On Starting a 2nd-Half Career

With retirement approaching (I'll be 65 in April), I know I need a second-half career, and I know I don't want to continue in the work-a-day world I have been in for the last 45 years.  I have always been in secretarial/admin/office work, since my first job right out of high school in 1972.  But, it's never been more than just a job, and I have always longed to work for myself.  I love to type; yes, I love to type.  I have excellent grammar and communication skills, and this seems to be the perfect fit for me.

Actually, I have been following Janet Shaughnessy's blog, Transcribe Anywhere, for two years now, waiting for the chance to jump in--waiting for the courage to jump in.  I believe time has forced me to take this leap, so now, yes, I am excited but also a little trepidatious.  I know I cannot go on working the way I have in the corporate world, yet I cannot afford to retire on social security alone.  My goal is to take her course and to hone my skills and expertise before I actually depart my day job, and to hopefully have a  client or two by then, even if they pay meager wages to being with.  I will consider this my apprenticeship.  Internship and exposure are invaluable.

So, as soon as I get my taxes back this year, I will be finally purchasing Janet's course and delving in.  That gives me a year to establish myself as a professional transcriptionist and ultimately make that transition from office worker to self-employed home worker.  

Wish me luck and success!  66 will be the first day of my new career. 

Mud and Wild Onions

We drove all over East Tennessee today, it seemed. Through the pouring rain, low fog, and construction zones, I could still see spring blooming everywhere: daffodils in nearly every yard, yellow forsythia bursting on its branches, Bradford pear trees with thick white coats, redbud trees in purple bloom, and two-tone StuffMart potted pansies neatly encircling every little tree in every fast food restaurant and convenience store parking lot. Why, then, is my yard filled with nothing more than mud and wild onions?

It makes me yearn to garden, then I remember, I do not have a green thumb. I recall the Chinese evergreen my girlfriend bought me for Christmas. "Even you can't kill that," she said. Wanna bet? I forgot to water it -- at all; dead by February. Again, another case of sheer neglect. I'm so ashamed. I'd love to have roses, but I dare not.

Still, my yard looks awful--pools of muddy sludge and sprouts of wild onions growing taller with every raindrop, sparsely dotting the landscape (or lack thereof) in front of my house. I'll make a good effort as soon as the ground hardens a little bit; mow down the onions and spread some sod. I think I'll buy one of those roll-out flower beds and lay it down in front of my house to see if it blooms. Just my luck, the rain will stop and I'll be forced to remember to water it.

Trucker News

MyHusbandTheTruckDriver was headed home from Chicago Friday on I-74, on what should have been a fairly easy trip, getting him home by noon on Saturday. Just his luck, thousands of other people decided to converge at the Shelbyville, Indiana, exit just as he was approaching the area. So what tied him up for 3 hours or more and caused him to travel 5 miles in the same time frame he should have been able to travel over 150 miles? The long-awaited grand opening of the $200 million casino at the Indiana Downs racetrack. Somehow, he didn't feel it was worth the wait.

A Quarter Past Christmas . . .

It's the middle of March already and my Christmas decorations are still up. Do you think that's sad? Or just a case of gross neglect? Actually, my Christmas boxes were in the storage room, and with everyone's busy schedule and having been a one-car family for the past 3 months, no one has taken the time to retrieve the boxes and bins. Now huddled on my living room floor, they beg to be filled. And my family begs me to put away the Christmas stuff, already; it's almost St. Patrick's Day!

Car Notes:

Aaron's car has finally started! I believe it to have been the power of prayer that made the engine hum when he turned the key yesterday. The new engine was installed two weeks ago, and no matter what my husband and my son did, they could not get it running, even when every system check they tried said it's a go. He is thrilled, and so am I. Now maybe I won't be so stranded, as I have been feeling lately, especially now that spring is teasing us with her buds and blooms.

I saw the most magnificent display yesterday. Bradford pear trees all in a row, their bulbous contours ablaze with their white blossoms thick as snow. For a brief moment they'll wear their dressing gowns, then don their comely raiment as a debutante presented in the spring.

I must put the Christmas stuff away!

. . . Then Comes Spring

I am urging spring along. It doesn’t really need my help, for already it is prying at winter’s shell to see if it might poke through. Only last Friday the warmth of day and cool of morning breeze lifted my spirits in anticipation of what is to come. Spring is hope, as God intended. I’ll not mourn winter’s death as I go about seeking buds and blooms.

And here I have found them in my own backyard, expected yet surprising. Reddish-purple buds beginning to split at their seams, like half-popped kernels of corn. Soon the tree will burst forth with flower, then leaf. First the Bradford Pears, then the Dogwoods, will come alive in a brilliant display of white and pink blooms. Every other bud and blossom and leaf and flower will follow.

