Wonderful Stew

I'm a fussy eater. I don't like little unidentifiable soft and mushy red things in my food. I don't like crunchy little green things. If it's yellow it had better be corn.  Please, no peas. Heck, even pepperoni pizza is a stretch for me.

When I was a boy, my Mom always made something I called "Wonderful Stew." The name stuck, and our whole family started calling it that. She dumped some sort of precooked ground meat-like byproduct into a bowl, along with a can of vegetable soup and lots and lots of peas. She'd mix it all up, scoop the chunky mixture into a large baking pan and cover it at the top with faux store-brand Bisquick. It would cook and bubble while an amazing associated odor would waft throughout the house and drift out the open windows. Feral cats would howl as if they were mating. Neighborhood dogs would bark uncontrollably. Large buzzards would fly low over our house. Mysterious stains would appear on concrete. Neighbors would actually emerge from their homes, rub their eyes and attempt to determine what was going on. It became a sort of street-wide social event. 

She made this at least once a month. I don't think most of the neighbors would have even met without the indirect assistance of my Mom. I'm sure she was the cause of many lifelong friendships.

My Mom had to feed four boys and a husband on a very limited budget. She relied heavily on a pork product called Taylor Ham. It came wrapped in a sort of brown fabric that she'd peel back to expose the, uh, meat. She'd slice it up, put it in a pan, and after a short time sizzling on the stove she'd serve it up to all of us. A lot of times she'd make Taylor Ham sandwiches on generic white bread spread with something that might have been margarine.

They were simply delicious.

Oh, and if there was nothing else in the house, we usually had sliced cheese available. A glass of water fresh from the tap and a slice of cheese. There's not much more one needs to sustain life.

Most of my friends had real honest-to-God milk in their refrigerators. We had a yellow Tupperware jug of a putrid watery mixture made of powdered milk. If you ever accidentally swallow something poisonous and are in need of quickly vomiting, I suggest you get some powdered milk and mix it up in warm water. Don't overdo it! You don't want the cure to be worse than the disease. Just drink a small glass of it. That will get the job done, and perhaps save your life. Although, I firmly believe that drinking this chalky mixture during my formative years reduced my overall lifespan to some extent.

And you could never mix it properly. No matter how carefully you poured the mixture into some water and no matter how efficiently you stirred, you always ended up with these lumpy white capsules floating around. If you pierced one of them, they were full of dry powder. And if you were unfortunate enough to actually swallow one or two of these floating lumps, you quickly understood why the human body has a gag reflex and why it's always good to have a change of clothes handy at all times.

And there's one other thing I learned growing up. Most foods benefit from lots and lots of ketchup.

Especially macaroni and cheese.

Just take my word for it.

Consider a lucrative career in copywriting!

I am amazed and more than a little ashamed to say this, but this blog contains the most actual pure writing I have created in many years. When I look back on everything I have written as a copywriter for two major North Texas companies, most of it is selling copy. I have written headlines, price points, very short and factual body copy, catalog numbers, prices and footlines. That's pretty much the extent of it.

Yes, there were some exceptions. There were rare opportunities to write creative editorials and other longer pieces. Sometimes they allowed us to branch out and get more wordy and fun with our advertising copy. I kept those for my portfolio. The rest, except for some pieces I've kept as examples of my work, is gone. It's all buried at the bottom of landfills throughout the country. I expect that 10,000 years from now, some of my work will be excavated and eventually displayed behind glass cases in a museum.

"Dad, what does the writing on that say?"

"Any size men's shorts 9.99."

"But what does it mean?"

"The greatest minds of our age can't figure it out, son."

For most of my career, the unrelenting mantra was "cut the copy" or "nobody reads the copy" or "reduce the copy and make that (price point, logo, headline) as big as possible." Invariably, the copy got cut. And it was OK. I learned early on not to fall in love with my copy. While very few people know much about layout or design or photography, everyone without exception considers themselves to be a writer, even if they couldn't tell the difference between a vowel and a verb. You develop a thick skin and learn not to worry about it. As a friend of mine once said, "We're not curing cancer here."

Most successful copywriters learn not to take themselves or their work too seriously. You find fun and satisfaction in your writing where and when you can. You find it in a tight creative headline or a single line of body copy that is clever, perfectly crafted and short enough not to be noticed by the copy cutters. I found the most fun I had while copywriting was when I had the rare opportunity to write something slightly absurd.

