Ever had one of those years?

Just when I think we're settling in to life as "normal" without anything disastrous, something comes along to shake that up.

This time, it is unemployment. We got the news today that Dan has been laid off effective today. That was not exactly the "welcome home" we had expected after our trip to California, which I will probably write about when I am less jet-lagged (we got in at 1am) and over the initial shock of this particular bit of bad news.

He's the primary breadwinner and my job pays some of the additional bills, so we'd appreciate some prayers that Dan will find a good position quickly, since my salary, quite frankly, won't be sufficient to make our ends meet.

Just off the top of my head... January brought a miscarriage. February brought surgery and a fear of compromised fertility or worse. March brought death in the family, reorganization at work that I found very challenging, and the hospitalization of another loved one. April brought tax liability, the death of a coworker from cancer, a trip to the emergency vet and a lost job. To be fair, there have been some good things thrown in there, but let's just say I'm voting for some of the May flowers that are said to come of April showers, because so far 2008 is not living up to all of its rich promise. *sigh* This, too, shall pass.

War Requiem

I had the distinct pleasure this weekend of listening to my husband and 350 other voices sing a passionate liturgy of death, interspersed with the gut-wrenchingly real poetry of Wilfred Owen in the full production of Benjamin Britten's War Requiem. I'm blessed to have such a talented husband who can bring me music that, for once in my life, I didn't want to sing... I just wanted to drown in.

In this soaring, crashing, whispering allegory of humanity, the father of nations faced a choice at the altar:

Behold,

A ram, caught in a thicket by its horns;

Offer the Ram of Pride instead of him.

But the old man would not so, and slew his son.

And half the seed of Europe, one by one.


How far have we come from the garden, when pride leads us to slaughter our brothers? And how shall we ever find our way back?

Harmonic Convergence

Every once in a while I have one of those perfect moments when music combines with place to make an unforgettable connection with my emotions, leaving me somewhat sad, but overwhelmingly peaceful.

One occurred about 8 years ago. I had just broken off another awful dating relationship and had taken a day to just think and be quiet at the Huntington Library and Gardens. That is one of my very favorite places on the planet, because between the tea house, gift shop, sprawling gardens, magnificent old house and priceless art, it's one of those places that distills all that is good and beautiful into a few acres of calm in the midst of unrelenting urban sprawl. I had sat on the grass, journal and book in hand, and looked at the flowers and trees until my skin bore the unmistakable traces of sun and my lungs almost tired of breathing unsullied air. I walked out to my car as the sun began to set, and I felt lighter and more hopeful than I had felt in a long time. I climbed into the stiffling warmth of the Oldsmobile boat I drove at the time, and as I blasted the air conditioning, I also turned on the radio. A classical station was playing Barber's Adagio for strings, one of the most beautiful and passionate pieces of music I have ever heard. The strings climb gently to a swelling crescendo, and with, the golden orange rays of the evening sun spilling over me, I felt the full impact of the music, as I never have outside of that context.


I had another moment last night. The circumstances were more ordinary. We had nearly run out of cat food, and I had to run off to Trader Joe's before it closed. I had been working like crazy for days, and only with great force of will have I been able to still my mind enough to sleep. I've been jittery and anxious and anything but peaceful. Even a walk down a previously undiscovered nature trail near our house hadn't calmed me enough that my mind could stop its frenetic spinning. It was dark when I left home, and still darker when I headed back home again, 36 cans of cat food and select vegetarian packaged foods in tow. I found myself traveling a deserted stretch of highway 55. There were no lights, save the distant tail-lights of a fellow traveler, so all that greeted me ahead and behind were the black outlines of freshly-leaved trees against a background of dark gray night sky. It was peaceful, so incredibly peaceful, and on the radio came a song that, for me, wraps up all of the nostalgia of home and loss and all of the memories that we store up in our hearts--the things and people and places that shape us.


I think these moments must be gifts. I cherish them.

... we carry every sadness with us

Every hour our hearts were broken

Every night the fear and darkness

Lay down with us


But I am holding half an acre

Torn from the map of Michigan

I am carrying this scrap of paper


That can crack the darkest sky wide open

Every burden taken from me

Every night my heart unfolding

My home


Somehow, wherever I am when I hear this song, I feel at home. Last night was no exception. What a lovely place to call home.

