5

It actually reads more like this:  And he who was seated on the throne said, "Behold, I am making all things new." Also he said, "Write this down, for these words are trustworthy and true."

Transforming is indeed about making all things new – taking a place, an organization, a family, and turning them around. Transitioning is another matter; a bit more testy, less trustworthy and true.

When one finds oneself having both going on at once, the cacophony is overwhelming – and the loss is felt even more severely.

Who is on the throne?

Just a muse. I have no answer. I only know that tomorrow is the first anniversary of me pops passing and that my mom is quite ill and that I remain unemployed and that my home life, my own life, is nothing more than a shattered shadow.


Ouch.

SJA

For the Betterment of All

When I spoke of how unemployment will affect YOU, I was really trying to be poetic.

Ha.

Well, this has come to pass in my own funny world.  Even relative strangers are trying to understand my situation (and pulling their hairs out) and relatives, well – they just say “come on over to my house, again, baby.”  I now have friends of the family taking me in for long-term stays. Over the holidays. Uff da.

This is all quite something: my face is pimply and my waistline is not as formed as it might be. Hair ain't right either. Teeth are worse than ever.  I order clothing for interviews – then the clothes do not fit, which is OK since I only do phone interviews; my designer sweat pants work well in such predicaments.

The whole situation is quite terrifying. 

I have never, ever, in some 30 years of work been unemployed this long. At this point, the fact that I can WRITE a cover letter amazes me!  I actually looked at my resume and said – why the hell not!  I might have a consulting gig coming up – does that count?

My IQ is pretty high, around 130, which makes me a retard of Mensa – moderately gifted.  I am not at all convinced that “moderately gifted” will cut it these days.  Might have to be a bit more conniving and lizard-like.  Like the rest of the world that IS employed.

Ick.

Is there a job out there for a hard working, well educated, deeply experienced, not that bad looking, moderately gifted and often charming gay Norwegian male, age 52? 

My AARP membership is in order.   How to bridge the age gap seems to be a topic.  I am not THAT old – plus, I am of a generation that could live to be even older.  In the 16th Century (just pick one), unless you were a meta-grandchild of Eleanor of Aquitaine, you’d be DEADER than a doornail at 52 (we all live too long now).

Check out TIME this week (10/31). I had to crap when I grabbed the damn thing and lost 4 ounces reading it! Take that for what it is worth.

Good God -- horrible, utterly odd and actually, quite fucking strange things happening. However, I am decidedly grateful that others have student loans far beyond the cost of a home in rural America.  

So, I say – Good Morning America.

Have some strong coffee and hope that today is better.

SJA

The Humbling Part

I have not yet really spoken of the “being humbled” part of the journey. The entire experience of it, the act of it, is quite refreshing.  Humble is a good word, and we all need to be reminded of it:

hum·ble   [huhm-buhl, uhm-]  Show IPA adjective, -bler, -blest, verb, -bled, -bling.

adjective

1.

not proud or arrogant; modest: to be humble although successful.

2.

having a feeling of insignificance, inferiority, subservience, etc.: In the presence of so many world-famous writers I felt very humble.

3.

low in rank, importance, status, quality, etc.; lowly: of humble origin; a humble home.

4.

courteously respectful: In my humble opinion you are wrong.

5.

low in height, level, etc.; small in size: a humble member of the galaxy.

Yesterday and today I was reminded of friendship through dear friends who remain even more dear than I recalled – and even several strangers who were kind, generous in fact, with their own sharing.

Humble. Honest. Human.

SJA

Unemployment:: The New Cancer

Dear friends, I do not speak of this title lightly.  I myself have had a cancer scare – anal cancer.  And more biopsies are yet to be taken.  I am OK, I hope, in this regard.

I am NOT OK with being unemployed.  The only metaphor I could come up with at this point, seven months into the disease, is cancer.  

Cancer = Unemployment

Unemployment “pay” = Chemo (cure)

The pay keeps you alive; but you are so tired that you can hardly live. 

And the cure WILL run out...

Suddenly perspectives change. The disease not only takes over one’s own body but it begins to quietly invade the lives of others.  Suddenly, the disease affects all those who do not have the disease and then – there are no caregivers, nobody can really help because everybody has the disease.

They are tired too.

And very sad.

It is a vicious cycle.

