Recipe Fail, Walking Shoes

The good news is I'm not at the Salvation Army; the bad news is I got excited about making a potato soup recipe from the Old Farmer's Almanac that turned out to be quite bland. I'm not sure if it was the chef's fault or the recipe's. I like potato soup, and it was an award-winning recipe, but somehow the sum of the parts added up to less than spectacular. Maybe I should have added parsley or used a different kind of potato, but thrift demands that I eat all of it, and so I am. I added a little cheese to it, which helped. Maybe I shouldn't say this, because I know bacon isn't good for you, but if ever there was a situation that cried out for bacon bits, that soup was it.

Despite the recipe fail, life goes on, interspersed with time spent applying for jobs, wondering about the future, and cleaning the bathroom. Almost every day, I see a job posting that I'm qualified for, and some of them I get excited about. Even the ones I don't get excited about are ones that I would gladly do because I see them as stepping stones to get where I want to go. I can honestly say that as frustrating as my job search has been, it has also been revealing. When I step back and look dispassionately at the types of jobs that intrigue me most, they are not what you might expect. Looking in one direction is just too limiting.

I've sometimes thought about how much fun it would be to have someone pay me to recommend books--I could be a one-person reader's advisory. You tell me a little about yourself and I'll tell you what I think you would like; thanks, that'll be $50. I actually have a decent track record of recommending books to people without charging them anything, but in times like these, you like to be compensated for your talents. I could also do movie reviews or free-lance dream analysis (strictly subjective, of course, but I think it often is). I could be a travel consultant; hand me a list of your hobbies and interests, and I'll tell you where to go. For an extra fee, I could tell you which books to take with you and how to pack everything you need for a three-week trip in just a tote bag.

Speaking of dream analysis, I took a nap on the couch this afternoon after doing my laundry and dreamed I was walking around the UCLA campus, talking to people. In the dream (as in real life), the campus was quite sprawling, and I was just getting to a part of it that looked familiar when I woke up. I don't know what brought this on, but I've been thinking about walking shoes a lot this week, so maybe that preoccupation carried over into my dream. I could almost see the campus library from where I was standing near the end--almost, but not quite. Is that an indication that my dream job will have something to do with books but may not be in quite the spot I was looking for? I don't know, but that's the kind of question I ask about those types of dreams, just in case you were thinking of hiring me.

There are times this week when I've been reminded of the anxious period I went through just before graduating from college. I was going to graduate school that fall, but graduation still felt like stepping off a cliff. So many people already had jobs and knew exactly where they were going, but the way ahead for me was much less clear. I didn't even know where I was going to be living that summer. As it turned out, I ended up with three part-time jobs and a roommate off campus who introduced me to an entirely new group of people. It was one of the most active and social times of my life, and it all took shape in the last couple of weeks before graduation. You never really know what's around the bend, and as anxiety-provoking as that can be, the seeds of positive change are sometimes already at work before you even know they're there.

If This Is a Movie, I Demand to See the Script

Yesterday I was taking a walk when I realized how tired I was, tired in an achy sort of way. I remember feeling much the same way at the end of the summer before my last semester of library school. That was a very intense term centered on two demanding classes, both of which required multiple projects and presentations; we were also adjusting to a move to the new campus library. At the close of the summer, after the final day of my assistantship, I walked home feeling completely washed out: I'd been holding in so much tension that all of my muscles were sore. It came on me all at once, as soon the last assignment had been turned in and the term was officially over. Rather than experiencing immediate relief, I felt like I was coming down with the flu.

I felt a bit the same way during my walk yesterday, though it was actually a beautiful afternoon. It's been a week of catching up on doctor's appointments, filling out applications for jobs and public assistance, figuring out who to call for what, and sitting in waiting rooms waiting for my name to be announced. Yes, I did say public assistance. With the costs of private medical insurance getting to be too much for me, I figured the least I would need would be a medical card in case none of my pending job applications yield results. Hence the doctor appointments--I decided it was best to get yearly exams, etc. done while I still have access to my regular doctors. I'm told that Medicaid is actually good insurance, but the patient is limited in the choice of physicians.

I can tell you that after looking into the welfare services available for people, I'm amazed at the stamina it takes to get yourself into the system. I was also surprised when I went out to the Human Services office at how healthy, well-nourished, and well-adjusted everyone was looking in the waiting room that day. This is not a snide way of saying that I think there were a lot of people there gaming the system. (I can think of a lot easier ways to provide for yourself than jumping through public assistance hoops--like working, for instance. Normally, it's much less draining.) No, it's just an observation, apropos of what I'm not quite sure.

