Book spy

I spend close to 90 minutes a day on the metro and, as you can imagine, have a lot of time to think and look around. Late last week I decided I was going to start keeping a record of all of the books I saw people reading on the metro and keep a running list over in the sidebar. I have four days worth of books recorded but am now waffling on whether or not to publish the list. Why? The selections are simply too boring. People are reading mostly crap, and the thought of making that list public kind of depresses me. The rare soul who seems to be taking a more adventurous leap into reading usually has the book I just can't manage to snag the title of. Otherwise, the reading pool is, in addition to boring, a bit homogenous. I see way too many duplicates of whatever the popular* titles happen to be. What are you reading?



*...at least according to people like Oprah or the New York Times.

Hot hot heat

The heat has been so oppressive the past couple of days. I walk through the streets feeling like I'm wearing a heavy cloak. I feel like I'm carting around Apollo himself on my shoulder. I'm thankful Apollo has made those shoulders a little browner and a lot more freckled, but I would appreciate it if he would lay off the whole head-sweat thing. That kind of wet is never attractive.

Are there people out there who function well in heat? When the heat feels like an actual, tangible object, all I want to do is (1) sit in the shade with an ice cold Diet Coke, (2) find some body of water to periodically throw myself into or (3) lay on my bed in my arctic apartment. Scarlet was telling me she had an old roommate who loved to sweat. Why would this be appealing? I like feeling clean, and sweat leaves me feeling not so fresh. And two sweaty bodies touching? Why do romance novels always include some sweaty sex scene? If doing it gets you sweaty, fine, but we damned sure better not start off that way.

My love muscle's weak

I have a weak love muscle. My heart just breaks all the damned time...for loved ones, people I'm only acquainted with, the average joe on the street. I used to think this fact meant that I was fated for a life of public service, giving back to those I empathized with. I'm beginning to think it means I'm going to waste too much time crying over people I don't even know and probably wouldn't like me anyway.

Actually, I take that back. I think my heart usually aches and breaks for the right reasons and people. It's just an email I got last night really sent me off on one of my "thinking" binges. As I was about to lay my head on my pillow I decided to quickly check my email one last time. A new friend* has a bitch** for a wife. They've been separated, and evidently last night she told him she was dating a new guy and didn't want him around. He's pretty messed up over it and rightly so. Just hearing about it made me lose sleep. Any drowsiness I had was gone, and I couldn't stop my mind from spinning. I couldn't help but think about my brother and how he'd had to go through the same thing. He was young and in love, and some country #$*&@ trampled on his heart. They got married and all of a sudden she stops working and sits on her ass at home all day. Mind you...she was 19 at the time with no kids and no plans to attend school. While my brother was busting his ass working to support them, even having to drop out of college, she was at the apartment evidently meeting men online. I won't get into the whole sordid tale, but I'm glad my brother pushed through his broken heart and had the courage to kick that ho to the curb.


*If you happen to read this friend, this is the best description I could come up with for you.
**Dear friend, I do apologize for using this word, but all I know of her are the shitty things she has done to you.

Always be prepared

Lately I've found myself inadequately prepared for life's little emergencies, and as someone who spends roughly 6 hours a day at her apartment (all of which are sleeping or preparing to sleep), I've decided I need to be a very ready girl on the go. What's in my emergency preparedness kit?

Flask (object of affection above) - Last night my cohorts and I could have used a little something extra in our Diet Cokes but were unfortunately not in a position to pop down to the local ABC Store. If I had been a prepared girl on the go, the evening would have went down a little smoother.
Breath Mints - As evidenced by last week's panic over my most recent run-in with my missed connection, a girl on the go should always be prepared to have sparkling breath.
Beautification Tool - I could never carry around an entire makeup supply, especially seeing as how I don't wear any on most days, but every girl on the go should have a lip gloss, mascara or whatever beautification tool she feels would give her that extra pop.
Swiss Army Knife - Not sure why, but everyone seems to think you need one (try pink). I guess you never know who (oops...I mean what) you'll need to cut.
Camera (preferably digital) - There are too many life moments that must be captured not to walk around with a camera. Who knows...you may be meant to tape the next Rodney King video.
Help me out. I don't want to be caught unprepared again. What would you put in your emergency preparedness kit?

giggle bounce barf

This is the story of sluttycreatorgirl. In actuality, it's a gut check of who I never want to be.

On what appears to be the first date of a myspace.com hook up, sluttycreatorgirl is upping the giggle ampage early on for barelystraightboy. I'm combining a little more subtle flirting of my own with a refill on the caffeine when I first spot the couple and eavesdrop on the nervous conversation. The meetup that begins in a Barnes & Noble cafe moves to the music department and much closer to where I've ended up. I couldn't help but watch and grimace. Sluttycreatorgirl was giving it 180%, and it would have been hard for anyone not to notice. Barelystraightboy was getting hit over the head with the most obvious, pathetic kind of flirting.