Health Update

I finally got to talk to the primary doctor who worked with me through the pregnancy yesterday. He clarified for me that what had happened in my case was a partial mole--an abnormality with the placenta--which means two sperm fertilized the same egg, but instead of forming twins, something went wrong, resulting in one baby with an extra set of chromosomes that almost never manages to live to birth. Ours made it almost 8 weeks.

In a way, this is encouraging news, because the prognosis is better, but since I hadn't been sure which sort of problem I had for the last few weeks, it was somewhat comforting to think that perhaps it was a complete mole, because in that case there is no baby to lose--only a cluster of grape-like abnormal placenta cells. The damage was done in that regard already, because I had been mourning one way or the other, but my brain had an easier time sorting out "something went terribly wrong and there was no baby at all" than it did with "something went terribly wrong and instead of twins you got one very unusual baby who couldn't survive." I'm not sure what to mourn, in a way. Twins that failed to form as they ought to have... the single chromosomally abnormal baby that did... the death of my expectations and hopes for this pregnancy?

While I am at increased risk to have another molar pregnancy (1% chance as opposed to .01% in someone who hasn't had one before), there's very little likelihood of malignancy with a partial mole. Cell regrowth after surgery is about 20% with complete moles and less for partial moles. So, the chances that I will need chemo are very low. They are watching me through mid-August as a precaution, but they don't expect any problems. Assuming nothing strange happens in the interim, at that point we're free to try again.

Here's hoping I don't defy the odds yet again. Molar pregnancies usually occur after prior miscarriages or ectopic pregnancies (this was my first, ever), in women who are 40 or older (I've got a few years before I reach that particular milestone) in women who are non-white (that doesn't describe me) and who live in certain geographic regions (in which I don't). Goes to show you that God's will transcends the odds, I guess. Here's also hoping his will has a somewhat more "normal" outcome in mind next time. :D

My Plate Overfloweth

For those of you who worry when my blogging becomes less frequent, I provide this reassurance... this time, at least, the silence doesn't mean more sadness. This time it is actually somewhat exciting, and I'm ready to share some of it here.

I've been given the full promotion to Editor-in-Chief of the magazine I work for, which means managing a small staff and a budget. It also means fuller creative control. It also means more reporting, analytics and responsibility for long-term product vision and planning. Since this was part of a larger company restructuring, I have a new supervisor and a somewhat altered staff. The changes are exciting and fun, but they are also requiring me to reexamine how things get done, who does them, and what use I can make of the resources I have. Additionally, formally or informally, I have been given more responsibility for making sure that the website with which the magazine is associated has new content on a regular (daily) basis.

I'm looking forward to the time when the huge planning/reorganizing crunch that I have found myself in over the last couple of weeks settles down and I can find something more like equilibrium. Dan's busy with extra rehearsals for his next concert, so I've taken advantage of the evenings alone to get more work done. I've felt great about how much I have been able to accomplish, and I have really enjoyed many of the aspects of the new arrangement, but my to-do list is still taking up the better part of two sheets of notebook paper.

In other news, Dan and I head to California in less than 2 weeks. It's a working trip for both of us -- I'll be in the office some and Dan will be teaching liturgical music to some new members of our old church. That should be fun, if busy, and I am really looking forward to seeing both of my sisters again as part of the trip. Something tells me will also be celebrating 2 milestone birthdays while we are there, since both Mom and Dad turn 60 this month.

I return to the OB/GYN today to have a physical and, I hope, to learn more about my molar pregnancy and what the future holds for me. For the most part, that fact is just fading into the fabric of my life, but days like today I have to (and get to) think about what it means. There's nothing fun about physicals, but it is comforting to know that we'll soon have a better assessment of my health.

We've made something of a habit of going ice skating on the weekends. It's handy that there are ice rinks all over the area here. We have about 4 to choose from within a reasonable drive. That's been fun, and we sometimes take friends along. I enjoy the physical activity, but I also enjoy the feeling of increasing comfort that I get each time I step onto the ice. First thing, you learn how to stay upright and in motion on the ice. The next step is learning how to stop moving without ending up plastered on the boards or the ice. I've been working on that, and I am getting quite close to being able to snowplow stop without killing myself. That's also a nice feeling.

