That's classified!

So, now it begins... again. Darling Wife started work today. Well, she had some meetings and stuff. Her students don't arrive until Wednesday of next week, but for all practical purposes, her job has begun in earnest. That means I have to put more effort into finding a job myself. I have been on the job market countless times in my life, most recently last summer, and I have to say that I am really tired of it.

First, I have to scour the classifieds, ask around, and check websites to find something that appeals to me. This is not an easy task. I will be starting school full-time again in the spring, so I'm not really interested in a full-time job that I will have to quit in four months. If I were, I could get something fairly easily. The library at my former university is hiring for several positions that I am more than qualified for. But I'd prefer something part-time that I can keep when I start classes again. Unfortunately, most part-time jobs involve retail sales or food service, and they want you to work nights and weekends. Not gonna do it! Period. So, I don't have a lot of options.

Then once I've found something that seems promising, I send out resumes. This involves a series of issues with formatting if I submit them electronically and a significant delay if I have to snail-mail them. Then, the problem is that businesses seldom care if you are capable of doing every item in a job's description. If your resume does not indicate that you have held a position exactly like the one they want to fill, then they won't even consider you for the job. They assume you don't have the right skills. And let's face it, years of library work and teaching seems rather limited on a resume, even if they required the same tasks as 90% of desk jobs. So, I get all excited about a job, and then I wait and wait and seldom here anything from the dozens of resumes I sent out.

And then once I do get a call back for an interview, I have to go into the used-car-salesmen routine. I have to guess what I should wear, what I should say, how I should say it, what to agree to, what to disavow, and on and on. There really is no way to know for certain what a potential employer is looking for, so it's all more or less a shot in the dark. I have to try to figure out on the fly how to convince the interviewer that I am what he or she is looking for. And there is no real way for an interviewer to get to know you during the course of a 30-minute interview. Sometimes the smallest thing can give him or her the wrong impression. So, once again, I wait and wait and hear nothing. Few employers have the courtesy these days to call and let you know you did not get the position.

And finally, when I do get a job, there is the grueling training period in which I feel awkward and incompetent for weeks until I eventually start catching on to the way things work at the place. And the job is seldom exactly what I wanted anyway. It's just what I had to take because it's not TOO bad, and I didn't get the positions I liked.

I will certainly be glad when I can begin a career and stop job hunting every few years.

Keeping the Faith

As part of our effort to return to a normal life after my long years of sleep in the Ivory Tower, Darling Wife and I have decided to begin attending church again. We both grew up with church as a major part of our lives, and we have both missed it since we moved to CA.

I am not going to get into my spiritual beliefs; that is a long blog post all by itself, and I have another axe to grind today. Besides, my faith has always been a deeply private matter between me and God. However, I will say that Darling Wife and I are from different faith backgrounds, and finding a church that will suit us is not an easy task. I also admit that I am very picky. I want the church's beliefs to be in agreement with my own; I want the pastor/priest/rector to be intelligent and charismatic; and I want the congregation to be welcoming without smothering. That's a lot to ask for, I know.

Well, with our goals in mind, DW and I have been visiting churches over the past few weeks, and once again I am disappointed in what we have found. (We had similar experiences in Boston.) The churches we have visited have fallen into two categories. The first are ritualistic, hierarchical, tradition-based churches in which the priests/rectors/ministers perform liturgies (ceremonies) complete with resplendent robes and processions, and the congregation follows a rigid program of responses, prayers, and kneeling. This type of church is usually very pretty and comfortingly familiar, but I seldom feel like I have any contact with a living God when I attend them. It seems like they just go through the motions of faith.

The second type of church claims to be different in that they have dispensed with all of the "tired, old forms" in order to create something more dynamic. But I find that they are no freer or any more in contact with God than their predecessors. True, everyone calls the pastor by first name, and they wear shorts and t-shirts to church; there are chairs instead of pews; there are bands instead of organs; and they use really high-tech AV equipment instead of hymnals. But all of this is just replacing one ritual for another, in my opinion. If you really pay attention, you can see that beneath the surface, they are still critical of anyone who doesn't conform to their view of christianity. A pair of slacks, to their way of thinking, brands you as spiritually dead. If you don't want to drink coffee with them before, between, and after services, then they think you are not embracing a christian lifestyle. And if you don't literally jump up and down during worship service and sing enthusiastically with a giant smile on your face, then you don't truly have the joy of the Lord.

Puhlease. How dare they! This isn't acceptance of others in christian fellowship. This isn't an effort to be close to God. This is the same old book of judgement with a different cover. These churches miss the real point of christianity while they focus so much on making their music more like a rock concert than communion with God. I know they would argue with me about this, but I can't help but think it's all still just form over function. Their attention to the trappings distract them from what they should be trying to achieve. Have they forgotten their purpose in their desperate scramble to be "different" and "better?" Who are they really trying to please, God or themselves? I don't think God cares about all of that stuff.