The neutral landscape weathered and brown, like an old photograph, seeks to shed its weighty blanket for light, and life, and breath, fresh and new like spring.

So it is as the wild onions erupt from the hardened ground, green and wispy and pungent.

No, spring can't hide for long. Her secrets have already been gossiped across the land, and blossom by blossom, blade by stalk by leaf, she will appear in all her glorious splendor.

"The year's at the spring
And day's at the morn;
Morning's at seven;
The hillside's dew-pearled;
The lark's on the wing;
The snail's on the thorn;
God's in His heaven -
All's right with the world!"

Robert Browning

All On a Morning's Drive

For the past several months, we have been a one car family. Aaron has been using the van since he fried his engine due to an oil leak of which he was unaware until it was too late.

So, with his going to school all day (Roane State Community College) and working all night, I have been giving the van over to him until he is able to repair his car.

As a result, I have been all but stranded in the house, and with the cold weather and snow, such as it was, it was starting to become quite confining. Finally, though, I had a rare morning of freedom as Aaron doesn’t have school on Friday’s, so I thought I would take the van and run some errands, as well as stop and see my grandson. It was a beautiful day with warming temperatures and melting snow, and I was looking forward to the drive. Imagine my dismay when I found the van on empty, actually less than empty, when the little needle hovers between stationary and the 0 mark.

Given that the nearest gas station is 16 miles from my house, through winding, hilly roads with nothing on either side but farms and fields, I was praying all the way. I was sure if God could keep a jug of oil from running dry, he could keep my gas tank from running dry (1 Kings 17:8-16 NIV). I did make it all the way there, and relieved to have a full tank of gas, embarked on the second leg of my freedom flight. Then, midway to my son’s house, without a care in the world, I noticed the tell-tale tic, tic, ticking of an engine without oil. Oh my, we certainly didn’t need a second car with a blown head gasket!

Son No. 1 had a spare quart of oil and fixed me up, but it was bone dry. Perhaps if I bought another quart, son No. 2 could at least put it in. All in all , it was a wonderful restorative day, despite my hungry car parts. My grandson is growing by leaps and bounds, already 9 months old, and the fresh air and cool breeze gave me the hint of spring I needed to keep going. I’ll be hunting for buds now; spring tends to come early in East Tennessee.

Returning home, I filled Aaron in on the events of the day, unremarkable in his estimation. He always makes it to the gas station on empty, and he doesn’t think the ticking of the oil pipes, so to speak, mean anything at all. “Just because 19-year-olds are indestructible,” I remarked, “doesn’t mean cars are (your car, case in point).”

Well, new engine now in hand, hopefully Aaron will have his car fixed by next Saturday when dear husband returns home from the road for this 3-day off-time. My van, and my time, will be my own again; and while I’ll likely mostly just hang around the house, as I’m a real homebody, it’s nice to know I can get up and go when the walls start closing in.

My Town Monday - A Little Snow

Given that Punxsutawney Phil saw his shadow today, prophesying 6 more weeks of winter (or winter weather), I suppose it’s appropriate that Kingston would experience it’s heaviest snowfall of the season (I had a whole 2”). The average high temperature in Kingston for February 2nd is 48 degrees; our high today was 45 degrees at 7 a.m. and it steadily dropped throughout the day to the current temperature as I write this of about 34 degrees. A few more snowshowers through early-Wednesday, and we’ll be back up in the 40’s and 50’s by the end of the week, even hitting 60 on Friday.

Winter weather is very subjective, I suppose. Here in beautiful East Tennessee (except in the Smokies), snow is becoming more and more rare. So while today was a wonderful treat to us locals who considered it a winter storm, I’m sure in comparison it is laughable to my northern neighbors in Kentucky, such as my cousin Cathy and blogging friend Chuck, where ice and snow abound and power was out for days at a time, if not longer. Nevertheless, I had my own little bought with winter weather and power outage today, at least for a few hours.

See the slanted tree in this photo?

This is the end of my drive, and the tree just happened to fall and get caught on the power lines. The power flickered several times, possibly due to the tree bouncing on the lines, then went out. Hence, no computer and no timely My Town Monday post, yet fodder for my blog. The power went on and off several times throughout the afternoon until it was finally fully restored by around 4 p.m. Why the enormous bucket trucks had to drive all the way up my drive and make a 180” turn in my front yard—twice—I still don’t know.

The snow is already melting even though the temperature is again dropping, but the light flurries expected in the morning will hopefully cover the tracks made by the bucket truck so that I can enjoy the lovely white vista for a little while longer. I might even go outside and look for the birds I heard chirping so joyfully outside my office window this morning.

