In my continuing efforts to escape the ravages of Cubicleism, I turned to my innate creativuty to magically create additional income while enjoying an artistic outlet. First, I naturally turned to eBay, where I still (barely) maintain a shop as Wolf Lodge Enterprises. Holy FeeCharger, BatGuy! As sales slowed to a, well, STOP, I find myself covering monthly charges out of pocket.
Last Fall I discovered http://www.etsy.com/, which provides an exquisitely affordable marketplace for handmade items only. With an ever-growing assortment of crafts & arts of varying styles & values, it quickly becomes addictive. You have GOT to check out the Time Machine!!!
My shop is at http://www.wolflodge.etsy.com/, where I offer Native American chokers built by my Ojibwe daughter-in-law as well as my own Tribal versions of hatbands, chokers, armbands, & boot chokers. A few of my oil paintings live there to color up the place.
The real value of Etsy is in the community of sellers who offer up their remarkable wares & a never-ending stream of information, guidancce, & assistance thru the Forums & Chat Rooms. For example, I read thru a 34-page (& counting) thread on identification of gemstones, manmade & natural. Information overload? You bet! And worth every word.
Some of my favorite Etsy sellers are linked at right. I admire their fresh, funny, & often irreverent views on the world as expressed thru their art. I can only hope that my art will move someone as well.
I also created my own website at http://www.wolflodgetx.com/ which is a work in progress as I learn & grow. My partner is my Beloved wife of 35 years, who shares with me a passion for Native American art & life, so our powwow visits are chronicled there as well. Please check out my favorite Etsyans, & let the cool waters of creativity buoy you up, & raise your spirits, bringing you closer to The Creator. (And while you're up there, could you put in a good word for the Ol' Wolf?)
Friday, June 22, 2007
One Year, One Tear
One year has gone since Wes, my beloved Brother of a Different Mother, passed home. It is terribly difficult to grab on to the fact that I have not hugged him in that long. He wanders around my heart & through my thoughts every single day, as if I just got back from hanging out with him in East Texas, digging up mischief & causing those Exasperated Eye Rolls we both loved. I can still hear his voice & see his face clearly. I thank God that he gave him to us to love, and that He ended his suffering.
We lost a treasured friend last November. Nick was the first person to accept us & befriend me when we moved here 20 years ago. He remained a tried & true friend to all my family until we lost touch with him a couple of years ago. Whenever we speak of Nick, it is with deep love, respect, & admiration at the kind of man whe was. He touched many people over the years, & even his few detractors had to admit he was one heck of a man. I had seen him in the depths of sorrow at the loss of his mother, joyfully doing his best James Brown shuffle, touching my wife's shoulder with the greatest of loving touches, & standing tall in a courtroom after being insulted by a shoplifter who did not know his character.
It is startling to realize the impact cancer has had on my life. These are the loved ones it has taken from me:
Sandra Hashim (bio-sister)
Wes Willis
Nick McDonald
Nick Flanjack (Cousin)
John Hritz (Stepfather)
I am sure that I missed some, & that the list will grow. My belove wife has survived it twice. My cubicle neighbor is a survivor as well. My son was horrendously misdiagnosed with leukemia as a small child. Cancer: it's like an evil mist that swirls around our lives. We cannot help but breathe in its' vapors: we can only pray that we breathe them out as well.
We lost a treasured friend last November. Nick was the first person to accept us & befriend me when we moved here 20 years ago. He remained a tried & true friend to all my family until we lost touch with him a couple of years ago. Whenever we speak of Nick, it is with deep love, respect, & admiration at the kind of man whe was. He touched many people over the years, & even his few detractors had to admit he was one heck of a man. I had seen him in the depths of sorrow at the loss of his mother, joyfully doing his best James Brown shuffle, touching my wife's shoulder with the greatest of loving touches, & standing tall in a courtroom after being insulted by a shoplifter who did not know his character.
It is startling to realize the impact cancer has had on my life. These are the loved ones it has taken from me:
Sandra Hashim (bio-sister)
Wes Willis
Nick McDonald
Nick Flanjack (Cousin)
John Hritz (Stepfather)
I am sure that I missed some, & that the list will grow. My belove wife has survived it twice. My cubicle neighbor is a survivor as well. My son was horrendously misdiagnosed with leukemia as a small child. Cancer: it's like an evil mist that swirls around our lives. We cannot help but breathe in its' vapors: we can only pray that we breathe them out as well.
Life Times at Best Buy
ROWE vs. Wade: as in wading thru life slogging thru the mire of a dead end career, thigh deep in dissatisfaction, depression, & dissillusionment. Every day to the pointless solitude of my corporate gray cube I go, hoping against hope to find another source of free Sudoku & crosswords to pass the time til the tide of commuting laps against the clock.
