"Kathleen's Geraniums"

So many odd little things are creeping into my days.

I've been financially stressed lately. I think I've not made a secret about that. My very best friend and cheerleader, who just moved thousands of miles from here, sent me a gift card to go find something great for my new home. That simple act of kindness brought tears to my eyes when I opened the letter from Seattle.

I had two thoughts for this unexpected gift of decoration. I wanted to get either a swag to go over my mirror in my bedroom, or a wonderful print in a nice frame for one of my big tall walls. Since it was a substantial gift card, I opted for Choice Two. I searched the racks of prints on several occasions, carving out time between my two jobs. I refused to make a hurried choice, as I don't often splurge on nice stuff. Finally, on the third trip, I knew I had enough time and poring over of the selection available to make my choice.

Every time I had looked, one artist's paintings captured my attention. It wasn't that I was looking for her paintings, rather I'd see a picture I liked, and it was always by this same woman--Carol Rowan. I finally settled on "Kathleen's Geraniums." Choosing a frame is a whole 'nother story that I won't bore you with...just know that I could not get the frame I wanted or the matting I wanted. I settled on a workable frame and no mat, knowing I can change those things later when I'm back on my feet and find the perfect matches.

This story actually begins here! I was so excited by having this art project in front of me that I actually sat on my living room floor at midnight after a double shift. I just had to see this put together. As I was putting the print into its frame, I thought to myself that I should look at the tag on the wrapping one last time to make sure I knew who the artist was and what the name of the print was. I cannot tell you why it clicked in my head when I looked at the plastic sticker in that particular moment, but a light bulb went off.

Carol Rowan. Carol Rowan? Could this be the artist I think it could be? I immediately dropped the project at hand and walked (quickly) to the computer. A Google of Carol Rowan brought back astounding news. "Carol Rowan works and lives in Milwaukee, Wisconsin, where she transforms her surroundings into luminous portraits of color and light. ..."

My heart skipped a beat and I stared at the screen slack-jawed. I have been to this woman's house and she has fed me dinner. On Sunday Dinner night, reserved for family and friends. It's a tradition. She is a wonderful hostess, amazing cook, and has one of the warmest, most inviting homes I have ever been in.

How, you ask? This is Aunt Carol. My former best friend's Aunt Carol. She took me to Family Dinner one October evening long ago. We had a wonderful autumn dinner with pumpkin soup and other scrumptious food. I've always remembered and cherished that evening. Aunt Carol stood at the stove, laughing and chatting with the small group who had gathered to feast upon her cheer and warmth. Her cozy living room with a fireplace and so many wonderful paintings on the wall kept me entertained while I listened to the banter from the dining room and kitchen. One could be comfortable here for many days. She is quite a remarkable woman.

And I bought one of her paintings, completely oblivious to it being her! Remarkable, in and of itself, don't you think? Her paintings exhibit warmth and cheer; they are feel-good flowers and scenes in which you want to be surrounded. Go look, really!

http://www.prints.com/art.php/Carol_Rowan/?artist_id=2696&page=1-6 (Sorry, I cannot get this to be a clickable link).

Thank you, Aunt Carol. For dinner and conversation so long ago. And for making my kitchen a warmer, more beautiful place.

A Walk in the Neighborhood

No words necessary...

So This is How We Do It?

"Wanna play?" Kyle asked, sensing the interest I had in the blackjack game that was passing the time as we stood around a tray on a tray jack in the kitchen as the doors opened without customers. "Hell yeah, I have quarters," I answered, reaching in my pocket for a portion of the pittance I've been hording. Cheap fun! And somehow, in this wild parallel universe I've mistakenly planted myself in, I felt at ease with these two twenty-something young men who each had a turn training me when I took this job six weeks ago. Not only was it an easy camaraderie, it felt good, really good, to be standing with these guys, playing a card game for quarters.

I've been a stressed out loner these last weeks. Feeling like I belonged, was one of the gang for a few minutes, was a healing experience today in an otherwise complicated and messy life. Thank God for a cheap trip to the mechanic. Thank God for a few moments of feeling like maybe I am likeable. And thank God one more day of this current hell is over. At least there were a few blessings to be found.

Talking to a friend yesterday, she told me that my ability to make enough money to pay my bills never crossed her mind, never entered any equation either of us thought might be hard about this move for me. But it has become the overwhelming factor that chokes me every moment of every day while I struggle through another minimally-sat section at not one, but two restaurants now. So, that's two strikes, right? Friends and family assure me (daily) that I'll be okay, that this is just a phase, that things will even out. Yes, they probably will. Let's face it, at this point, it can't get much worse. There's still an underlying doubt that ping-pongs itself every minute of every day in my mind. Have I lost my ability to make an educated judgment about a restaurant's ability to make money? Am I so stupid (or old??) that I can't grasp what I should be doing to save myself from this quandary I've engulfed myself in, albeit unintentionally? Unintentionally. Ha. Who would intentionally position herself into two consecutive jobs that cannot sustain her modest lifestyle? And this is the crux of the matter: What the hell am I doing? Am I too old? Am I too cocky with 25 years experience? Do I not understand you have to start at the bottom?

No. I don't know anybody in the restaurant business who would be happy with $8-10 an hour average in nice restaurants. I've chosen nice places; really, I have. And still, I've chosen unwisely. One place gives managers sections (with booths!) while I earn a whole four tables (no booths) for my lunch shift efforts. The manager, of course, shows up from the office with an apron on at straight up noon after the opening duties have been finished, then disappears without doing any of the after lunch side work. Of course. I was promised a certain amount each week when I explained my current situation and the need for more customers...more money. Four shifts this week haven't touched a third of that. And managers are getting better sections than me. Say hello to my little friend Murphy.

To say that I am disappointed and frustrated wouldn't quite do my emotions the justice they deserve. I have a valid fear. I have bills to make. Count among my blessings the great manager at my first mistake (which is actually better than my second mistake) who is willing to give me my hours back. Uh-huh. I knew not burning bridges was a good choice. And it proves that I still have a shred of intelligence buried somewhere and left intact. Even so, maybe it's time for me to suck it up and find that 9-5 job that doesn't have the Russian Roulette factor where you never know what you'll make.

I don't have any answers these days. All I can do is be thankful for a car that still runs and doesn't seem to be in imminent danger of leaving me stranded. Find some glory in shagging a couple of wannabe's out of a few bucks in quarters. Let there be joy in the arriving home to a place whose rent is paid for at least this month. What lies ahead is a mystery. Gifts come from nowhere.

A friend trying to cheer me up said this: "I am so sorry for your bad luck on your jobs, but for some reason I think there is music in the air! No not the concerts in Oshkosh, but a special position coming up. You'll know when you hear it."

Please let it be so!