When I wrote the headline for this Radio Shack ad, I laughed and laughed. At the time, I thought I was so clever. Today, not so much.

When I was in college, I thought I was going to be a journalist. I never wanted to be one of those inane reporters who asked questions like "So, how do you feel now that your family has been hideously murdered?" I would have enjoyed writing human interest stories, though. I loved the idea of promoting people's personal stories and not tearing people down. I think that describes me and about a million other people, all pushing and shoving each other for those jobs so few and far between.

When I graduated college, the economy was similar to the way it is now. I sent out resume after resume and could not find a job as a journalist. So one day my mother-in-law-to-be suggested that I apply with Radio Shack's advertising department in Fort Worth. I worked at various Radio Shack stores while making my way through college. Much to my surprise they flew me from Ohio to Texas and offered me a job as a copywriter. I didn't even understand at the time what I was applying for. But I grabbed it and the $9,500 a year salary.

I never started out to be a copywriter. I stumbled into it, found I was good at it, and made it a career. And I can honestly blame it all on my mother-in-law.

I don't know that I will ever be a copywriter again. We'll have to see where life takes me. Maybe it's time to write a book instead, about working in the corporate world and all of the many characters I have met along the way.

I think I'll call it "The Office."

Requiem for Rosie

Rosie the rabbit died today.

She was a Dutch Dwarf rabbit at the Heard Nature Center here in McKinney. Always so calm. So gentle. A little sweetheart with the softest fur imaginable.

She was an old bunny. She had cancer. Although she didn't appear to be suffering, no one wanted her to get to that point. There was no hope of her getting better. The vet put her down early this morning.

My wife Jane was broken up by the news that Rosie was going to have to be put down. She has such a soft heart for animals, and she just loved Rosie. She made a special trip to the Heard yesterday and spent a couple of hours just holding her, saying goodbye. She put some fresh hay in Rosie's cage, and she said that when she put Rosie back in, Rosie perked up her ears and started to gobble up the hay right away.

This morning at the breakfast table, I was reading the paper and looked over to see Jane with her arm propped up and her hand over her eyes. I asked her what was wrong. She looked at me and said it was just after 9:00. That was when Rosie was scheduled to see the vet. I told Jane I was sorry.


When my daughter and I arrived at the Heard this morning to work, we had to pass Rosie's cage in the back room. It wasn't unusual to see it empty, as Rosie was often taken out to show kids during one of the Heard's many Saturday morning educational birthday parties. It was hard for us to look at the empty cage with Rosie's toys and dry food still in it and know she wasn't coming back.

My son and daughter loved Rosie, too. Stacy said that Rosie only nipped at her once, and that was when she put her nose too close to Rosie's face. "Ahh! Giant human face! Get it away from me!" It was just a little warning nip.

She peed on Stacy once, too. But when a bunny has to go, a bunny has to go.

This morning, Rosie the bunny had to go.

She will be missed.

I had to get up at 6:30 this morning.

There is only one benefit to being unemployed, and that is you can usually stay in bed as long as you want to. I'm not saying you can stay in bed until noon curled up in a fetal position sucking your thumb. Thankfully I haven't done that yet (stayed in bed until noon).

Nowadays, I usually get up between 8 and 8:30, which is ridiculously late for me. It's interesting how quickly you get used to being able to sleep in as much as you want to. But this morning I had to get up at an equally ridiculous time: 6:30. I don't see how people manage it. I don't see how I used to manage it.

It may be normal, but it's not natural.

I used to have to get up at 6:00 in the morning in order to get ready for my job. I now consider that a form of abuse rooted in the workplace. Something akin to slavery. If "life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness" has any meaning whatsoever in our modern-day society, then everyone, all races, all creeds, all genders, should be able to sleep as late as they want to without fear of bad reviews.

If someone needs to arrive at work at noon because their body told them that they needed a little more sleep, then it should be allowed. In fact, it should be encouraged. Or do our workplace masters have the unmitigated temerity to believe that they control our bodies?

I say "no." I say "keep your greedy, sleep-depriving corporate hands off of my body's sleeping patterns."

And to any future employer who may decide to hire me, I state now and unequivocally for the record:

"I'm your man! I'll come in early and work late every day. Weekends? No problem. Holidays? Happy to do it. Sleep? Who needs it?"

No more moves!

I stink at Bejeweled.

Now that I have a lot of time on my hands, I play it about once a day if I get burned out during my job search. I  have modified my Nook e-reader to also be a full-fledged Android tablet, and Amazon offered the Bejeweled app for free around the holidays.