Tides & times have passed me by - I can dream only of that elusive & ephemeral dream job that would let me live my life in peace, close to my beloved wife of 30+ years, & oceans away from the increasingly deadly hour-plus commute of doom & the riptides of drowning opportunities.
Enter the tsunami of the ROWE program at Best Buy. The acronym stands for "Results Only Work Environment. This revolutionary outlook on the work-life balance (it is to laugh!) eliminates scheduled hours, cubicles, mandatory meetings, & face time. Employees can work from home, the park, the beach, or in some cases, a deer blind, as long as their work is done & their productivity is high. Gone are the long commutes, gone are the decisions between work & familial responsibilities & time conflicts. In the case of Best Buy, productivity is up, as is job satisfaction.
I have often opined to my bosses that I am a prime candidate for telecommuting. However, my job is such that I cannot currently perform it remotely. Or can I? ROWE makes all things possible. Quite frankly, I have an increasingly difficult time leaving my darling wife each day. I am not a lazy person, I like to work hard, but I cannot shake the feeling that I am missing the biggest part of life by repeating my death drive every Monday thru Friday.
I know that my lack of higher education is coming back to haunt me, like a ghostly pirate stalking the holds of my career caravel. I hear his chains rattle, his cutlass straining to lift itself from its' scabbard of restraint. Unless there is a sea change, it's Davy Jones' locker for my working career. Pink slip at morning, sailor take warning. Oh, to ROWE, ROWE. ROWE my boat to Minnesota...
Tides & times have passed me by - I can dream only of that elusive & ephemeral dream job that would let me live my life in peace, close to my beloved wife of 30+ years, & oceans away from the increasingly deadly hour-plus commute of doom & the riptides of drowning opportunities.
Enter the tsunami of the ROWE program at Best Buy. The acronym stands for "Results Only Work Environment. This revolutionary outlook on the work-life balance (it is to laugh!) eliminates scheduled hours, cubicles, mandatory meetings, & face time. Employees can work from home, the park, the beach, or in some cases, a deer blind, as long as their work is done & their productivity is high. Gone are the long commutes, gone are the decisions between work & familial responsibilities & time conflicts. In the case of Best Buy, productivity is up, as is job satisfaction.
I have often opined to my bosses that I am a prime candidate for telecommuting. However, my job is such that I cannot currently perform it remotely. Or can I? ROWE makes all things possible. Quite frankly, I have an increasingly difficult time leaving my darling wife each day. I am not a lazy person, I like to work hard, but I cannot shake the feeling that I am missing the biggest part of life by repeating my death drive every Monday thru Friday.
I know that my lack of higher education is coming back to haunt me, like a ghostly pirate stalking the holds of my career caravel. I hear his chains rattle, his cutlass straining to lift itself from its' scabbard of restraint. Unless there is a sea change, it's Davy Jones' locker for my working career. Pink slip at morning, sailor take warning. Oh, to ROWE, ROWE. ROWE my boat to Minnesota...
Thursday, June 14, 2007
One More Earthtrip Around the Sun
The Big Blue Marble has spun completely thru its' orbit since I started this new work assignment last March. Just had my annual review ( only 2 weeks late this year - woo-hoo!!) & it was relatively painless compared to the chew-him-up & hit-the-spitoon session I had last year. My new boss is very kind to me & does a bang-up job despite it being her first command.
She was bothered by my inherent lack of positive outlook regarding my future. To sum it all up, my long term (10 years) goal is basically "Cremated & Forgotten". Don't get me wrong, I know I have family that will miss me: however the workplace will not. So what? Who cares if I'm "Tits-Up" instead of "Guns Up!?
My previous boss in this job was catastrophically inept. Shortly after I moved over by the windows here our product underwent a major header-to-footer remodel. Some of the changes were great - most were so badly mishandled that my Director plans to use the whole debacle as a case study on how NOT to go to market, when he retires soon to teach at the University level.
Within a few months of my move, all my major accounts were stripped away & given to co-workers who were already overloaded with business. Now a year later I still have not been told the real reason why, so I must conclude that it was performance-based. Despite winning a sales award my first month in position, I must characterize the last 14 months as a failure which I have been unable to overcome. I have faced great adversity in the workplace over the years & traditionally clawed my way back to the top. Not this time - my clawing days are over.
For several years I have tried my best to transition out of Sales, to no avail. Amazing what few opportunities there are for 50+'ers with no skills! That loud Baby BOOM was me hitting the bottom sans bounce! So, here I sit. Now we have a new compensation plan which is tied solely to percentage of goal attainment. Payout is zero unless you achieve 60% of goal: in October, that increases to 80%. Like I needed more stress, right?
MSN had a recent article relating to the decrease in life expectancy caused by chronic stress. Put 2 & 2 together, you get Bye-Bye!! So, I will spend the time I have trying to make my Beloved Darlin' of 35 years as happy as I can. A legacy would be too much to ask...
