Month: July 2010 (Page 3 of 5)

Or at least it saves this gal an anxiety attack followed by a streak of depressing attitude. **I originally saw that line as a facebook group – “Let’s eat grandma!” vs. “Let’s eat, grandma!” Punctuation saves lives! and thought it was hysterically funny. Nearly as funny as The Oatmeal. Can you tell I’m a grammar junkie? I take on such noble causes because I’m such a horribly bad speller. (In my opening line I tried to use the word “baught” or “bowt” or ba-out but the google spellcheck had zero suggestions. Streak it is.)

But let us return to the story at hand. Punctuation. And the stress it can induce. And this story isn’t even coming from a horrendous resume.

Today the husband sent a text informing me that one of the positions for which he interviewed had been filled. Boo. I was sad. We were a little hopeful, specifically because it was within a commutable distance from our current dwelling, not to mention the perk of the tremendously cheap babysitting within a mile of the school. We had an inkling that he didn’t get the job, but hearing it outright is never fun.

I sent a message to my dad asking who had filled the spot and he did not know. There are no more than 16 people who live in that town yet he was still without intel. I told him that perhaps, then, husband must’ve received a call [inferring: that he didn’t get the job] because the position was filled. My father thought I was being a smarty pants and thought husband did get the job. His response via text: “He got it!!!”

You are correct. Those are exclamation points. Not a single question mark. 

Imagine seeing that one come through. So I quickly cut off the lube technician (hehe, yes, that’s what they’re called) I was interviewing and called husband to find out what in the sam hillfire was going on. And we discovered the confusion.

I was told that he didn’t get the job. Twice. In one day. The same job. And my hopes sunk deeper every time.

I know it probably seems as if I’m selfishly hoping that he gets a job soon to relieve my own self from working, but honestly it’s not the case. I’ll likely continue working the same hours if he gets a position. If he doesn’t find something, I might have to go full time, but there *might* be a little part of me that would actually enjoy that (the work. Not being the hero. Husband is much better at hero endeavors).

What I want so much is for husband to have the opportunity to do what he enjoys, what I know he does so well. I want to know the past 2.5 years have been worth it. I want him to experience the joy of taking pride of a job well done – not just at the end of every day, but also in knowing the sacrifice he put forth to get this far, going back to school as an adult and earning a second degree. We changed jobs, homes, communities, churches… all so we could chase this dream. I can’t bear to think that the dream will slip through our fingertips this year and that we’ll have to wait another 365 days to try again.

But alas, one of the many reasons I love him: he is still hopeful. He had an interview today that went splendidly. He has interviews scheduled for Friday and Monday. As quoted in the movie… “…beginnings are scary, endings are usually sad, but it’s the middle that counts the most. Try to remember that when you find yourself at a new beginning. Just give hope a chance to float up. And it will…”

So, in the space/time continuum that is known as work relationships, there was a boundary crossed. Yes, that’s right. I became friends with a coworker. How dare I?

I find work relationships an interesting breed; the average person spends more time with co-workers than the folks you know from playgroup/church/college or however normal people find adult friendships. However, though you spend lots o’ time with them and find out all kinds of interesting facts, they generally remain “work friends.” Do you invite them to your kid’s baptism? Birthday parties? Celebratory functions after 6pm on Fridays? It’s awkward like a first kiss when trying to figure out the appropriate margins in which these folk lie.

And then the day comes. You decide to take the relationship to the next level. Beyond work friends. Now, you’re just friends. Whose paychecks happen to come from the same place. And you can gripe about it.  Together.

Husband and I have had this very experience (seeing as how we both work at the same place. Sort of). The friendship – especially on his part, as he’s had some sort of bromance with my coworker’s husband – has tipped over the border of work friends, but we still tread lightly as we’re not exactly sure how we fit into friendship space. But this week we took the plunge, bared our soul and said, “you’re important to us.” We do that by the most obvious means: pasta and chocolate.

I’m making light, but I really was a bit skittish about pronouncing such a relationship with edible food product. What if they don’t think us the same way? What if we’re not in that inner circle of trusted people who they want to interact with during a stressful time? What if home and work really do need to be separate for them?And why are adult friendships so difficult to understand? I have more apprehension at showing someone that they’re valued now than I did in middle school.

As adults it’s difficult to really establish deep relationships. It’s like mature dating. In a foursome. Do they like us? Do they think we’re cool? Weird? Well, better yet – are they ok with the fact we’re weird?
Fortunately the story ends well as the couple expressed gratitude (more than once) which made me feel all the better at my follow through. I’m not the weird girl that shows up with food. I’m the weird friend that shows up with food. If they do feel that I’m buying love with carbohydrates, they don’t mind.

Apparently, all it takes is a bit of gastronomical love to cement things in place and know that there is trust and reciprocal care for one another. However, I’m not sure how the rules apply once the relationship has been made known to the public via blog. We didn’t DTR in these terms…

*5 points if you can name this sitcom reference

My sophomore year at OU I took my CA 117/118 courses to fulfill a fine arts requirement. The professor wore a bow tie and opened the quarter with the classic “what is art?” discussion. It was so cliche that I thought for a minute I was in the middle of an episode of Growing Pains and Jason Seaver would be barging in to demand why Kirk Cameron’s grades were so low. Between the 2 courses we covered all the major genres (segments?) of the arts – film, literature, dance… art (well, what DO you call the paintings and sculptures section?).

By far the most challenging for me was architecture. It was the only area in which we had to decipher between form and function. The others were obvious: dance & art are done for the beauty, to evoke emotion. Film and literature tell a story. To me, a bridge or a building are just that – a bridge or building. Who really cares about the Gothic columns or the little semi-circles under a bridge?

This, my friends, is why no one ooohs and aaaahhs over my house. Why spend $50 on a sink faucet when you can spend $13.30? Both will disperse water. Why buy the deep mahogany ceiling fan when you can get white at half price? Both will make me cooler. And don’t even get me started on curtain rods.

So my house, along with many other areas of my life, looks like it comes straight from the “put this in your college rental” aisle at Lowe’s. No real fear that it might break because it didn’t cost that much to begin with. And I’m not going to lie. I wish it wasn’t so.

More recently I’ve noticed a similar discrepancy in my photography life. When I graduated from seminary, my wonderful husband (in conjunction with my parents and in-laws) bought me a beautiful, powerful, does-more-things-than-I-can-imagine/have-to-read-the-manual-to-turn-it-on camera. It takes amazing photographs. And I shoot in auto. AUTO.

Now, I understand that it’s acceptable at times – you just want to capture the moment. But why not capture the moment with beauty? Why not use things like lighting to emphasize that which I feel at the moment? Every once in a while AUTO might be able to tell the story, but a good photographer – like a good writer – bends the light to give you a picture that shares more than facts; it tells a story. It evokes emotion. It propels you to want to take action (even if it is just to cry or to order a print from shutterfly and frame it).

So, much like buying brushed silver towel racks, I must begin to let beauty permeate through my picture taking and not just get down the facts. I was quite inspired by a few photography-loving friends this weekend (who show the utmost patience with me asking the same questions OVER and OVER), so now it’s back to #1 – follow through. I hope to tell you a good story here in the future by using a lot less words.