Part of me felt like I was in one of those made-for-TV Lifetime Channel movies, in which some heart-wrenching but ultimately solvable drama plays out, peopled by adorable, big-eyed children, single mothers in desperate straits who still manage to be well-coiffed and color-coordinated, and unemployed men who look just a little too middle-class to be anything other than Hollywood equity. Is this a tribute to how well Kentucky is taking care of its needy citizens, or did I happen in on a day when the relatively well-off happened to make up a large portion of the client base? I'm asking an honest question, because I don't know. The thing is, I've seen needy people before, and this group did not resemble them. I could almost have been in the gate area of a major airport rather than in the welfare services department (and, hey, nobody was dragged away with a concussion and a broken nose either, so that's a plus).

I decided to plan for the worse case scenario (actual homelessness) just in case that's what happens, so I've been exploring as many options as possible. I can tell you that here in Lexington, people without resources often end up at the Salvation Army. While I certainly hope that doesn't happen to me, I tried to plan today for that outcome, wondering how long I could afford to keep my belongings in storage in case no one had room for them. It's certainly cheaper to pay storage costs than to pay rent, and some of the storage outfits even throw in moving trucks these days. I also started packing an imaginary suitcase, thinking about what I would need to have with me in a temporary shelter. Not a cheerful thought, perhaps, but one it's best to entertain ahead of time in the event of no job offers.

I have come to a few realizations over the last couple of weeks, or maybe it's more accurate to say confirmations of things I realized some time ago. One major realization is that I'm not so much discontented with where I am as discontented with my circumstances. I ditched one tentative plan to move to the West Coast (where there seem to be a lot of job openings of late) when I decided that not only was it too risky without a firm offer of employment but that I prefer to be in Kentucky. I've yet to see California roll out the red carpet for me jobwise (if they do, well, that's another story).

I still sometimes feel restless, as I've always liked traveling, but getting the PhD seems to have changed me. I seem to have more inside of me now so that wherever I am, I'm able to take a wider view of things. I noticed this when I was visiting my hometown the other day. When I was growing up, I wouldn't have been able to look at some of those streets with as much aesthetic appreciation as I have now. But times have changed, and so have I, and even if it's difficult for me to imagine living there again, I can appreciate a nicely restored house, an inviting porch, and a garden full of spring flowers.

The saga of Wordplay's long period of self-employment is still in progress, the outcome uncertain, so any of my interested readers will have to check back on the story as it unfolds here. I would like the last few years to have been vastly different than they were; at the same time, I don't see how they could have been. It is perhaps a case of "needs must," and in the end I may decide that this experience, too, has enlarged me in unexpected ways. I think I now have more understanding of people who stay for years in loveless marriages, watching as the years pass them by but deciding that they can't do anything other than stay the course. In the end, maybe, many of these people have few regrets either. I know very few people, for instance, who would go back and do things differently if it meant never having had their children.

Well, fellow mythologists, the word is that tough times don't last, but tough people do. My feeling is that, cliche or no cliche, this is probably right.

Ecclesiastes Says

You know what they say about the weather in Kentucky, right? "If you don't like it, wait five minutes." I've actually heard that other places lay claim to the same quip, and that I cannot attest to, but here, it's basically just a description of the facts--especially this time of year. Spring is very changeable.

Just the other day, I was covering up with sunscreen and turning on the air conditioning for a drive to Louisville on an absolutely gorgeous afternoon. The passing scene consisted of baby blue sky, greening fields, and redbuds, and the road was practically singing under the tires. Yesterday afternoon, while I was at home, intent on an online job application, a storm that looked to be God's answer to Job blew in and caught me almost unaware. While I was fixing dinner, all hell broke loose, if you picture hell as consisting of ominous rumbling, black skies, bilious light, and torrential rain. I was tending several pots on the stove when the noise caused me to look out, and it occurred to me that I might have to run for the closet, pasta or no pasta, if it got much worse. Things settled down later, but it turned cold overnight.

Today, I was back to my down jacket and gloves; there was a cold rain spitting intermittently, and spring seemed like a dream from another lifetime. I had the heat on in the car, and a turtleneck suddenly seemed like a great idea again. That's nothing, though. I have actually seen it snow in April (and once, long ago, even in May), so unless we get a blizzard, almost anything else is business as usual.