She was bothered by my inherent lack of positive outlook regarding my future. To sum it all up, my long term (10 years) goal is basically "Cremated & Forgotten". Don't get me wrong, I know I have family that will miss me: however the workplace will not. So what? Who cares if I'm "Tits-Up" instead of "Guns Up!?
My previous boss in this job was catastrophically inept. Shortly after I moved over by the windows here our product underwent a major header-to-footer remodel. Some of the changes were great - most were so badly mishandled that my Director plans to use the whole debacle as a case study on how NOT to go to market, when he retires soon to teach at the University level.
Within a few months of my move, all my major accounts were stripped away & given to co-workers who were already overloaded with business. Now a year later I still have not been told the real reason why, so I must conclude that it was performance-based. Despite winning a sales award my first month in position, I must characterize the last 14 months as a failure which I have been unable to overcome. I have faced great adversity in the workplace over the years & traditionally clawed my way back to the top. Not this time - my clawing days are over.
For several years I have tried my best to transition out of Sales, to no avail. Amazing what few opportunities there are for 50+'ers with no skills! That loud Baby BOOM was me hitting the bottom sans bounce! So, here I sit. Now we have a new compensation plan which is tied solely to percentage of goal attainment. Payout is zero unless you achieve 60% of goal: in October, that increases to 80%. Like I needed more stress, right?
MSN had a recent article relating to the decrease in life expectancy caused by chronic stress. Put 2 & 2 together, you get Bye-Bye!! So, I will spend the time I have trying to make my Beloved Darlin' of 35 years as happy as I can. A legacy would be too much to ask...
Tuesday, June 27, 2006
The Wanderer's Final Walk
The Wanderer’s Final Walk
My twin brother of a different mother is gone. 3 weeks after his diagnosis of inoperable lung cancer, Wes the Wanderer took the journey. The Ol’ Abbot is a selfish sort, so I miss him terribly. Fast, man, way too fast, although he’d been in poor health for a few years. It came as no huge surprise that his time was gone, but as my pal Jim says “You can be completely prepared, but you can never be completely ready.” Yeah, it’s just like you, bro: now that you can breathe all you want, you don’t have to anymore.
Wes chose hospice rather than chemical assault. His doctor was frank & compassionate enough to tell him it might prolong his life a few months, but he would be sick all the time. Although I wanted him around longer (see “selfish” above), I respect his decision. Hospice was wonderful, providing all the physical comfort they could manage. In the end he passed in his mother’s house w/Ma & his sister by his side.
Earlier in the week, the Father gifted us with a great blessing. Wes was well enough to sit up for a meal w/family & friend, after which his sister spotted his beloved wild raccoon Lucy in the yard, w/5 babies! Wes actually found the strength to walk out into the yard, sit cross-legged on the ground & call her. The Raccoon Platoon ambled on over to visit with him for the final time. Two days later he crossed over. Now he can REALLY call “Luuuuuucy, I’m Hooo-ome!”
The week prior to his departure, I lay awake about 3am, as I often do. Into my consciousness sprang a song, as they often do. A few hours later my darlin’ wife found me scribbling furiously to capture the lyrics before they faded. A few days stewing over one line & I had it. “Problem is,” I told her, “I can only sing this after he’s gone.” God gave me my cue shortly thereafter. I have promised it to Mother Ruth: since I have not yet delivered it, I will not post it until she has it in hand & heart.
We had a wonderfully informal wake at his sister’s & her partner’s home. Friends known & unknown came & went. Dear friends we introduced to Wes & Co. a few years ago at our annual Boar’s Head Feastival spent the day as we loved each other & his memory.
Last weekend we visited to help Mom go thru his stuff. Wonderful memories & fellowship, mixed with melancholy (see “selfish” above). His passing is a burden, but his care is a burden lifted. (Insert comforting clichés here). We all now have keepsakes with which to honor our brother. His last words to me were “I love you, bro!” I don’t have last words for him, as I speak to him every day.
"Unkis kiksuye utikawa wacignuni mitiblo ki oiha ke wanil" - We remember our Wandering Brother forever
My twin brother of a different mother is gone. 3 weeks after his diagnosis of inoperable lung cancer, Wes the Wanderer took the journey. The Ol’ Abbot is a selfish sort, so I miss him terribly. Fast, man, way too fast, although he’d been in poor health for a few years. It came as no huge surprise that his time was gone, but as my pal Jim says “You can be completely prepared, but you can never be completely ready.” Yeah, it’s just like you, bro: now that you can breathe all you want, you don’t have to anymore.
Wes chose hospice rather than chemical assault. His doctor was frank & compassionate enough to tell him it might prolong his life a few months, but he would be sick all the time. Although I wanted him around longer (see “selfish” above), I respect his decision. Hospice was wonderful, providing all the physical comfort they could manage. In the end he passed in his mother’s house w/Ma & his sister by his side.