This is enough winter for me. I’m afraid I couldn’t be nearly as gracious about it as some others whose stories I’ve read recently. I was born and raised in Cincinnati, and lived for over 25 years in South Florida, both extremes weather-wise. East Tennesee is a great median with moderate weather nearly most of the year. And I do appreciate the occasional snow day, as long as it doesn’t last too long, especially when I know spring is right around the corner. Even if it is another 6 weeks, with temperatures in the 50’s and 60’s, I can definitely tolerate that!

Wordless Wednesday - O Holy Night

Wordless Wednesday - A Minor Weather Casualty in Our Front Yard

Black Friday

Today is Friday, November 28, 2008 - Many call it "Black Friday," the day after Thanksgiving. This causes one to wonder about the origination of the term "Black Friday," and why this particular day of all other days would be referred to as "Black Friday." (Of course, many don't care, but I was curious, so I did just the teensiest bit of research, and here's what I found:)

The earliest reference to "Black Friday" seems to have been precipitated by a failed attempt in 1869 to corner the gold market by gold speculators Jay Gould and James Fist, among others including President Grant's brother-in-law, Abel Rathbone Corbin. When government gold was released for sale to break up this conspiracy to drive the gold market by a few individuals, the premium plummeted within minutes and immediately ruined thousands of investors, including Corbin. (Isn't it interesting that Gould and Fist still managed to profit sizeably -- the rich get richer.) The date was Friday, September 24th, 1869. Since then, several other days of financial panic or any financial confusion or upheaval have been referred to as "black;" i.e., black Friday, black Monday, black Tuesday, etc.

Black Tuesday was October 29, 1929, when the stock market fell precipitously, causing the start of the Great Depression. Monday, October 19, 1987, when the stock market experienced the largest one-day drop (22%) in market history, has been referred to as "Black Monday."

A more interesting but debatable story involves a retail salesman by the name of Laurence H. Black who worked in the men's department of a large department store called Osberger’s Department Store. For over 30 years, he served the public proudly and with class, always wearing a black suit and a red carnation. He became well-known and well-respected over the years, and was often called upon to train new sellers in other store locations. Always the first to arrive and the last to leave, Mr. Black became a veritable fixture at Osberger's. But on November 27, 1964, the day after Thanksgiving, Mr. Black dropped dead of a heart attack. Mr. Osberger closed the store the next day (one day only).

The story goes that the following year, the day after Thanksgiving, all the employees at all Osberger's stores wore black suits or dresses with a single red carnation in honor of Mr. Black. Many other retailers supposedly followed suit, and so the day after Thanksgiving became known as "Black Friday." (By the way, it seems about fifteen mergers and acquisitions later, Osberger's becomes Macy's -- you've heard of them!)

Of course, there are now many more contemporary references to "Black Friday." I have heard that it is the busiest day of all for plumbers nationwide who receive the most service calls out of the entire year. The term "Black Friday" is also said to have originated in Philadelphia in reference to the heavy traffic on that day (traffic is always heavy in Philadelphia!)

But most Americans today now understand "Black Friday" to be the Friday after Thanksgiving, today! The official start of the Christmas shopping season. The busiest retail shopping day of the year. The day when retailers hope to see an drastic upswing in their financial picture, putting them "in the black" to close-out the year. (Before the days of Peachtree and QuickBooks, accountants used red and black ink on paper to keep their books--being "in the black" meant showing a profit.) The day when retailers do all sorts of magic tricks to manipulate consumers into their stores: price slashes, door-buster sales, midnight madness, free gift cards, coupons for percentages off, two-for-ones, media coverage, ads, ads, and more ads, and lots of pretty pictures for precocious and wide-eyed boys and girls to look at and dream about and pester parents about until they buy, Buy, BUY. Why else would someone line up in front of Circuit City at 4:00 p.m. on Thursday for a sale that starts at 4:00 a.m. on Friday? Why would someone have a sale at 4:00 a.m. on Friday, or go to a sale at 4:00 a.m. on Friday?

In essence, "Black Friday" is a day for retailers to make money and the general population to go bankrupt (fiscally and intellectually). I like the part about "being the black," though; so for me, I think I'll stay home today and keep my own books in the black.

Happy black Friday, one and all.

Have a blessed day!

Wordless Wednesday - Still Life

When the Frost is On the Punkin

Okay, no eloquent prose here. I love autumn. I think it's my favorite time of year. Some would see it as an ending and, indeed, it is. The winding down of long, leisurely summer days, vacations, heatwaves, activity; the preemptor to the coming winter when life lay frozen in its midst.