At the church we attended yesterday, one of this second type, half the congregation slid in late in their flip-flops and cell phones went off during the sermon. Now, I'm sure God doesn't care when people show up or what they are wearing, but I can't help but think that we should. If we can't be bothered to arrive on time, put a little effort into our appearance, and turn off our electronic dependency devices, then what does that say about where our hearts are and where our priorites lie?

Growing Pains

Darling Wife and I have decided to undertake a fitness regimen. This is not the fleeting New-Year's-resolution sort of decision. We are always striving, in simple and noninvasive ways, to better our health, physical, mental, social, and spiritual. We eat as healthily as time and money permit. We take walks when we can, often fast-paced, exercise-type walks. We bike. We hike. Whatever we can reasonably do. And we have repeatedly discussed and planned to try a more rigorous or dedicated exercise program. So this latest thing is not some temporary fad with us.

We looked into taking yoga classes in our hometown, and may do so in the future. But we are both embarking on new careers at the moment, and working out the logistics of an out-of-home class has been difficult. Still, we were undaunted. We borrowed various types of exercise videos from our public library and scanned through them. Darling Wife used to take yoga in Boston, so she is partial and experienced in that particular discipline. I am new to it, but after viewing several of the options, it seemed the most appealing.

Consequently, we began to practice yoga for twenty to thirty minutes a day this week. Now, I have aches and pains in parts of my body that I am quite certain I have never been conscious of before. But I have to admit, I am also feeling better. We are taking it easy for the time being, and I have full confidence that I will improve and continue to feel healthier. It feels good to be developing a more rounded lifestyle. Really good.

Feet, don't fail me now!

It's been awhile since I posted anything because Darling Wife and I have been traveling around the northwestern portion of the North American continent for the last five weeks. We've been back about five days now, and things have slowly started to return to normal.

Then last night as we were watching t.v., my foot brushed up against Darling Wife's leg. She immediately shoved it away and said, "You need to use my foot scrub." Now, I am not an overly macho guy, as anyone who knows me will attest. I don't sport tattoos, wear camoflauge, kill things for fun, engage in drinking matches, or watch ESPN 24 hours a day. But something in me says that using foot scrub is just not very manly.

I know it's silly. My feet are kinda rough. And a little ground coconut shell and green tea never hurt anybody, right? It's no big deal, right? Right?

So, I use the stuff. It's smelly, and I still don't like it. But if it makes Darling Wife happy... pass the pumice.

Mourning Call

My brother phoned this morning to tell me that my maternal grandmother passed away last night. I've written in this blog about my father's parents, the ones with the farm. But I've never mentioned my mother's parents. Though my paternal grandparents lived hundreds of miles from where I grew up, and my maternal grandparents lived the next town over, we were always much closer in relationship if not in distance to my father's parents.

My mother's father was a sadistic old bastard who used to lock her in a closet when she was little because she was afraid of the dark and he thought it was funny when she screamed. Similiarly, when I was a child, he used to stick out his false teeth in an expression that I can only describe as reminiscent of the alien in the film Alien. I was too young to understand what was happening, but I didn't think teeth were supposed to come out that far. No one told me that his teeth were false or what that meant, and I was horrified by the act. The more I cried, the farther out he would stick them, making faces and laughing the whole time. I did not cry when he died when I was ten. He was a tobacco farmer who smoked two packs a day. He died of emphysema, and I thought it was justice.

And then there was my grandmother. She had been diagnosed with paranoid schizophrenia and bipolar disorder when my mother was five. When she wasn't committing literally crazy acts, like trying to burn down the bar my aunt worked in or chasing my grandfather through the house with a butcher knife, she was sitting practically catatonic in the livingroom holding a cigarette that had burned down to little more than a stick of ash, the slightest puff of air threatened to send it tumbling into her lap. Every item of clothing she owned contained numerous cigarette burns.

When I was about seven she had a stroke and became paralyzed on her right side. Her speech became slurred; she lost all movement in her arm; and she could barely move her leg. She could no longer stand or walk without assistance. My grandfather could not take care of her, so he put her in a nursing home where she has remained for over two decades.

After my grandfather died, we used to get my grandmother out for holidays, bring her home for Thanksgiving dinner or to exchange Christmas gifts. She was always eager to leave the nursing home, waiting for us in the lobby when we arrived. But after a couple of hours, she would ask to be taken back. I guess no matter what we think of it, it was home to her.

She had another series of strokes about two years ago, and she's been scarcely cognizant since. She has been in and out of the hospital and hardly knows my mother, aunt, or uncle anymore. I haven't seen her in nearly five years.

Now I am a little sad because I do not feel sad. She was my mother's mother. I carry part of her DNA. She lived a difficult and confused life, and now she is gone. These are the facts. I wish there were more, but wishing cannot make it so.

There and Back Again

So I went for my walk. I decided to ride my bike up to the entrance of the trail on the outskirts of town where the burrowing owls live. It is one of my favorite spots in the city, and I haven't been for a few months.