Earlier in the week, the Father gifted us with a great blessing. Wes was well enough to sit up for a meal w/family & friend, after which his sister spotted his beloved wild raccoon Lucy in the yard, w/5 babies! Wes actually found the strength to walk out into the yard, sit cross-legged on the ground & call her. The Raccoon Platoon ambled on over to visit with him for the final time. Two days later he crossed over. Now he can REALLY call “Luuuuuucy, I’m Hooo-ome!”
The week prior to his departure, I lay awake about 3am, as I often do. Into my consciousness sprang a song, as they often do. A few hours later my darlin’ wife found me scribbling furiously to capture the lyrics before they faded. A few days stewing over one line & I had it. “Problem is,” I told her, “I can only sing this after he’s gone.” God gave me my cue shortly thereafter. I have promised it to Mother Ruth: since I have not yet delivered it, I will not post it until she has it in hand & heart.
We had a wonderfully informal wake at his sister’s & her partner’s home. Friends known & unknown came & went. Dear friends we introduced to Wes & Co. a few years ago at our annual Boar’s Head Feastival spent the day as we loved each other & his memory.
Last weekend we visited to help Mom go thru his stuff. Wonderful memories & fellowship, mixed with melancholy (see “selfish” above). His passing is a burden, but his care is a burden lifted. (Insert comforting clichés here). We all now have keepsakes with which to honor our brother. His last words to me were “I love you, bro!” I don’t have last words for him, as I speak to him every day.
"Unkis kiksuye utikawa wacignuni mitiblo ki oiha ke wanil" - We remember our Wandering Brother forever
Monday, February 27, 2006
MUMBLE, BUMBLE, FAST FOOD FUMBLE
To quote the infamous Pee Wee Herman, “All I wanted was a lousy samwich!”
Unfortunately for my health, I usually blaze thru an Austin fast-food joint for lunch on workdays. I’m a cheap ol’ abbot, so a sit-down meal is out of the question (unless it’s sitting in my truck.) Now, this truck is not a diesel, does not have cherry bombs or dual cannonball exhausts: runs fairly quietly, thank you. As for me, I have been speaking American English w/varying levels of fluency for over ½ of a century. Still, I seem to be increasingly unable to get my order filled properly. I have visions of Steve Martin’s Clouseau trying to order “de behrgehr!” in my voice. (Shudder).
Case in point: (or should that be dans le point?) I roll up to the Jack Inna Box, having decided to brave their Alleged Sirloin Concoction. I order a combo via the Shouting Order Taking Lady. Foolish me, I expect to get it. Off I go back to the office, where I gleefully (OOOOO, the anticipAAAAtion! ) unwrap my fancy fast food fare, only to discover that the Jack Inna Box translation of the phrase “Sirloin Steak & Cheddar Combo” happens to be “Double Bacon Cheeseburger with refrigerated fries & tea w/free Slime Mold flavoring!” Silly me. The Ol’ Abbot has not eaten pork in any form for many years. There’s 6 bucks I’ll never see again!!
It’s my own fault, I guess. About 2 months ago I visited the same spot & ordered tacos. In the words of Chief Engineer Montgomery Scott, “Ye canna’ break the laws of physics, Abbot!” Not so, Scotty, not so. These tacos astoundingly managed to be simultaneously stale but soggy, flat but lumpy. The fries were also appropriately refrigerated, & mirrored the staleness of the tacos exceptionally well. My heartfelt outcry via their website has produced nothing..
At the busy-because-of-the-overflow-from-Sandy’s Whataburger on S. 1st, the food is good; you just have to put up with the 90-decibel order takers. My wife helped me retain what’s left of my hearing by suggesting that I open the passenger-side window before I roll up so that the blast deafens folks in Westlake as opposed to just me. Sort of an audiocidal venturi effect, as it were. I heard that last week it got so bad that the water in Barton Springs Pool started flowing back upstream! I think they keep it loud so that the folks at Sandy’s know that somebody is eating next door, too. Nya-Nyaa-na-naaa-naa!!
Wendy’s works quickly, you just have to repeat yourself a few times & perform a CSI-level inspection of your drink. Funny how many times Iced Tea morphs into Hi-C. Or Sprite. Hmmm… The cashier also finds it inordinately humorous to withhold the largest bill from your change & await your reaction. Hilarious!!
At a mid-commute drive-thru coffee joint, I’ve tried a couple of scones, which were as cold as Jack Inna IceBox fries. Their cappuccino has made me ill the last 2 times. Now, I’ve never been to Seattle, but I don’t think cappuccino is supposed to be bitter. So, I try a cinnamon roll, which arrived hot, dripping an overabundance of sizzling glaze, & artfully constructed of incompletely baked dough. Paging Mr. $5 Bill: please report to the landfill at immediately!