I've been extremely busy indoors, but I have also found time to get outdoors and explore the glory of springtime. The trees have leafed out, and the sun is starting to radiate a gentle, soothing warmth. As Dan put it, today is a "glorious" day. I have more pictures, but I will save them for later. One of my favorite aspects of this week of spring (each one seems to feature something new and wonderful) is the breathtakingly invasive wisteria in bloom. I get the feeling that it is a mixed blessing, in that it seems to have taken over some of the area trees, but there is something quite astonishing about the grape-cluster flowers draped like snowy violet curtains in the woods.

That's it for now... except that I have neglected the meme that LL invited me to do. So... here goes.

Apparently, I'm supposed to:

1. Write about the Strangest Job I Ever Had and tell what I learned from it.

2. Link to other "Lessons from Odd Jobs" posts.

3. Tag my post "Lessons from Odd Jobs".

4. Tag other bloggers.

5. Link back to the Lessons from Odd Jobs page and and email this month’s host at that site.

I may not make it all the way down to number 5, but I will at least get started!

Odd jobs? Well... allow me to digress and come back to that. Before the Carolina Hurricanes broke my heart, I was in the habit of watching hockey games quite frequently. I may warm up to watching the Stanley Cup playoffs playoffs given another week or two to heal, but in the meantime, hockey is a bittersweet memory. And it is relevant, too. Why? Well... the Boston Bruins, who DID manage to make the playoffs, have a very tall and well-loved player in Zdeno Chara. While watching a Bruins game, I heard a commentator remark on the fact that Chara had claimed, perhaps in jest (I hope), that he was so tall as a kid, that he had a job at the local zoo washing the necks of giraffes. I promise, I have never had a job quite that strange.

However, I have done some rather odd jobs. Not odd in the sense that nobody else does them, but odd in the sense that they have some rather extraordinary aspects. I guess I will just pick one. How about the first?

The job I consider to be my "first" job was care-taking and housecleaning for a 50-something year old woman, Darlene, who had suffered severe brain damage after heart attack several years prior. To be precise, she had *died* at least twice, and both time she was resuscitated at the insistence of her heart-broken husband, Joe, who had quarreled with her earlier that day and, I think, carried a huge burden of guilt from that moment on. I qualified for the job by admitting to a) not having a boyfriend (the last girl had a boyfriend and ditched work a lot to go see him) and b) knowing how to load a washer. I was 16 at the time, and the job required me to spend 4 hours each day of my summer break from school at their house up the street.

I learned a lot about myself, and a lot about human nature, that summer. I learned that I could not load a washer to Joe's satisfaction. I learned how to bathe and dress Darlene and how to change her soiled sheets every morning. I learned the power of jealousy when there is no good sense to balance it out; Darlene accused me daily of "wanting" her husband. How confusing for her -- she knew I was young and, I suppose, attractive in my way -- and in her house every day without her consent. I couldn't convince her that her rather tired, run-down 60-something husband could have no possible appeal for me. I witnessed awkward moments that went beyond what my life experience could explain, like when Joe had to explain that to her again that their relationship wasn't sexual anymore when she indicated interest. I learned to listen to things that didn't make any sense to me, like Darlene's chatter about the "H" and the "J" ... in fact, I learned that if I listened to her, I could figure out that she was talking about the kids walking home from school when she rattled off letters. She had been a teacher, and she remembered them, even if she couldn't articulate what she wanted to say about them in a way I could understand. I learned that I was clumsy. I broke a glass display case just trying to dust it. Joe docked my $5/hour pay to replace it. I discovered that guns scared me when I found Joe's gun strapped to the back of his twin mattress while I was changing the sheets one morning. I learned that guilt is an invasive vine that chokes out the tree of proffered forgiveness that would otherwise rise above the hurt and grime of the earth and point to the heavens.

I've had several other jobs since then. Some of them paid, some of them volunteer. Somehow, I always end up in jobs where there are hurting people who need a gentle hand. I'm afraid mine is rather rough and calloused... but I have learned that it can be outstretched to others, if I am willing to take a chance.

I wonder if Joe and Darlene are alive today. I kind of doubt it, but I think I owe to them some of the paltry insights I may have into life and marriage today. Was it an odd job? Perhaps. Was it important? Absolutely. Was I glad when it came to an end? Without a doubt. Do I regret it? Not in the slightest.

So... Ashleigh, Mom, Erin and Angie, consider yourselves tagged.