Free is good when you are unemployed.

Somehow, no matter what I do, I rarely get past level five. Once I got all the way to lucky level 13, but I have come to the inescapable conclusion that I was temporarily possessed by the spirit of someone far more intelligent than me, who was bored with haunting the place that bored spirits haunt, and was tired of watching me fumble my way through the game. "Here! Let me show you! Get out of the way!"

It might have been Patrick Swayze. I had the urge to make pottery afterwards.

So far, I've never again come close to that level. Maybe the spirit who helped me earned his/her/it's wings that way, and is now playing in the great Bejeweled tournament in the sky, looking down on me occasionally and shaking their head sadly.

I have high hopes, though. Someday, when the stars are aligned properly, on that day not too far distant in the future when I find another job, on that day I will play Bejeweled and breeze past level 13, and on that day as level 14 begins to appear, the screen will freeze and I'll press buttons frantically and have to reset my Nook and I'll lose my highest score ever.

You have to be optimistic about these things.

A hard rain's a-bin a-fallin'

Finally, rain. And lots of it. Beginning yesterday evening and lasting through the night and into the morning, it just poured down. A long steady rain with bright flashes of lighting and long echoes of rolling thunder. We so desperately needed it. I hope it starts up again, but it looks as if the major part of the storm has moved to our east. Thankful for what we had, though.

This morning I drove my daughter over to Collin College for an early class she has. It was really dark when we left, and with all of the rain coming down, traffic was a nightmare. We finally got to the college and she jumped out of the car with her umbrella and book bag and ran into the building. Since her class is only a little over an hour long, I just stayed at the college. I went to the college library, which is a beautiful building, and bought a cup of coffee and read my Nook at a table over in a far corner of their little cafe. All the while, the rain continued to come down.

There is some flooding. I'm not sure how bad it is throughout the Metroplex, but some low-lying areas around here look like ponds or small lakes. A tiny stream that I often see while driving through McKinney is now overflowing with water. And at the Heard, some of the dinosaurs look like they're wading in the water. I hope they're not damaged.

Well, I'm a little disappointed today. I did not get an editing job I interviewed for earlier this month. I called the hiring manager today, and she called me back a little while ago. They offered the position to someone else. I think I know who. If it's who I think it is, she was poised and professional during the group interview. She should be really good for them. Honestly, I wish I had gotten the job, but I'm going to hold onto the "when one door closes another one opens" philosophy and just keep plugging away.

There's a possibility that I may get another face-to-face interview next week for a job in Irving. I had a great phone interview with their HR manager before the holidays, but they had to put the hiring process on hold for a number of reasons. I found out today that they will start looking into filling the position next week. I would love to work at this place, as the job seems really interesting and challenging.

After being out of work for the past three months, I am eager and ready for a challenge. This job search stuff gets old. I want to work, and I want it badly.

A quiet day with time to reflect and consider the future.

One of the hardest things about being unemployed is having to wait for a response from a prospective employer. Some weeks, absolutely nothing happens. No emails. No phone calls. Seemingly no progress in the job search. All you can do is do what is within your control. At times, what is within your control seems very limited indeed.

I'm not discouraged, really. I suppose that with any job search, there are ups and there are downs. I had three interviews within the past month, which really isn't all that bad.

There was one job in particular that I was really excited about. It was a little less than three weeks ago, and I had hoped to hear something by now, pro or con. I emailed them last Friday, asking politely for an update, but so far I have heard nothing. If I don't hear anything today, I will probably make a phone call tomorrow and see if I can find out something.

Even though job searching is stressful, the good news is that so far, we are holding our own financially. Before I lost my job in November, we managed to pay off our credit card. That was a huge blessing. The interest payments were simply insane, and it seemed we were getting nowhere near paying it off. It feels so good to have that off our back. We also paid off our car a couple of years early, which is also a big relief. Right now, our biggest expenses are our house payment and COBRA. COBRA is so expensive, it's absolutely crazy. It's over 1500.00 a month. More than our house payment. Yet somehow, we are managing to make ends meet.

I am going to give myself and my job search a deadline. I'm not sure how long that will be. Maybe the middle of the year or so. Maybe sooner. Maybe later. We'll see how things go in the weeks ahead. But if it appears that after all of my best efforts that I'm just spinning my wheels with my job search, I will have to give serious thought to doing something else with my life. I'm sure that God has a plan for me. This wouldn't have happened otherwise. I have to find out what that is. When it comes right down to it, I have two equal purposes in finding my next role in life. One, provide for my family as best as I can. Two, do something that interests me.