Bill Miller’s on Ben White does a good job – Shouting Order Taking Lady has a lunch shift there, but she listens & gets it right. Riverside Sonic is efficient, friendly, & Slime-Mold-free. Arby’s on Wm. Cannon belts it out w/the best of them. (“Them” being hearing-impaired opera bellowers.)
Case in point: (or should that be dans le point?) I roll up to the Jack Inna Box, having decided to brave their Alleged Sirloin Concoction. I order a combo via the Shouting Order Taking Lady. Foolish me, I expect to get it. Off I go back to the office, where I gleefully (OOOOO, the anticipAAAAtion! ) unwrap my fancy fast food fare, only to discover that the Jack Inna Box translation of the phrase “Sirloin Steak & Cheddar Combo” happens to be “Double Bacon Cheeseburger with refrigerated fries & tea w/free Slime Mold flavoring!” Silly me. The Ol’ Abbot has not eaten pork in any form for many years. There’s 6 bucks I’ll never see again!!
It’s my own fault, I guess. About 2 months ago I visited the same spot & ordered tacos. In the words of Chief Engineer Montgomery Scott, “Ye canna’ break the laws of physics, Abbot!” Not so, Scotty, not so. These tacos astoundingly managed to be simultaneously stale but soggy, flat but lumpy. The fries were also appropriately refrigerated, & mirrored the staleness of the tacos exceptionally well. My heartfelt outcry via their website has produced nothing..
At the busy-because-of-the-overflow-from-Sandy’s Whataburger on S. 1st, the food is good; you just have to put up with the 90-decibel order takers. My wife helped me retain what’s left of my hearing by suggesting that I open the passenger-side window before I roll up so that the blast deafens folks in Westlake as opposed to just me. Sort of an audiocidal venturi effect, as it were. I heard that last week it got so bad that the water in Barton Springs Pool started flowing back upstream! I think they keep it loud so that the folks at Sandy’s know that somebody is eating next door, too. Nya-Nyaa-na-naaa-naa!!
Wendy’s works quickly, you just have to repeat yourself a few times & perform a CSI-level inspection of your drink. Funny how many times Iced Tea morphs into Hi-C. Or Sprite. Hmmm… The cashier also finds it inordinately humorous to withhold the largest bill from your change & await your reaction. Hilarious!!
At a mid-commute drive-thru coffee joint, I’ve tried a couple of scones, which were as cold as Jack Inna IceBox fries. Their cappuccino has made me ill the last 2 times. Now, I’ve never been to Seattle, but I don’t think cappuccino is supposed to be bitter. So, I try a cinnamon roll, which arrived hot, dripping an overabundance of sizzling glaze, & artfully constructed of incompletely baked dough. Paging Mr. $5 Bill: please report to the landfill at immediately!
Bill Miller’s on Ben White does a good job – Shouting Order Taking Lady has a lunch shift there, but she listens & gets it right. Riverside Sonic is efficient, friendly, & Slime-Mold-free. Arby’s on Wm. Cannon belts it out w/the best of them. (“Them” being hearing-impaired opera bellowers.)
Cartwright’s BBQ & Chicken Express in Bastrop are balms to my shattered Suppertime Psyche. I roll up, they say, in mellifluous, soothing tones, “Insert name of restaurant here”, order when you’re ready!” Aaaahhhhhh… I can take a bit o’ time & focus my failing peepers on their menu, make a quick executive decision, & proceed to procure my proper comestibles. That’s the way it is done in Abbot’s World!
I guess this is the Father’s way of telling me “Heeeeey Abbooooooooot! Brown bag it. “ If only there was room in our office fridge…
I guess this is the Father’s way of telling me “Heeeeey Abbooooooooot! Brown bag it. “ If only there was room in our office fridge…
Tuesday, February 14, 2006
Well, toss me in the lions' den & call me Daniel!
Well, toss me in the lions' den & call me Daniel!
They say change is good - I say folding money is better! 2006 is shaping up as "The Year Of Changing Everything". Not only have we sold the Ol' Homestead, but I am about to take on a new job assignment after 5+ years. Same employer, different division. As I enter a 2-week transitional period, I am faced with a classic "Here Come Da Poo!" moment, when I ask myself whether I've made the right decision. I said to myself I said "Self," I said, "What have you gotten yourself into??"
There is no doubt that my current position will no longer support me in the fashion to which I have become accustomed. Anyone who knows The Ol' Abbot knows I'm not very fashionable, but there are limits to what I can afford not to make. I have stretched this job way beyond what it was intended to be, & now the rubber band is contracting to the New Normal. I have to move on before it stings me. The last time I was earning at the New Normal rate, I did not have a mortgage.