I should really be writing about the book I finished the other day, but I'm slightly exhausted by the effort I've put into job applications, so you'll have to excuse me for putting that off. Trying to discuss the ins and outs of Edith Wharton's love life seems a bit much under the circumstances, though the book was interesting and not what I was expecting. (I thought it was going to be like The Bostonians but it was more like The Paris Wife. OK by me.) I'm only too glad to be busy with applications, but what I would really welcome is results. It would be pretty ridiculous for a woman with several college degrees, numerous skills, and considerable personal charm to end up on public assistance, but that appears to be the direction I'm going in. Don't say I didn't warn you. (Yes, it is pretty weird.)

It looks like the weather is trending warm again starting tomorrow, and we should have a nice weekend. So much back and forth could be disconcerting for someone who isn't used to it, but most people around here are hip to the facts of Kentucky weather. You can go from one of those storybook days when it's almost impossible to wish yourself anywhere else to a lowering day of wet winds and chilling rain that makes you ask yourself "What am I thinking?" "Who ordered this?" in the mere blink of an eye. Oh, well, to everything there is a season--even unseasonable spring weather.

Goddesses in the Pages

Lately, I've had a pretty good run with finding entertaining books at the library. I seem to have a theme going--I've read three books in a row about women in difficult circumstances finding their way in the world. At least, two of them were on that theme, and I suppose you could count the last one, too. Although it was what I think is called a Regency romance and considerably more light-hearted than the other two, its heroine did bump up against a very rigid social structure; the humor in the story came from the way in which she consistently ignored attempts to bring her to account.

I found Maeve Binchy's A Week in Winter on a St. Patrick's Day display shelf celebrating Irish writers. I liked the only other book of hers that I've read, Nights of Rain and Stars, a story about a group of people vacationing in Greece, and the premise of A Week in Winter--a woman setting up a hotel on the west coast of Ireland--sounded promising. No War and Peace grand strokes, just a domestic drama about relationships, starting over, and figuring out how to make things work. The characters included several capable women whose disarming ability to overcome obstacles provided much of the impetus of the story. My only quarrel with the book was its structure, for having gotten to know the main characters, I was thrown off by the introduction of a whole new set of people, the first week's guests at the hotel, whose stories made up the last part of the novel. Do hotels like this really exist in the west of Ireland? If so, I'd love to go to one.

The second book I read was Anne Bronte's The Tenant of Wildfell Hall. I believe I saw the first part of a PBS series based on this book some years ago, and I somehow had the impression that it was a more staid tale than either Jane Eyre or Wuthering Heights, but I didn't really have that right. It's the story of a woman escaping an abusive husband in a time and place that didn't make it easy for a woman to assert her rights. While it includes some harrowing episodes and many instances of the restrictions placed on women (and men) by Victorian society, it's surprisingly fresh and contemporary in its treatment of characters and relationships. Overall, it's a little less dark than either of the more famous works by Miss Bronte's sisters, having a more optimistic and even (at times) humorous outlook despite the seriousness of its theme. This novel should be better known than it is, I think.

Georgette Heyer's The Grand Sophy is much like the other two books I've read by this author: light, frothy, and entertaining, with an engaging heroine who does pretty much as she pleases just about all the time. Reading it so soon after the Bronte book was a study in contrasts as I thought about the nearly insurmountable difficulties faced by Helen Huntingdon in the latter compared with the ease with which Sophy Stanton-Lacy sails through life, driving her phaeton at a blistering clip through Hyde Park and rearranging the lives of everyone she comes in contact with. Well, they say it takes all kinds, and I believe it.

Heyer's book did have some ground to it: there's an affecting account of the illness of one Sophy's young cousins that brings the story down to earth a bit and an episode in which another cousin nearly comes to grief at the hands of a moneylender. I was surprised at the anti-Semitism expressed in the book. It may have been historically accurate, but it was jarring to see it so unabashedly displayed and was at rather at odds with the light-hearted tone of the story. And while there were some delightfully comical passages in the early part of the book (and some very droll characters), I will admit to liking Sophy better before she grazed her friend Lord Charlbury with a bullet, however good her intentions may have been. Also, the effect of a headstrong heroine is somewhat spoiled when she ends up being bossed around by her fiance. All of that strategizing and larking about, merely to end up a submissive wife? It was much more fun to watch her boss him around.

If I had to name presiding goddesses for each of these books, I would mention Hestia and Demeter for A Week in Winter (lots of descriptions of food and domestic comforts), Demeter and Persephone in The Tenant of Wildfell Hall (Helen embodies both of them), and Aphrodite (in a particularly mischievous bent) in The Grand Sophy. I'd gladly read more books by any of these authors and only wish Miss Bronte had been more prolific.