I know that it is unlikely that I will find a job that will pay what I received before. I may be lucky to make half of what I earned at my old job. Honestly, that would be fine. I would be happy to get it and start over again with a new career, whatever that may be.

At our Job Seeker's meeting, Stephanie often calls what we're going through "just a season in our lives." That's a great way to put it. It's just a phase, a short chapter, a door leading to another door to somewhere else.

I can't wait to find that door so I can open it and see where it leads.

Monday, Monday

This blog is turning into my daily diary. That's not really what I intended when I started this way back, oh, a week ago. But as I sit here and type away, I think the easiest way for me to keep this blog going is to just touch upon the events of the day whether they relate directly to job search or not.

As I mentioned in another post, I go to a Job Seeker's group on Monday mornings at Christ Fellowship church in McKinney from 10-noon. It's headed by Stephanie Lyon, a certified Job Coach and a member of the church. She is a brilliant woman with a big heart and the strong ability to help job seekers from all walks of life and all sorts of backgrounds add focus and direction to their job search.

Not only is it good for me to get out of the house and have a fixed destination on Mondays, but attending always lifts my spirits. Even though we often touch upon the same subjects from week to week, each meeting is somewhat different from the last, and I always learn something new. Some people show up for one meeting and you never see them again. Some who have attended for a long time finally land jobs and no longer attend. (I am so happy when that happens, but it's bittersweet, since in all likelihood you won't see that particular person again.) Others (like me) show up week after week after week after week. (I think I can, I think I can, I think I can. Eventually the train I'm on will chug chug chug its way to the top of the steep hill before me and glide into Jobtown. When that happens, I will have to thank Stephanie for the push that got me going.)

After going home, applying for a couple of jobs and having lunch with my daughter, we both decided to go the Heard Nature Center and walk the Cedar Trail. Even though I have been going to the Heard for years, this was the first time I've had a chance to explore that particular trail. Most of the time I'm there to work and don't have time to enjoy the paths through the woods and the scenery. The dinosaur exhibit is still there, but should be gone in a week or so. Here's a picture of my daughter wrestling with one of the more active members of the dinosaur community:

The Heard is closed to the public on Mondays, but since we work there we were allowed access. It was so nice to have the trails all to ourselves and be able to just walk along through the woods, enjoying the beautiful day and the soul-filling quiet of nature. A quiet broken only by the sound of birds chirping, geese squawking, nail guns banging into shingles in a neighborhood next to the Heard, and the steady "beep beep beep" of nearby heavy machinery backing up somewhere just over the hill at the city dump.

Yet despite the nearby sounds of civilization, it was gorgeous. The cedars on the Cedar Trail are so densely packed, it's easy not to see the trail through them. It's like walking through a tunnel in the woods. Luckily, I had my daughter as my guide. She's a pro and has done it many times before. She is working on her Associate Degree in Science, and plans to be a Naturalist when she graduates college. She works really hard at school, and gives it all she's got. I am very proud of her.

The Heard also has a raised boardwalk-like trail through a large wetlands. We were afraid that with the severe drought in Texas that it would be all dried up. It wasn't. It was full of water and life. As we walked along the trail, we disturbed large and small groups of ducks that exploded from their hiding places as we got near and sailed off quacking into the sky, flying over our heads and landing neatly in the water on the far end of the wetlands away from us. There were a lot of geese, too, but they couldn't care less that we were there. They honked a bit as we got near, with four or five of them perched on top of a large log in the water bathing themselves and flapping their wings as we and a turtle looked on. They had no shame.

The turtle seemed to be enjoying the view, though.

Wishin', hopin', thinkin' and prayin'...

I am not an overtly religious man. Meaning, for better or for worse, I don't wear my religion or my beliefs on my sleeve for all to see. I see people who can and do do that, and I admire them for their love, their honest conviction in their beliefs, and the courage they display as they share the message of God with others. I am just a bit too shy and a bit too private a person to do that. Prayer is an intensely private thing to me. It's between me and God and no one else. Maybe that makes me a crippled Christian or something, but it's who I am. It's how God made me.