To me, it is comforting, like warm blankets on a cold night or a tender hug. I can almost feel it wrap its strong arms around me and hold me close. A dear friend coming again to visit for a season, reminding me of friends and family and special moments. Stirring in me a childlike glee as we marvel at the majesty unfolding before us. We walk in the crisp autumn air, kicking at piles of damp leaves ever growing at our feet, gazing wordlessly as the green of summer fades to the vibrancy of autumn hues: gold and red and orange, all shades in between. We dance as God would have us to do as we delight in His handiwork.

I woke this morning to greet my dear old friend, Keats' "season of mists and yellow fruitfulness," as our first frost lay lightly on the grass outside my window. The crisp air filled my nostrils, the leaves were at their glorious peak; my heart and spirit stirred. Autumn brings nature's last hurrah before the winter settles in. It calls us to gather as the squirrels their nuts, the farmers their harvest; we gather close family and friends, and memories, and we anticipate getting together again and all the things we love to do in the fall: sitting around a campfire roasting marshmallows and telling funny stories, lighting cozy, warm fireplaces and snuggling together, walking in the woods, kicking at the leaves, opening our homes to kin and guests, family all the same, giving thanks, and some would say football.

Fall is the most special season for entertaining human folk and, as James Whitcomb Riley surmised, angels.

"When the Frost is on the Punkin"

When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock,
And you hear the kyouck and gobble of the struttin' turkey-cock,
And the clackin' of the guineys, and the cluckin' of the hens,
And the rooster's hallylooyer as he tiptoes on the fence;
O, it's then the time a feller is a-feelin' at his best,
With the risin' sun to greet him from a night of peaceful rest,
As he leaves the house, bareheaded, and goes out to feed the stock,
When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock.

They's something kindo' harty-like about the atmusfere
When the heat of summer's over and the coolin' fall is here—
Of course we miss the flowers, and the blossoms on the trees,
And the mumble of the hummin'-birds and buzzin' of the bees;
But the air's so appetizin'; and the landscape through the haze
Of a crisp and sunny morning of the airly autumn days
Is a pictur' that no painter has the colorin' to mock—
When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock.

The husky, rusty russel of the tossels of the corn,
And the raspin' of the tangled leaves as golden as the morn;
The stubble in the furries—kindo' lonesome-like, but still
A-preachin' sermuns to us of the barns they growed to fill;
The strawstack in the medder, and the reaper in the shed;
The hosses in theyr stalls below—the clover overhead!—
O, it sets my hart a-clickin' like the tickin' of a clock,
When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock.

Then your apples all is gethered, and the ones a feller keeps
Is poured around the cellar-floor in red and yaller heaps;
And your cider-makin's over, and your wimmern-folks is through
With theyr mince and apple-butter, and theyr souse and sausage too!... I don't know how to tell it—but ef such a thing could be
As the angels wantin' boardin', and they'd call around on me—
I'd want to 'commodate 'em—all the whole-indurin' flock—
When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock.

James Whitcomb Riley. 1853–1916
(Louis Untermeyer, ed.
(1885–1977). Modern American Poetry. 1919. )

Have a blessed day!

Wordless Wednesday - Evening Autumn Sky in East Tennessee

Your Kingdom for a Gallon of Gas

Most of you who know me know that I am only in my early-50's. I've worked hard to get here, and I am glad to be the age that I am. It comes with certain scars, but also with some degree of wisdom, experience, and grace borne simply from having maneuvered the seasons of my life thus far.

That being said, I am not anxious to rapidly advance in age; time moves all too quickly as it is. I'll patiently work with it and wait it out, even though there are still some perks ahead it seems. Well, I've already joined AARP, as its qualifying age was lowered to 50 many years ago, and one need not even be retired to join. Some restaurants offer senior discounts, most of which start at age 55 or 60, so this looms in my not-so-far-off future.

Many grocery stores, too, offer senior discounts. Kroger, for instance, offers seniors age 60 or older a 5% discount off their grocery bills every Wednesday. No ID required; no verification requested. None of the red tape in which I would assume one becomes entangled when applying for, say, Medicare. A happy event to be afforded an additional 5% off your grocery bill . . . unless you are without question or the raising of an eyebrow mistaken for 60.

Needless to say, I was a bit taken aback when I saw the senior discount ring up on my register receipt this morning. I am so far from 60! I didn't know whether to be insulted or grateful for the additional $4.14 discount. Obviously, the young man behind the register must have granted the discount to my husband who accompanied me on the shopping trip, and not to myself, for I have been told I don't look a day over 45.

Yes, I estimated, the discount was for my poor dh (who is 2 years my junior); he is surely the one who looks 60. I, therefore, accepted it without comment and with the poise of a barely early-50's woman. And although dh didn't mind the affront too much, he likened the aging of humanity to save a dollar to the trading one's kingdom for a gallon of gas!

Have a blessed day!

Spring Butterfly on My Porch