Also, there is the concern that I will not be successful in the new role. It is humbling to contemplate the deterioration of mental acuity attributable to age & stress. In High School many of my teachers told me not to show up for classes because nobody else would raise their hands, just waited for me to answer. "Show up next Tuesday", they'd say, "there's a test." So off I'd go to the La Coste Cafe to eat pecan pie, & my senior year I set all time records for yearbook advertising sales. I had regular Calulator Races w/my boss at HEB: he would fly across that 10-key like Jethro Bodine pickin' cotton, while I added the same columns of numbers in my head. Undefeated, that was me. Also undefeated Wonderland Mall Trivial Pursuit champion 2 years running, thank you! Those days are long gone. Still, I will give it the old never-been-to-college try, & trust the Father to provide as he always has done.
Couple that anxiety with the unhappy fact that my new digs put me squarely amidst some folks whose ethics I have oft challenged, & I start looking for fuzzy manes & sparkly fangs. I hear my Pop's old drinking buddy Hank Williams drawling "Jonah got along in the belly of a whale, Daniel in the lions' den". Maybe I should be more like Alf, chanting "Here, kitty, kitty, kitty..." while smacking my lips. I suspect that reality will lie somewhere in between. There are some wonderful follks over there by the windows: hopefully they will welcome a battle-scarred ol' abbot. Pray me luck. Anybody priced Lion Chow recently?
They say change is good - I say folding money is better! 2006 is shaping up as "The Year Of Changing Everything". Not only have we sold the Ol' Homestead, but I am about to take on a new job assignment after 5+ years. Same employer, different division. As I enter a 2-week transitional period, I am faced with a classic "Here Come Da Poo!" moment, when I ask myself whether I've made the right decision. I said to myself I said "Self," I said, "What have you gotten yourself into??"
There is no doubt that my current position will no longer support me in the fashion to which I have become accustomed. Anyone who knows The Ol' Abbot knows I'm not very fashionable, but there are limits to what I can afford not to make. I have stretched this job way beyond what it was intended to be, & now the rubber band is contracting to the New Normal. I have to move on before it stings me. The last time I was earning at the New Normal rate, I did not have a mortgage.
Also, there is the concern that I will not be successful in the new role. It is humbling to contemplate the deterioration of mental acuity attributable to age & stress. In High School many of my teachers told me not to show up for classes because nobody else would raise their hands, just waited for me to answer. "Show up next Tuesday", they'd say, "there's a test." So off I'd go to the La Coste Cafe to eat pecan pie, & my senior year I set all time records for yearbook advertising sales. I had regular Calulator Races w/my boss at HEB: he would fly across that 10-key like Jethro Bodine pickin' cotton, while I added the same columns of numbers in my head. Undefeated, that was me. Also undefeated Wonderland Mall Trivial Pursuit champion 2 years running, thank you! Those days are long gone. Still, I will give it the old never-been-to-college try, & trust the Father to provide as he always has done.
Couple that anxiety with the unhappy fact that my new digs put me squarely amidst some folks whose ethics I have oft challenged, & I start looking for fuzzy manes & sparkly fangs. I hear my Pop's old drinking buddy Hank Williams drawling "Jonah got along in the belly of a whale, Daniel in the lions' den". Maybe I should be more like Alf, chanting "Here, kitty, kitty, kitty..." while smacking my lips. I suspect that reality will lie somewhere in between. There are some wonderful follks over there by the windows: hopefully they will welcome a battle-scarred ol' abbot. Pray me luck. Anybody priced Lion Chow recently?
Monday, February 06, 2006
The Bus Towed My Volvo Home
Holy Hometown Hoo-raw! My Steelers did it – they finally got their 5th Super Bowl win! They got it with all the efficiency & reliability of my 1966 Volvo 122S with that bad clutch. I liked that car, even though I had to start it with a screwdriver. The Steelers’ screwdriver was the officiating crew. I expected them to simultaneously sprout goatees like Evil Spock used to do, so you knew which was which. These guys were as bad as the crew at the Colts game, it’s just that the bad calls went the Steelers’ way this time.
It seemed that each time that sleek Seahawk offense got started, their clutch slipped too: Hasselbeck had recurrent “Doo-dee-doo-dee-doo” moments late in each half, whiling away precious seconds with audibles. His dithering could have been a great ploy, as it made it impossible for the defense to set up their reads. Unfortunately, it also made it impossible for his offense to execute.
My Volvo had leather seats, but they were ripped & ragged. The Seahawks have Shaun Alexander, the MVP, but he looked worn & his seams were coming apart. The Bus was a non-factor, & his body is as faded & dented as my poor Volvo’s fenders. He did the right thing by retiring – too bad he didn’t get a touchdown yesterday.
It was cool to see so many SB firsts: Randal El’s TD pass, Willie Parker’s record run, etc. However, I had the feeling that the Steelers weren’t so much winning the game as not losing it. The expected standouts were standing out there not doing much at all. Joey Porter was a non-factor, & we were treated to an episode of ‘Where In The World Is Carmen Polamalu?’ Those 2 early false start penalties have become a staple of the Iron City offense. Neither team played up to potential; at least it wasn’t a One-Quarter Wonder.