Most Sundays, my daughter and I attend the 11:15 morning service at Christ Fellowship here in McKinney. It's a bible-based church, where you just come as you are. No suits, no ties, unless you feel the need to wear them. Most people wear jeans, and a lot of them bring their iPads, iPhones and grande half-skinny half-1 percent extra-hot quad-shot lattes with lots of whipped cream from Starbucks. (I'd just like a small cup of coffee, please.) Seriously though, everyone is really nice. It's a great church.

One of the things that makes it great, apart from Bruce Miller's always amazing sermons, is the music. This morning, it was breathtaking. I do not know the names of the two women who were up on the stage this morning, but their singing and harmonizing was, for lack of a better word, angelic. One of the songs they sang today was called "Surrender" by Lincoln Brewster. They said a little prayer prior to singing the song, saying that no matter what is going on in your life, let it go. Give it up. Put it in stronger hands than yours. You could be having personal problems, health problems... you could be out of a job....


I'm giving you my heart, and all that is within
I lay it all down for the sake of you my King
I'm giving you my dreams, I'm laying down my rights
I'm giving up my pride for the promise of new life


And I surrender all to you, all to you
And I surrender all to you, all to you


I'm singing You this song, I'm waiting at the cross
And all the world holds dear, I count it all as loss
For the sake of knowing You for the glory of Your name
To know the lasting joy, even sharing in Your pain 



Yesterday, I found out that I am not going to be considered for a co-manager job at a national grocery chain. I had interviewed with them twice, but after the second interview, I had bad feeling that they did not feel I was going to be a good fit for them. I think they were concerned that I wouldn't stick with it when something else came along, even though I had made them a promise that I would. The thing about it is, I would have stuck with it. For me, a promise is a promise. I would have stuck with it no matter what. But I guess they didn't believe me, because on Saturday I received a postcard saying "Thanks for your application. Good luck in your job search." I told my wife and she cried for a short time, because we had been working on this for some months. I had warned her beforehand that this might happen. After the second interview, I just had a bad feeling about it. That maybe it wasn't going to happen after all.

The odd thing is, after I read the postcard, a feeling of JOY passed through me. Like I had dodged a bullet. Like, what was I thinking, applying for that job? Am I so ready to lower my expectations and accept the first thing that comes along? Did I really want to stock shelves and work 60-plus hours a week, including all weekends and holidays? One of the emotions that drives a job search is fear. Fear that nothing better will come along. Fear for your future and the future of your family. Fear that you'll lose your house, your possessions and your standing in the world.

I think I took a small step this morning. A small step toward taking a deep breath, clearing my head, and surrendering at least a small part of that fear.

Lemurs leaping over my head

Every Saturday for the past three or four years, I have been a volunteer at the Heard Natural Science Museum and Wildlife Sanctuary here in McKinney, Texas. It's a beautiful place, gorgeous at certain times of the year, with indoor and outdoor animal exhibits, walking trails, picnic tables, dinosaurs...

Yep, dinosaurs. They're pretty cool, too. Once a year the Heard has them on display, and they're quite the attraction, especially for families with young kids. They roar and move and one even spits a stream of water at you that can get you drenched if you're not careful (the dinosaurs, not the kids. Although...). There's even a life-size T-Rex, which is easily the star of the show.

I started volunteering when my daughter was offered a paying job there to take care of the outside animals. I'm not a "helicopter" parent who hovers around trying to control everything in their children's lives, but I wasn't about to have my daughter work there alone. It's a lot of work for one person. Yes, there are community volunteers who can help out a lot, but they're not always there, and I have no idea who they are, and I don't want my daughter to have to work preparing food for the animals with some stranger in an outside shed, and what if one of the animals bit her, and what if, what if, what if...

Maybe I hover a little bit, but I'm just trying to be a good father.

So I help my daughter. In fact, I report to her. She directs the show, let's me know what she wants done, and if she's not happy with the way I've cut the food or placed a food bowl in a cage, she will and often does tell me about it. She will make someone a great supervisor someday.

Right now it's late January, and some of the animals are outside and some are inside because of the weather. Even though it was in the 70s yesterday, it was in the 30s early this morning. It's just a matter of time before we have an ice storm. With all of this warm weather, we're bound to be punished soon by Mother Nature. It's life in Texas.

Outside, there are two cavies (which look like giant rabbits but are really rodents), two racoons (one of which is an albino), a pair of mongooses, a pair of white-tailed deer, and two capybara. The capys are the biggest rodents in the world. Last year, the female had a litter of baby capys, and they were the cutest little creatures in the world. At that stage. Later, when they get big, what a mess they make. I hear some people have them as pets. I just can't imagine it.

