Write on Wednesday~ Good Neighbor

"You know our good neighbor is moving away," G. told me one day last summer when I took over a letter  of hers that was mistakenly delivered to my house. "I know,"  I said sadly.  She was referring to our across the street neighbor, whom we all called by his nickname, Bud, but whom she always referred to as "my good neighbor."

It was a fitting moniker - he was the man who brought in our trash cans if they blew into the street, collected the mail or watered the flowers when we were on vacation, supplied us all with bounty from his magnificent vegetable garden throughout the harvest season.  He was particularly good to G., a widow in her 80's who lives in a big four bedroom house on 1/2 acre of land.  He did everything for her ~ from replacing light bulbs to clearing snow to putting gas in her car every Friday.

"I just don't know what I'll do without him," she said with a small shake of her head.

We all feel that way, for he was a man of remarkable goodness and generosity.  Oh, he had his prejudices, similar ones to many people of his generation.   But deep down, he believed in the golden rule, and he lived it to the hilt.

From his easy chair in the living room he had a direct line of vision to my house.   "When are you gonna slow down a little, doll?" he'd say, after watching me go in and out of the driveway six times a day.   He was always the one to call me if a package was on the porch, or if I'd forgotten to close the garage door.  From the day I moved in here as a new bride, almost 34 years ago, he was like my benevolent protector, one I called upon many times.

But now he's gone, packed up his own 55 years of memories in that house and moved his wife and aging Basset Hound south of here to Ohio, where he'll be within a stone's throw of his two daughters and his grandchildren.   "We need to be near our kids now, " he said wisely.  "We're gonna need people to help us pretty soon, and I don't want to have to call on the neighbors to do it."

Isn't that ironic?  Even in the end, he was being a good neighbor.

So now we're waiting for our new neighbor to arrive - a young man in his late 20's will soon be moving in.  Maybe I"ll bake some cookies for him, take some treats for his dog.  Offer to pick up his mail if he's going to be away.  A young man all alone like that might be in need of a good neighbor.  I can be one I suppose - I certainly had a good teacher.

Sunday Scribblings - Big Dreams

I've been going around the house whistling and humming all evening - mostly tunes from South Pacific, because I'll be playing keyboards for the show when it goes up at Franklin High School later on this month.  The songs from this show are all familiar, and catchy - the kind that lodge in your inner ear and keep repeating in your mind like a computer on endless loop. But Rodgers and Hammerstein's composing skills aren't the main reason I've been singing around the house tonight. 

Mostly, it's because I'm happy. 

I'm happy because I got to spend some time pursuing my dream this afternoon.  Well, one of them, anyway.  They one that let's me play the piano and make music with other people.

Its not really a big dream, at least not anymore.  Oh, I suppose I might once have harbored fairy tale like visions of walking onto the world's famous stages and pounding away at Beethoven's Emperor concerto on a nine foot Bosendörfer grand.  Nowadays, I'm satisfied to sit down for a few hours at my own beloved Kimball and play away.  I'm even happier if I have something to work toward - like a choral competition to accompany, or a musical performance.  This month I have both, an embarrassment of riches for someone who has curtailed her musical '"gigs" in favor of more hours behind the other keyboard (the computer!) in her office.  The one that actually earns real money.

I've come to the conclusion that dreams don't necessarily need to be huge to be satisfying.   If you become fixated on some magnificent big dream, you might miss out on the opportunity to savor a very rewarding portion of it in real life.  Chances are, I'll never play a nine foot Bosendorfer on the stage at Carnegie Hall.  But  I can still sink my ten fingers into the sweet resistance of 88 ivories, still hear the melody and harmony that issues forth, still race up and down the keyboard with reckless abandon.

So I'm living the dream after all.

How about you? Are you living any of your dreams, in a big or small way?

 ~ for Sunday Scribblings

Little Bit Sparkly

Sometimes at work we order lunch from The House of Ing, the Chinese restaurant across the street.  The other day my bosses daughter went to pick up our order, and the little Chinese lady who runs the place was admiring Erin's diamond engagement ring.  "Pretty nice," she admitted, flashing quite a bit of bling herself.  "Little bit sparkly..." We all laughed because Erin's ring is more than just a little bit sparkly.  It's quite a stunner actually.  And I'm a pretty good judge of sparkly.

I like jewelry - in fact, one of my most cherished possessions is a tiny birthstone ring my uncle bought for me on my 6th birthday.  I have it still, although the band is bent and scratched from playing outside and riding bikes while wearing it.  I especially love jewelry that's meaningful, which is why right now I'm wearing my mother in law and my aunt's wedding bands on my right hand,  my grandmother's engagement ring atop the eternity band Jim gave me when Brian was born, and a pendant necklance made from my mother's engagment ring.  All these pieces connect me to women who were important in my life, and wearing them reminds me all day long of their love and their lives.