Don’t even get me started on Mick Jagger…
It seemed that each time that sleek Seahawk offense got started, their clutch slipped too: Hasselbeck had recurrent “Doo-dee-doo-dee-doo” moments late in each half, whiling away precious seconds with audibles. His dithering could have been a great ploy, as it made it impossible for the defense to set up their reads. Unfortunately, it also made it impossible for his offense to execute.
My Volvo had leather seats, but they were ripped & ragged. The Seahawks have Shaun Alexander, the MVP, but he looked worn & his seams were coming apart. The Bus was a non-factor, & his body is as faded & dented as my poor Volvo’s fenders. He did the right thing by retiring – too bad he didn’t get a touchdown yesterday.
It was cool to see so many SB firsts: Randal El’s TD pass, Willie Parker’s record run, etc. However, I had the feeling that the Steelers weren’t so much winning the game as not losing it. The expected standouts were standing out there not doing much at all. Joey Porter was a non-factor, & we were treated to an episode of ‘Where In The World Is Carmen Polamalu?’ Those 2 early false start penalties have become a staple of the Iron City offense. Neither team played up to potential; at least it wasn’t a One-Quarter Wonder.
Don’t even get me started on Mick Jagger…
Friday, February 03, 2006
An Open Letter To My Father
Dear Sir,
Remember me? I am your second son. Yes, it has been a long time, all my life, actually. I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to write, but who among us doesn’t have a Santa sack full of regrets, right? What I most regret is the forcible lack of choice in regards to you. I have been denied the option of making my own decision to like, dislike, love, despise, or dismiss you. I cannot say definitively that “My Dad is a jerk.” “My Dad is cool.” “My Dad’s a good fisherman, but he can’t hammer a nail in straight no matter what. It’s hilarious!” Or even, “My Dad passed away last year.” All these, & so many other statements are just empty prose, just shots in the dark. The dark of a hidden past, & an unused future.
Strangely enough, while growing up I do not recall anyone ever bragging about their father. I find this quite odd now, but in our era & area, we were not permitted the luxury of affection. When leaving Mum’s house to run a short errand, I kissed my wife goodbye as I always do. After I left, Mum called my wife into the dining room to admonish her - “We do not appreciate public displays of affection.” A peck on the cheek was too demonstrative, too risqué, too…loving. What would your thoughts have been, I wonder.
You surely recall the environment in our enclave of admonition: violence, drinking & drama, constant anger with occasional sprinkles of rage. Would it have surprised you to see our grandfather chasing us with a board w/a rusted nail in the end? Would you have been horrified when he stuck a red hot poker thru Grandma’s hand? Or when she poured hot oil over my head? Twice? I wonder, would you have defended or commended?
Did you know that Grandma blamed me for your disappearance? “He took one look at you,” she’d snarl, “& said, ‘I don’t want to raise no god-damned crippled kid’” So for 50 years it’s been on my head & my heart. Several years ago, Mum told my darling wife that you showed up drunk w/another woman, & she threw you out. What we have here is a failure to authenticate. Mum refuses to discuss you with me, or with my brother. Any rebuttal, or confirmation?
Your firstborn daughter passed away at 29. Your Marine brother sent us a card every Christmas, same line each time: “Dear Marge & the kids, still alive & kicking!” Did you get the same card? In those few words lay the entirety of our connection to our paternal heritage. We were told that you had a newer family with 5 or 6 children, our half-siblings. We assume you loved them instead of us.
Do you know that my brother & I have been looking for you for years? Searching databases, public records, placing ads, praying for some tenuous lead, all negative: as far as all our digging goes, you never existed. Why have we been so singularly unsuccessful? Two years ago, as I prayed anew for success in my quest, God told me, “But I am your Father.” At that point, my focus shifted to more of a passive pursuit. However, being human, the pain is still there. Being fatherless created a huge void in our lives, & empty space may well be the heaviest burden in the universe.
I do not fault you for your choices: I just want some of my own.
Remember me? I am your second son. Yes, it has been a long time, all my life, actually. I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to write, but who among us doesn’t have a Santa sack full of regrets, right? What I most regret is the forcible lack of choice in regards to you. I have been denied the option of making my own decision to like, dislike, love, despise, or dismiss you. I cannot say definitively that “My Dad is a jerk.” “My Dad is cool.” “My Dad’s a good fisherman, but he can’t hammer a nail in straight no matter what. It’s hilarious!” Or even, “My Dad passed away last year.” All these, & so many other statements are just empty prose, just shots in the dark. The dark of a hidden past, & an unused future.
Strangely enough, while growing up I do not recall anyone ever bragging about their father. I find this quite odd now, but in our era & area, we were not permitted the luxury of affection. When leaving Mum’s house to run a short errand, I kissed my wife goodbye as I always do. After I left, Mum called my wife into the dining room to admonish her - “We do not appreciate public displays of affection.” A peck on the cheek was too demonstrative, too risqué, too…loving. What would your thoughts have been, I wonder.