Many of the animals that are usually in outside cages are inside at this time of year. These include three coatimundi, a male cockatoo named Crystal (yes, Crystal the male cockatoo. I didn't name him. It's kinda like "A Boy Named Sue."), a macaw, and two lemurs named Pops and Uno. Uno was born at the Heard, and has more energy packed in his little frame than can be believed. When he sees us approach his cage, he practically flies around from one side to the other, springing repeatedly off of one wall to land on another, back and forth, back and forth. Squeak, squeak, squeak. Usually there's an audience of children watching all of this activity, and they get almost as excited as Uno and Pops. The lemurs know they're about to be fed, and it's the most exciting thing imaginable for them. Just like some people I know.

This is a photo my wife took of Uno when he was a baby, holding onto his mom not long after he was born. He's as big as her now. It sure didn't take long. Uno's mom and dad were both on loan from another animal facility, and have since gone back to their owners. Uno is still there, with his friend Pops, happy and content while he's waited on hand and foot by hard-working Heard employees and volunteers throughout the week.

There's a lot more to say about the Heard. I'll expand upon it in another post.

The waiting is the hardest part

I had two face-to-face interviews last week. One was on Monday, for an associate editor position with a local magazine. The other was for a co-manager position with a national grocery chain. Based upon the wide diversity between those two positions, you can't say that I am not open to all options. I also had a very promising phone interview before the holidays, and there is still a chance that I will be called in for a face-to-face interview sometime soon. The woman in their HR department sent me an encouraging email a couple of weeks ago, so I know that they have not forgotten about me. In addition to that, I am applying for new jobs online every day, including on weekends. To continue to qualify for unemployment benefits, I have to apply for a minimum of five jobs a week. So far, I've applied for nine, and that doesn't seem like it's enough.


After last week, though, this week has been so very quiet. There's not much to do but wait until I hear from the folks I interviewed with whether or not I get to proceed to the next stage. For me, that's so hard. I want to fix this, and I want to fix this right now. Today. This minute.


I go to a Job Seekers group on Monday mornings at Christ Fellowship church here in McKinney. It's a 2-hour meeting headed up by a wonderful woman named Stephanie Lyon. Stephanie is a Life Coach, and has her own business called Cross Centered Coaching http://www.crosscenteredcoaching.com/


On Monday, she gave us an assignment to contact at least five people we know on Facebook or LinkedIn and let them know that we're searching for a job. You never know who knows someone who knows someone who knows someone else that needs to hire someone. Apparently that's the best way to find a job, since most jobs filled are from this "hidden job market" and never posted on sites like Monster.com or CareerBuilder.com.


I had great personal reservations about doing this. I wanted to "fix" this myself, and not have to  involve my friends or family. I guess it's the same part of me that refuses to ask for directions until I am totally turned around and have driven 50 miles in the wrong direction. Yeah, it's a guy thing. I blame it on the testosterone.


We met on Monday, and today is Friday (it is Friday, isn't it?). This has been weighing on me for the entire week, and I just decided to take the plunge and let every single person I know on both Facebook and LinkedIn that I am now actively looking for a new position:


A short personal message: sorry if this is old news to some. I just wanted to pass along that I am no longer with (where I was before), and am actively looking for a new position. It doesn't have to be as a copywriter or copy manager or even have anything to do with advertising. I have a few "irons in the fire," but if you know of something that you think I might be qualified for, please let me know. Thanks! --Steve


I typed it in, and my finger hovered over the "send" button for almost a full minute before I decided to take the plunge and just do it. It was so hard, though. 



In my heart and in my head, I know that this won't last forever. At some point, with some prayer, determination and the help of a friend I may or may not already know, I will find another job. It may be sooner, it may be later, but it WILL be.


It can't come soon enough.

It's a beautiful day in the neighborhood

I live in a pretty nice middle-class neighborhood. Not fancy, but nice. One of the things I've had to get used to since being laid off is being at home all hours of the day.

My old routine was, well, pretty routine for most people. I left my neighborhood early in the morning, often before the sun was up, and then came back in the early evening, often after the sun had set. I was only home all day during the weekends, and that was enough for me.

Now, I'm home most of the time. I have to be. I have to find a job, and the way to do that these days is by sitting in front of this computer, networking, responding to occasional emails for more information, and applying for new jobs online. (My wife has suggested that I also try "cold calling." I'm not so sure that will work these days. But I will probably try it at some point.)

