The Birthday
Turning fifty-four wasn't a big deal, except for the fact that turning fifty-one and fifty-two and fifty-three wasn't a big deal, either. Turning fifty was supposed to be a big deal, but I was too busy trying to finish the most painful work project in my entire life to even notice or care. Since then, life has just been a constant state of dread, wondering how much worse things can get.
This year's birthday gift from work was a layoff. Oh, joy! No, really. It was past time. I was actually relieved that the job came to an end before things really fell apart, because it was sure headed in the wrong direction. It was actually a blessing, too, because the company was very nice about giving us lots of time off to look for other work, plus a generous severance package.
And it didn't take very long at all to find a new job. Which was actually nothing more complicated than returning to my previous employer, Randstad. Not the most exciting job in the world, but at this point, with all these kids in college, it's money in the bank.
My last day of work was Monday the 19th; the previous week was my birthday.
The birthday was nice. We had a family dinner over at
Jaku Sushi, which has become our go-to birthday celebration spot (thanks to James and Nathan!), followed by cake and ice cream at home. Lots of very nice cards from family. And an especially nice gift from my Dad, who knows how much I like working on cars: a 2-ton Heavy Duty floor jack that can lift my Subarus up to 24" so I can crawl under them and scrape all that rust off.
 |
| It can lift 2.5 tons 24 inches!! (And me, too!) |
(It also makes a nifty chair...)
Thanks, Dad!
Father's Day
They used to hand out candy bars to all the dads at church on Father's Day, in the same way they used to hand out flowers to all the moms on Mother's Day. I like that tradition. Because I like candy bars. Especially the $100,000 bars. Those are just plain yummy! But in the last few years the church budget has been re-prioritized to spend good money on more frivolous things, like new lights and paint and security systems and classroom upgrades and fixes to all the broken infrastructure.
What a waste.
They didn't even have a proper Father's Day sermon this year, espousing the virtues of us dads who spend all our energies trying to earn money so our families can spend it on things like cell phones and video games and junk food and college educations. No, they decided to talk about the
Bible instead. How we should
run the race to
receive the prize. All well and good for people who are in good enough shape to go out and run! But not for us who prefer to be couch potatoes, sitting in our easy chairs with laptops perched atop our ample bellies, eating snacks while simultaneously surfing the web and watching Netflix.
I got a very nice Father's Day card from my fellow Sunday School teacher, Mary. And we had a good time teaching the kids about Peter and Cornelius and the Jew/Gentile thing in the book of Acts. She is turning out to be such an excellent teacher! I'm so glad she has decided to pursue teaching in college. She really seems to have a knack for it.
Seems like she inherited some of those Teacher genes. Not that she had much choice - it runs on both sides of the family. Her mom's a teacher, and her grandpa Meyer is a teacher, too.
Speaking of which -- Happy Father's Day, Dad! I think of you every time I teach my Sunday School class. You instilled in me a love of studying The Word, and I'm trying to pass it on.
The New Job
There is a round-robin kind of feeling in my work life these days, wherein I bounce from one job to another and then back again, repeating the same tasks over and over again yet gaining no ground, accomplishing no great feats, feeling no growth of knowledge or ability.
There are people who wake up every morning in delighted anticipation of beginning their work day. Who are these people, and how come I am not one of them?
For the past thirteen years, with very few exceptions, my work-days have begun with dread, wishing that the clock would stop and there would be no need to rise from my bed. What a stupid way to live. What an incredibly wasted life. If it were not for the fact that I have a lovely family to come home to, there would be no purpose at all in spending my days in such misery.
My last official day at The Old Job was Monday, June 19th. My first official day at The New Job was Tuesday, June 20th. It was supposed to be an exciting day, a new task, a new adventure, a new challenge.
But it turns out to be an old story: customer wants the impossible, and wants it now. Boss needs warm bodies, and is willing to pay for them. Result is going to be two or three months of panic-mode flurry with accompanying long hours.
Oh, well. It will help pay for college.
The last official day at The Old Job was sad. The mood was somber. The people who had received the layoff were wrapping up things here and there, walking around to say good-bye to those who remained, then disappearing at random times. I was so very busy that the time flew past and suddenly it was time for me to leave as well. I had done the best that I could do, finished all the work I had promised to complete, handed over all my office supplies to my boss, then walked downstairs and turned in my badge. There was a very familiar feeling of relief and depression all mixed together.
The first official day at The New Job was satisfying and frustrating, all at the same time. My old friends greeted me warmly, as though I had never left. My paperwork was not quite ready, so there was nothing for me to actually
do. So I didn't stay. At my age, it is pointless to sit around an office with nothing to do but bother other people with idle conversation. So I left to pursue another goal: the acquisition of a new personal laptop.
The New Laptop
My old laptop, obtained so many years ago that I've quite forgotten the year, is sitting somewhere in the stack of Things That Need To Be Repaired. I haven't touched it since before we started finishing the basement. Meanwhile, I've been using my work laptops for most everything, but that is not a good idea since, as is evident, work laptops come and go.
The old Vista computer, which was purchased ten years ago, cannot keep up with the applications now running on the Web; it is too slow for words. A modern person as myself cannot abide waiting. I have things to do.
Obviously, then, it was time for a new computer. A
fast computer. A
modern computer. Something like the one we just bought for Mary, for college.
But there are caveats to this purchase. Just like my cars, I refuse to purchase them brand-new. Their value decreases so quickly; why pay full-price for the latest gizmo when something nearly-new will do the job for so much less? This is why I do my computer shopping at the local Computer Recycling center.
And there I found a nice little Dell Latitude (my favorite model) for a reasonable price. So I took it home and set it up and started installing all my favorite applications. It is quite faster than the old Vista machine. The display is sharp, too. And the keyboard feels quite nice.
Perhaps now I'll be able to spend more time writing.
Meanwhile, I'm taking a little time off on my second day of The New Job because of a wrist injury incurred about a month ago which needs to be looked at by the local physician.
Wrist Recap
I was working on one of the Subarus about a month ago, loosening one of the bolts on the back-side of the brake caliper, but there was rust on it (as is always the case here in West Michigan) and when it finally let go, my left hand slipped off the handle of the ratchet and smacked against the underside of the wheel well, right on one of the wrist bones. It hurt like - it hurt a lot. I had to gag myself to keep from saying naughty words. But the pain passed after a few minutes, and I went back to work.
I didn't really think that much about it at the time because those things are just par for the course when working on cars, at least for me. It's natural to have some bruises or cuts as trophies of a good car repair workout. They generally heal up after a day or two and life goes on, and they leave nifty battle scars for bragging rights around the water cooler.
But this one was still tender and hurting after a couple weeks, and instead of getting better, it seemed to be getting worse. So being the diligent person that I am - ha ha! - I scheduled an appointment with the doctor to get it looked at.
Ran into a couple issues.
Issuse #1: My doctor actually moved away a couple years ago, so I have to be assigned to a new doctor. There are lots of doctors to choose from. Mostly old. Hmmm....one of them is a lot younger. And has experience in Sports Medicine. That sounds good -- I'll pick
him.
Issue #2: My
new doctor is
out of town this week so the nurse practitioners will actually be looking at my wrist. Oh, well. They should at least be able to tell me if I broke something or not.
Meanwhile, Cheryl was kind enough to let me borrow her wrist brace. I used to have one very similar, only much more old-school, just a metal brace with a wide bandage and Velcro wrapped around it. Hers has
three Velcro strips! Sure beats the Ace bandage I was using. Stupid thing wouldn't stay on very well, even with tape.
Can't wait to find out the verdict.
