The Price We Pay for Living Well

30 04 2014

As I sit here listening to the melting snow tap tap on the various air conditioners, I wait for my 2nd telephone interview with a prominent law firm.  As far I as know, I’ve done adequate due diligence and am prepared.  I cleaned a temporary office space for myself in my bedroom.  I’m also sitting at the same desk I most likely studied physics and The Tale of Two Cities on when I went to high school.

I ask myself.  Do I really want to go back to work full-time?  Do I really want to go live through a predictable 9 to 5 schedule?  It wasn’t all that bad really.  When I was working, before being laid off, I loved the walk to the subway each morning.  It would start by my seeing kids walk towards their school, the same one I went to as a kid.  Over the years, I watched them grow up; from fashionable kindergarten girls to little women on the cusp of hormone hell.  The little boys became little men.  Even though they still wore blue jeans and a t-shirt, as they got older they developed a bit of that street smart cool dude strut.

Once I finally made it into the subway, I’d do my good morning bonding with the familiar subway conductors and motor men.  I knew most of them by their first name.

During my commute over the years, I even made two long time girl friends on the R train.

And yet as much as the morning commute was a gift, do I really want to have to answer to a Higher Presence as part of the corporate office environment?  Knell when the higher ups walk by; humble myself with correct political decorum.  Or am I imagining all this?  I can’t help but think of all the past places I’ve worked.  Fellow employees back stabbing each other by using gossip as there weapons; being reported to human resources for saying non politically correct comments; feeling like I’ll get my head chopped off if I don’t comply with corporate etiquette.

And all this within the enclave of glass and metal structures providing wall to wall carpeting and eternal florescent lighting; like a modern day cell.

True, the benefits are helpful.  But are they worth the price we pay for them?

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Then and now

25 04 2014

The words, “because the sky is blue, it makes me saaaaaaaad….”  float over a lilting melody song by The Beatles.  These days they permeate the aisles of Duane Reade

While standing in front of the magazine section, thoughts of slow dancing with one of the handsomest boys at a high school dance occupied my mind.

How strange it is to listen to tunes of the past while getting our nails done or waiting on line at Trader Joe’s. Back then our hormones were running amok while we dreamed of our futures.  Today, we’re occupied with making ends meet and what to cook for dinner.

Who’d have thought music that accompanied our youth as we drove out to Rockaway or hung out at the Pizza Prince, would someday be heard during the hum drum of our 9-5 activities.  It almost seems sacrilegious to hear Pink Floyd’s  “Breath” while waiting to pick up a prescription for Zoloft in Rite Aid.  Back in the day, we sat and pondered the words

Breathe, breathe in the air.
Don’t be afraid to care.
Leave but don’t leave me.
Look around and choose your own ground.

Long you live and high you fly
And smiles you’ll give and tears you’ll cry
And all you touch and all you see
Is all your life will ever be.

Run, rabbit run.
Dig that hole, forget the sun,
And when at last the work is done
Don’t sit down it’s time to dig another one.

For long you live and high you fly
But only if you ride the tide
And balanced on the biggest wave
You race towards an early grave.

At least our thoughts can drift back to those youthful moments even though I’ve been waiting on line for how long?

Today, we’re on the other side of the looking glass.





Woody Broke the Bible

23 07 2012
aka: The Big Lug

My Soul Mate

One morning, Woody, our cat of 15 years one day crawled into a bottom bookshelf. I was made aware of this by the faint rumble of noise coming from the living room. I didn’t pay much mind to it. We were used to hearing our cats making playful noises.  It just didn’t seem like a big deal.  It wasn’t until I went to refill a cup of coffee that I noticed my big Woodinsky, our 21 lb pound of a blonde calico cat had managed to squeeze himself into the lowest level of a corner bookshelf in of our living room. Strange, Woody hadn’t done something like this is quite some time.  He was always squeezing himself into tight places, kind of like a size 16 woman trying to squeeze herself into a size 10 bathing suit.  We didn’t know it at the time, but this gesture was our cat’s attempt to disappear and die alone. Days later we took him to the neighborhoods cat doctor, who lovingly suggested we put Woody to sleep.  A bittersweet task that was more bitter then sweet but necessary He was in pain.

We learned he had a cancerous growth that made it difficult for him to move, lay still, eat, or drink.  In short; live.  So off we drove to the vet and said our final good-byes to one of the two cats we brought home 16 years ago. 

Woody was a dog in a cat’s body.  

I knew what to expect when we walked into the vet’s waiting room with Woody. I had witnessed other silent visitors who would bring their furry pawed loved one to give a final good bye then leave with an empty carrying case.

Weeks later, as I was doing some house cleaning, I was tending to a bunch of books that had toppled onto each other. I had forgotten how they got there in the first place.  It wasn’t until I found part of my Bible that I realized the mess was the work of Woody during his final moments.

I stopped my cleaning task. I wanted to leave my disorganized book shelf the way it was. I didn’t want to move evidence of Woody’s last movements.  There was nothing sacrilegious about tidying things up a bit.  I guess I just wanted to keep a part of Woody alive and by my leaving the books alone it was my attempt to keep him alive in my heart.  That was six months ago.  I haven’t found the other part of my Bible.





Great PR

23 07 2012

The Blood of Christ has been shed for me.  Please.  Don’t do me any favors.  Keep your blood.  Get mankind to take you off the cross.  Live the life you want to live.  Then you can be my inspiration instead of my critic.

I’m a Christian rebel.  I believe in you God but I don’t believe you sacrificed your son for us.  What father in his right mind would? 

You’re my best friend; not a judgmental father to be feared, who will send me directly to hell without passing Go and collecting $200 if I don’t believe in you the way society tells me I should.

What a bunch of crap.

But I must admit this stance is a clever marketing strategy implemented by churches and governments.  It certainly facilitates keeping people in line as well as encouraging us to volunteer to be victims.  It’s just a shame the Crusades had to kill, rape pillage and plunder to make their point.

Other Perspectives





Home

19 05 2012

Are there such things as secrets?  The secrets of success, of make money;  beauty secrets of the rich and famous. 

Are they really secrets after all?  Maybe a secret isn’t really a secret.  Maybe their right in front of us and it’s up to us to see them, hear them.

A Journey through the unknown

Follow a path and take notice besides you