Today, it really is a beautiful day in my neighborhood. The temperature is supposed to extend up into the mid 60s. I have some outside work that I need to do, including pulling up weeds and raking the yard. We have a couple of small tables and a bench on our front porch that all desperately need to be repainted or stained. But I would feel so guilty going outside during a time when I should be out somewhere working, or lacking that, inside looking for a job on this darn computer. Even when I go outside with the dog to get the morning paper, and a car drives by, part of me is worried that the person inside the car has seen me outside my house before and is thinking, "Doesn't that guy have a job? He's sure home a lot."

Paranoid, I know. With a large guilt complex thrown in for good measure.

Why does it have to be so nice outside, anyway? This time last year, we had snow. Lots and lots of snow. It was absolutely gorgeous.

I love my house, I love my neighborhood, but sometimes what I'd really love is to be somewhere else.

And I wish it would snow.

A new day, same as the old day

And a new job search.

It is so weird sometimes. Every day rolls into another day and another, and every day is the same as the day before. I am losing track of what day of the week it is. Is today Wednesday or Thursday? I have to check to make sure. (Looks like it's Wednesday.)

It doesn't really matter.

Here's part of my morning routine. I wake up around 6:00, because that's when my alarm clock goes off. It's the time I had set it to go off when I was working. I haven't bothered to change it. I lay in bed, listening to Morning Edition on NPR. (I miss Bob Edwards. For some reason, Steve Inskeep's voice and sarcastic attitude annoy the heck out of me. Bob Edwards' voice was so calming.)

After awhile, I turn the radio off and get ready for whatever day of the week it is. I take a shower, get dressed, brush my teeth and comb my hair. (What the heck? Are my eyebrows GROWING? I don't want them to turn into bushy caterpillars. Am I slowly transforming into Andy Rooney? God, I hope not.)

My wife, Jane, always gets up before me and fixes me coffee. She even sets out a cereal bowl, puts various boxes of cereal on the kitchen table that I can choose from, and pours me a glass of juice. Sometimes she even makes me toast. ("Poof! You're toast!" It's a little inside joke between us.) Occasionally she'll forget, and she'll race around the kitchen setting things up for me, like it's a crisis. It's not. Even if I'm still sleepy and come across as being a morning grouch, I  know my wife is an angel. I often tell her that I love her and appreciate her, but I'm sure I don't do it half as often as I should.

Our dog knows my walk. She can hear me come out of the bedroom, and she suddenly appears from wherever she was in the house and is ready at the front door. Mocha has never had an "accident" in the house. She'll let us know when she needs to go. She rarely barks. The dog just smiles at us, is happy to be around us, and shows her pleasure by wagging her entire butt. Not just her tail. Her entire rear end bounces from side to side when she's happy. And she's happy most of the time.

So Mocha and I go out the greet the new day. I go out to get the paper, and she goes out to check her "pee mail" by sniffing the mailbox and the tree and the bushes. She'll look into the distance, freeze with one paw in the air, and sniff something interesting from far away. Then she'll very methodically do her business, choosing the exact perfect spot on the lawn. Sometimes this takes her awhile, and when it's cold outside as it's been lately (it's late January), it can be a little aggravating having to wait for her to make her choice.

"Come on, Mocha!" I'll call out. She might look up at me. Most of the time she doesn't. She has business to attend to, and she won't be easily persuaded otherwise. "Mocha, it's cold out! Come on!" Eventually, she'll grace the yard with her presence (maybe I should say "presents"), and be ready to come inside. "Finally!" I say. "Did you have fun?" She just looks up at me, smiles, and wags her butt.

So I read the morning paper, have breakfast and drink my coffee. The Dallas Morning News seems pretty useless for job search. Most or all of the job listings are produced in conjunction with monster.com. I look them over anyway, just in case. Haven't seen anything yet, except for an upcoming job fair that the News is promoting over in Richardson. I may go, although I'm dreading it. Have I become one of those guys in a suit, standing in an endless line with other people also in suits, straightening their ties and pulling at their collars, eager to hand out a resume?

I guess I  have. I guess I have TO. I guess I will do what I have to do.

The rest of the morning is spent in front of the computer, using the proper keywords, searching for jobs on sites like Indeed, CareerBuilder, Monster, etc., etc., etc. And of course, I can't forget LinkedIn. I'm pretty happy with my LinkedIn profile, but it could probably use more work. I definitely need more recommendations from people.