You surely recall the environment in our enclave of admonition: violence, drinking & drama, constant anger with occasional sprinkles of rage. Would it have surprised you to see our grandfather chasing us with a board w/a rusted nail in the end? Would you have been horrified when he stuck a red hot poker thru Grandma’s hand? Or when she poured hot oil over my head? Twice? I wonder, would you have defended or commended?
Did you know that Grandma blamed me for your disappearance? “He took one look at you,” she’d snarl, “& said, ‘I don’t want to raise no god-damned crippled kid’” So for 50 years it’s been on my head & my heart. Several years ago, Mum told my darling wife that you showed up drunk w/another woman, & she threw you out. What we have here is a failure to authenticate. Mum refuses to discuss you with me, or with my brother. Any rebuttal, or confirmation?
Your firstborn daughter passed away at 29. Your Marine brother sent us a card every Christmas, same line each time: “Dear Marge & the kids, still alive & kicking!” Did you get the same card? In those few words lay the entirety of our connection to our paternal heritage. We were told that you had a newer family with 5 or 6 children, our half-siblings. We assume you loved them instead of us.
Do you know that my brother & I have been looking for you for years? Searching databases, public records, placing ads, praying for some tenuous lead, all negative: as far as all our digging goes, you never existed. Why have we been so singularly unsuccessful? Two years ago, as I prayed anew for success in my quest, God told me, “But I am your Father.” At that point, my focus shifted to more of a passive pursuit. However, being human, the pain is still there. Being fatherless created a huge void in our lives, & empty space may well be the heaviest burden in the universe.
I do not fault you for your choices: I just want some of my own.
The Process of Family
It may seem otherwise to those who are blessed enough to know all their relations – warts & all – but to me, family is an ever-changing, dynamic thing, more of a process than an entity. My perception of family is a lake into which souls flow, stay varying lengths of time, then flow out again. Some float atop the waves, riding the tempests & foundering in the calms, others dive deep, & most flow out the other end. Some evaporate, a few sink into the depths. And all the while, we are floating in others’ lakes, an unending overlapping sea of transitory human experience.
At the headwaters of my particular stream, (back home, we called ‘em “cricks”), I had 2 siblings, a Mother, an aunt, 2 Grandparents. & asst. drunks. I have searched for years to find my Father, & my 5-6 half-siblings, to no avail. As no trace of this purported parent has ever surfaced, and knowing that my Mum was definitely not a candidate for ’Immaculate Conception II, the Sequel’, I have to accept that I have been misled. Funny that, as Grandma was overly fond of reminding us that the County Orphan’s Home was just down the road & that yes, the “Vacancy” sign was indeed lit! Woo-hoo! One would think that she would be itching to find our lost Pater Familias to rid herself of us. Our sister crossed the pond to Egypt, where she sank. Add her 3 kids & widower to the list of the evaporated ones.
So, how do you build a family when the fish refuse to swim together? You try to become a transitional generation. My son knows the meaning of both love & affection. Other swimmers have joined our little armada, & are closer to us than are our bio-relatives. Here is another incarnation of the Process of Family. The woman I refer to as Mother I met just 10 yrs. ago. Her son – my twin-brother-of-a-different-mother swims deeper in my heart than my sibling bro. It turns out that this Familial Process is the goal, after all. Gather in friends, acquaintances, blood relatives if you must; swim together, & watch carefully for the sharks of dysfunction.
At the headwaters of my particular stream, (back home, we called ‘em “cricks”), I had 2 siblings, a Mother, an aunt, 2 Grandparents. & asst. drunks. I have searched for years to find my Father, & my 5-6 half-siblings, to no avail. As no trace of this purported parent has ever surfaced, and knowing that my Mum was definitely not a candidate for ’Immaculate Conception II, the Sequel’, I have to accept that I have been misled. Funny that, as Grandma was overly fond of reminding us that the County Orphan’s Home was just down the road & that yes, the “Vacancy” sign was indeed lit! Woo-hoo! One would think that she would be itching to find our lost Pater Familias to rid herself of us. Our sister crossed the pond to Egypt, where she sank. Add her 3 kids & widower to the list of the evaporated ones.
So, how do you build a family when the fish refuse to swim together? You try to become a transitional generation. My son knows the meaning of both love & affection. Other swimmers have joined our little armada, & are closer to us than are our bio-relatives. Here is another incarnation of the Process of Family. The woman I refer to as Mother I met just 10 yrs. ago. Her son – my twin-brother-of-a-different-mother swims deeper in my heart than my sibling bro. It turns out that this Familial Process is the goal, after all. Gather in friends, acquaintances, blood relatives if you must; swim together, & watch carefully for the sharks of dysfunction.
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