The path to the trailhead is landscaped with honeysuckle and jasmine, and they were both in full bloom. I reduced my speed and took in slow, deep breaths of the heavenly aroma as I felt myself begin to relax. It is a beautiful day here in the Central Valley. The temperature is in the upper 70s; there is a gentle breeze; and there are some light, fluffy clouds drifting across the bright blue sky, which is very rare for June.

As I walked the trail, I was overwhelmed by a rapid array of shifting emotions. In addition to the resident colony of owls and ground squirrels, I saw several meadow larks, two kestrels, a cottontail bunny, and a jack rabbit. It was a good day for wildlife viewing, and I was excited.

But there were also a number of joggers and exercise walkers out. My first reaction to these more human companions was one of camaraderie and joy. I like to see people enjoying our public spaces and appreciating the great outdoors. There was one particular couple who caught my attention. They were middle aged and sharing a nice brisk stroll. Sometimes Darling Wife and I like to do this, and I felt a sort of connection to this couple. But then they got close enough to me for me to notice that they were carrying on a constant conversation. They walked right by the cutest bunch of fuzzy owl babies, and their heads didn't even move in that direction for a second. I realized that they weren't aware of their surroundings at all. They could have been in the shopping mall just as easily. Then for a moment, I was angry. I wanted to scream, "Why do you voluntarily blinder yourselves this way! PAY ATTENTION!" And just as suddenly, the anger was gone, and I felt sad, sorry for them. Do they even know what they are missing?

As I walked back toward my bicycle, I heard the wind move through the wild oats along the path. "Shhhhhhhh, shhhhhh." I often tease Darling Wife that the wind and the grass whisper secrets to me on these occasions, but the truth is, I've never heard a word. I stopped to listen, and I strained and I strained, but all I heard was "Shhhhhh, shhhhhh, shhhh." No words. Then, I became stiller, more silent. I stopped listening for something, and I just listened.

Shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh, shhhhh, shhhhhhhhhhhh, shhhhhhhh, shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh, shhhhhhhhhhhhh, shhhhhhhhhhhh.....

For the first time in my life, I think I actually heard.

A Walk in the Park

My horoscope in today's paper reads as follows:

CANCER (June 21-July 22): Model your life on Walden Pond. Even a short walk admiring nature in the local park will refresh your spirits. Thoreau once said, "We make ourselves rich by making our wants few."

Sounds nice. I think I'll go now. Cheers!

Write to Me

Today I teach my last class. It will certainly be the last class I will teach here, and it may be the last class I will ever teach. My students frustrate me and push me and generally drive me mad, and part of me will be glad when I have graded my last expository (freshmen) writing paper.

But....

But...............

There Goes the Neighborhood.

Years ago, the university I attend was the farm school of the UC system. That meant it wasn't part of the UC proper; it wasn't even a college or university. It was only one small department, more or less, sort of the training ground for California farmers, and the major food producer for the rest of the UCs. Even though a lot has changed since then, the university's agriculture programs are still top-notch in a variety of fields.

This interesting history has produced an even more interesting, and slightly repugnant, situation. You see, the university's campus is quite large, 5,300 acres, in fact. A considerable portion of this space is taken up by agricultural fields and animal pastures. The university is situated on the southwest corner of town. The city's downtown is directly to the east; its major old-money suburbs are to the north; and the freeway is to the south. So as you might expect, most of the aforementioned fields and pastures extend into the west from the main block of campus. I am sure this was an ideal arrangment when the university was a small farm school. The campus office buildings were conveniently close to the city and housing, and the livestock and pesticides were distant and isolated. But as the university has grown, its needs have grown as well. Consequently, it constructed a large number of dorm buildings, cafeterias, a recreation center, an enormous swimming pool, and a football stadium. Can you guess where these structures went? That's right, on the west side of campus. It was the only available space. But some of the farm structures remained where they were. So now there is this odd combination of dorm buildings and dairy barns. Maybe you can see where I am going.

Since Darling Wife and I first moved here, I have found it somewhat amusing and somewhat distressing that this does not seem to be a problem for anyone. The freshmen are literally kept with the cattle! Now you know my feelings about undergraduates, but seriously, have you ever been near a dairy? I grew up with cows, but they were beef cattle with wide pastures to roam in. Dairy cattle, and dairys, are entirely different animals from those I know. Instead of thirty head of cattle on 70 acres, you have fifty head of cattle in one acre. Some days the stench is absolutely unbearable. I cannot understand why they don't just move the dairy. I, for one, would not want to live and eat next door to the pungent and noxious aroma of bovine neighbors, and there is no way I'd go for a swim or watch a football game with those harmful zephyrs perfuming the air. I can only guess what the visiting teams must think.

Prisoner no more!

The dominion of the Ivory Tower over my life is at an end. I am free.

(For those of you who have been following this saga, I found out from the graduate director of my program that I was not selected for the exchange position in Germany. This is no slight on me. There were other applicants who were more qualified, mainly because they are farther along toward their degrees. This means that I have no reason to stay in the program. I am withdrawing at the end of this quarter. I announced my intentions to the graduate director today.)