There were no emails this morning related to my job search. I hate that.

Since I am receiving unemployment benefits, I have to keep a journal of my job search activities: when I applied, what job did I apply for, where did I apply, what were the results of the application... It's all in PDF format, with a week-by-week account of my job search. I thought for sure, hoped at least, that I would have a job before the end of January. Although I have some "irons in the fire," I am not so sure that this won't extend into February.

Maybe beyond.

It's really quiet in the house right now. Back to the search.

Well, let's get started

I am unemployed, and it just gnaws at me.

It's there when I wake up in the morning, and it's there when I go to bed at night. Every waking moment, I am conscious of NOT being at work. It literally sits in my belly like a lump of stress that I can't get rid of. And lately, I've been having occasional dreams of not being employed.

It's not fun.

For most of my adult life, I have been blessed, and yes, it's a blessing, to be able to structure my life around the workplace. Despite the trials and aggravations that working a 9-5 job invariably entail, there is comfort in the routine. You are providing for your family. You are a valued member of society.  You're using the skills you've developed and the gifts that God has given you. You're one of those pushing and shoving your way through traffic during rush hour to get to-and-from work. You have a purpose.

I saw it coming, and there was absolutely nothing I could do to stop it. At a staff meeting, about the middle of 2011, a friend of mine at work asked our supervisor about rumors of upcoming "changes." Much to my surprise, my supervisor did not deny hearing the same rumors. Sales were bad. A new "activist investor" had forced his way onto the board of directors by buying up stock when the price was depressed and was pressing to make the company more profitable. One way to make a company more profitable is to lay off long-time workers. 

And so, for me and many others, the layoff clock began its inescapable progress toward the end of my employment and the beginning of a new chapter in my life.

I guess I had been there too long, had been too complacent and thought that all of my prior experience was "valuable" to the department. What a foolish thought. I was in denial. I thought, well, if I do a good job, have great reviews, stay late and come in even when others stay home, say during an ice storm, that my supervisors would see how crucial I was to the operation. Well, maybe some of them did realize that, but everything you do to prove your current worth and everything you've done in the past becomes totally irrelevant when an outside consultant gets secretly hired to evaluate everyone in your department. I had accumulated a decent salary. I was a target. A poster boy for layoffs. I fit the bill.

Even when I received the "dreaded phone call" to please come to the creative director's office right away, a part of me was still in denial. I left my office, threaded my way through the cube maze and made my way to the room to find my supervisor and some nerdy looking HR guy I had never seen before sitting at a circular table with serious looks on their faces and a manila envelope on the table.

My supervisor said,  "Hi Steve. Close the door and have a seat."

Even at this point, with the corporate cutting knife hovering at the back of my neck, I still had hope. A fleeting thought came to me. "Maybe they're going to reassign me." I was interested in working for other areas in the company. My goals and my career track were right there in my "associate profile." Plus, our director was such a nice guy, who cared about all of us and had helped to protect us from these things in the past. Maybe he would be able to protect us this time, too.

No. Not this time. This time it was for real. This time, I would finally use the plastic grocery bags I kept stashed in the back of one of my desk drawers for the past three years, ready for the moment when I would get the "dreaded phone call" and need something to carry my stuff out to my car.

My job was "eliminated." They gave me a "separation date." My supervisor had tears in her eyes, and was genuinely upset. She hugged me and told me to go home for the rest of the day, or even take the rest of the week off if I wanted to. The little nerdy HR guy held out his hand to "wish me all the best." I didn't know what to do. I shook his hand.

My supervisor gave me a hug and walked me to the door. Again, this was the creative director's office, even though he was nowhere in sight. I noticed that there was a huge sign on the back of the door that read "The End."

I pointed it out to my supervisor and said, "That's an appropriate sign, don't you think?" I wasn't trying to be cute or sarcastic. Although I was in a bit of a fog, I was trying to be humorous. I don't think it came across as too funny. So I made my way back to my desk, quietly gathered some of my things, and spent the rest of the week in a slightly stunned state, not knowing what to do. I spent a lot of time on my backyard swing, either reading a book or laying there with my eyes closed, feeling the warm breeze on my face and the glow of the warm sunshine through my eyelids. I guess I was in shock. I guess it was the beginning of the first stage in the grieving process.

Later, my supervisor told me that she relayed my comment about the "The End" sign to the creative director.

She said he jumped up from his desk and ripped it off the door.