But sometimes, jewelry is just fun.  And that's what these little sparklers are.  I got them from LuShae, an Austrailian based jewelry design company.  They have some wonderful pieces, unique designs and beautifully made.  Not just earrings, but pendants and rings as well. 

Check them out and get yourself something that sparkles - a little bit, or a lot.

Back to the Grind

Two days have whizzed by since we returned from Florida.  The trip home was itself a small slice of hell.  Our plane was four hours late leaving the airport, meaning we didn't arrive home until 2:00 a.m.  To add insult to injury, we had to dig the Charger out from under eight inches of snow that had fallen in our absence.   Jim's peronalized license plate on the car was the only thing visible, and it's message (In Chrg) was an ironic reminder of how little we really are- in charge, that is. Not of the weather, certainly, for it has continued it's snowy, blustery, murkiness ever since we got home.  The snow was swirling like a dervish this morning and there were cars spun out all over the road as I made my way to the office.

Not of our jobs, either, for mine has continued on it's perilous spin out of control.  Work, work, work...and never get caught up.  A control freak's nightmare.

But enough of all that.  It's Friday night, I'm home safe and sound with lots of recorded stuff on the TiVo.  Who watchs Big Love out there?  Did you see last Sunday's episode?  I was riveted to my chair - what will happen to those Henrickson's next, I ask you? 

I had two books waiting for me in the mail delivery - copies for review later on this month over at Bookstack.  As well as a shipment of my favorite coffee, to keep me warm and caffienated while I read.

Small and simple pleasures, but all part of the daily grind of which I am at least a little bit in charge.

Write On Wednesday - Hard Labor

I haven't been loving my work lately, so it has indeed been hard labor.  Of course I know that's all relative, and my Puritan genes have been pinching me in displeasure for even begrudging one moment of having a relatively good paying job in this economy.

But.

I'm as human as the next girl, and I would really like to find my work at least moderately rewarding.  For the past several months, it's been just a big pain in the you know where.  And I mean that quite literally too, because for most of my day I'm stuck in a chair staring at a computer screen and clicking my way through infinite varieties of electronic files and folders.

Part of my dissatisfaction stems from changes that were thrust on me willy nilly without any warning.  I was upset enough at the time to raise a mini ruckus about the whole thing.  Alas, my foot stomping was mostly in vain, because my boss (like the benevolent dictator she is) listened politely and then effectively said, "Well, that's all very nice dear, but we're doing it my way anyway."

Right.

On our way out to dinner last night, we found ourselves quoting lines from an old movie that's quite a favorite in our family.  Office Space is one of those satirical, sort of frat-house takes on life as an office worker.  Anyone who's ever spent their days ensconced in a cubicle can't help but laugh out loud at the incessant memos about the cover sheets on TPS reports, Melvin's mission to hang on to his Swingline stapler, and (the classic) line from Lumberg, the boss, who ends all his edicts with the phrase, "That would be greaaaat."   When we got home, we popped the DVD in the player and relived a few of our favorite moments.  At least it's comforting to know I"m not alone.

Working in American has taken a whole new twist, hasn't it?  Used to be we thought we could have it all - a good paying job,  security for the future, even something called personal fulfillment.    But the rules have all changed, and sometimes it's hard to play along without feeling as if you're being taken advantage of.   I was raised to work hard and be honest, to fulfill my responsibilities, to make personal sacrifices if necessary in order to get the job done.  My dad owned  a small business for almost 30 years, and I watched him working nights and weekends, rarely taking vacations, doing whatever it took to make sure his customers were satisfied.

So while I've been here in Florida enjoying some sunshine and celebrating my son's birthday, I've also been working, doing my equivalent of putting cover sheets on TPS reports.  My husband looks askance at me, as he takes his lemonade out to the lanai and I sit here typing furiously away.  Right now, he's feeling (understandably) less than loyal to the idea of working all out for the good of the company.  "It gets you nowhere," he says somewhat bitterly.  "I'm here to tell you, nobody appreciates it in the end." 

One of the hardest things about labor for me is finding the right balance.  I know I tend to go overboard with my work - whether it's music or writing or stupid "TPS" reports, I toil away past the point where others would throw in the towel and take some time for themselves.  Maybe I do work too hard for my own good, and so the feelings of oppression I end up feeling are largely of my own making.  Keeping a balance between work, family, and personal time to do the things I love - that's the key to staying sane in the modern world.

It's hard work, but I'm trying to make that happen in my life.

How about you?  What's your work life like these days?  Has it changed in the current economy?