I am happy to have my unemployment benefits extended.  Though, I do feel like it is a death row sentence, that I am an outcast and might as well request my last meal.  

OK then, I have not worked to build security, I have worked to WORK.  To build change.  Call me stupid.

The only REAL thing I can grasp is that I am not alone. Those of us in this situation – whether you like us or not, WILL be impeding your life.

Do not stick your head in the sand.  

Knock, knock -- will you be there?

It’s all I have to bring today—

This, and my heart beside—

This, and my heart, and all the fields—

And all the meadows wide—

Be sure you count—should I forget

Some one the sum could tell—

This, and my heart, and all the Bees

Which in the Clover dwell.

-- Emily Dickinson

http://www.jobsletter.org.nz/jbl02410.htm

 SJA

Time for Funny Girl, Polished Nails ... and Music

I did my own nails this evening. Mom is back in hospital. So, why not do my nails (OK fingers, actually -- been a long time since I did my own nails).


I wrote a pal the following -- and had to laugh:


Hi, I will work for you; my name is Sebastian and I am really fantastic — but I may need to leave in a week to see my family — my Mom is sick: and by the way, I am looking for a real match, so should I work for you, do not be that surprised if I leave in three months, or end our contract abruptly.  I have no time for your shit.  But I can produce great work in a week.  The fee: $5,000 (40 hours @ $125 an hour).  Listen to me, and that will turn into $25,000 + within three months.

Funny
Did you hear that

Funny
Yeah, the guy said honey

You're a funny girl
That's me I just keep them
In stitches doubled in half
And though I may be all wrong for the guy
I'm good for a laugh
I guess it's not funny
Life is far from sunny
When the laugh is over
And the jokes on you
A girl ought to have a sense of humor
That's one thing you really need for sure
When you're a funny girl
A fellow said a funny girl
Funny, how it ain't so funny
Funny girl... 

Bob Merrill (lyrics) and Jule Styne (music). Nails by Veronica. Hands are my own.
As performed by Barbra Streisand: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kWWGgWk5PYQ


SJA

Today Gutsy Questions Emerge

I am considering picking up my bags and moving back to Wisconsin – with or without a job.

This is a rather risky proposition in a number of ways. The risk, as risk is, arises from practicalities.  Money, gainful employment, health insurance, the terror of relocation, loss vs. gain, a vision in one’s mind vs. what the reality might be.

But where is the soul in all this – and hope, and belief in one’s self to accept the risk, the challenge, and best of all, the adventure?

Your dear Sebastian has been pondering all this, and at the same time, attempting to give “fair warning” to himself regarding other possibilities here in the Pacific Northwest.  Questions emerge and bubble about each and every moment:

• What do you feel dear man?
• Where do you want to be two years, three years, an eternity from now?
• What if… (a game we all play, and it is a dangerous one)
•  Can you TRULY release it all?  Fully let go?
•  How does your ego play into this?  Or, as I have asked others and myself  about life in general, when is the game over?
•  Have I stayed too long at the fair? Which fair?
•  Who might I trust? Do I need new faces?
•  Who are the ghosts?  Am I the ghost?
•  Do I have the courage to REALLY explore?

On and on, the questions haunt me; yet, I am acting.  I am doing.

Today another headhunter asked me fill out a form; a form that requires me to explain every detail of every detail of every experience I have ever had in the world of nonprofit management.

Today my vacuum cleaner ate a rug. Today a dear friend came over, had a couple beers and fixed sinks. Today I played piano. Today I rubbed the sore feet of someone who works really hard. Today I woke up so anxious that I truly did not know what to do. But, today I got up, put my shoes on and went forth. 

As the mysterious cloudy glow of one of those Seattle days you don’t see pictures of in tourist books moved forward, my thoughts started to jell. 

However, right now, today's evening, I feel this glorious Mahler song. 
Where will I be able to sing it? Or am I singing it now?

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vTqbTP5qy7k

I am lost to the world
with which I used to waste so much time,
It has heard nothing from me for so long
that it may very well believe that I am dead!

It is of no consequence to me
Whether it thinks me dead;
I cannot deny it,
for I really am dead to the world.

I am dead to the world’s tumult,
And I rest in a quiet realm!
I live alone in my heaven,
In my love and in my song!

SJA