Sporting her fitted green shirt and lowrise jeans, she began visually flirting when she showed up for the date. Evidently it wasn't enough. Sluttycreatorgirl was pretty sure she had a voice and must have thought it added to her date value. She came into the music department singing broadway tunes and doing that perky girl chat. I'm not really sure if barelystraightboy thought it was hot, but if he did, then I should rename him boywholikesboy or am in serious trouble if I have to bust out the vocal talents to flirt. Sluttycreatorgirl pulls the boy over to the listening wall and then she brings out the big guns. With the headphones on she begins to dance for barelystraightboy. Scratch that. She begins bouncing to the music and trying to dance. Girls who make their boobs bounce and girate their hips in stupid ways while listening to pop music all for the sake of a guy get on my nerves. Don't get me wrong, I'm sure you can come up with tons of places this would be appropriate. Listening to music with headphones on in the middle of a music department at 10:00 pm on a Tuesday is simply not one of them. Flip the hand, shake the head, swoosh swoosh swoosh of the hips. Girl, I don't see a hoola hoop around your hips so give it up.

Family is everywhere

I don't have the privilege of being the veteran of too many weddings,
but I do know a good time when I see one. This past week I have the
honor of joining in the wedding festivities of my roommate's sister in
Detroit, MI. Over the years, the bride has transitioned from simply the
relative of a friend into part of an extended family I claim. One of
four girls, my roommate and her sisters are these amazing, funny women
who have adopted me in my home away from home. Not just her sisters but
mothers, aunts, cousins, and friends of the family, too. Being there
these past 5 days just solidified that some people start to feel more
like family than just friends. Having known both the bride and groom
from when they were just coworkers and friends and seeing the
relationship blossom made it even more special.

I've spent the past five days in both a state of rest (way more than I
usually get) and the wedding errand crazies. I burned last minuted cds
for all the guests and went on a hunt for slim cd cases, made sure
grandmother to the bride got to the wedding on time, printed out last
minute changes to the seating chart, showed the groomsmen how to hold
the bouquets, helped the hostesses get ready for the reception, and
generally drove my ass off (literally...we got back to DC at 5 am this
morning). I had also brought my video camera and appointed myself the
unofficial videographer. I love how holding a camera makes me feel so
comfortable and gets me into situations I wouldn't normally get into. I
caught almost everything on film, from the practice runs to the behind
the scenes conversations to the soul train chain. The best part is that
I get to turn it into something memorable for the family.

Holding the camera also means that very few people caught me trying to
do the hustle or dance down the soul train line ; )
Serena

Deliverance

I left Rocky Mount, Virginia haunted. An entire weekend overshadowed by a series of small events that shook my core and reminded my of the dichotomy that exists in our world. All is not well in Denmark.

After the first day in Rocky Mount, I thought I'd leave the town knowing it was a little boring and remembering The Crooked Road, Virginia's Heritage Music Trail. Instead, all I remember is how nauseous I still am. We were on our way out of Rocky Mount, just making on quick stop at the tattoo parlor (yeah, I got another one), when a man walked into the shop. Something just didn't feel right about him; the air changed a bit. Like a cat, I felt the hair on my arms stand on end. Evidently he wanted one tattoo finished and wanted to talk design on a second. He kept eyeing all the women in the shop and even went so far as to make some comment toward the owner's daughter (the resident body piercer). I was still a little on edge when it came to the other patron's after a group of kids had come in earlier wanting the nazi symbol tattooed on, but I didn't pay him too much mind as I was about to head back and get a little color. However, when Allie was done and we were headed out, I realized why my guard was raised. On the computer screen was a hooded figure peering out from behind a cross. I glanced at the back of his elbow and saw the tattoo he already had for the first time, the confederate flag with the words Ku Klux Klan written above it. Even typing this I'm shaking. Are we really still there? And how dare this mother fucker hide his hatred and ignorance behind the cross and the cloak of Christianity. I don't own a gun and never will for times like that. I was hot with rage and might blown his testicles off in my rage had I had a gun. Instead, I felt bile rise in my throat and left haunted with fears of the Rocky Mounts of the world. As we stopped off in Wal-Mart, I viewed every white person with wariness and anyone nonwhite with the wonder of how much shit they must put up with. I wondered yet again where I should be. Am I hiding in the suburbs of D.C.? An ironic twist to all of this is the fact that earlier that day we ventured down to Greensboro, NC. There I stood in front of the Woolworth where the lunch boycotts began and a civil right's war was waged. The awe of the morning smashed by the present that still looks so much like the past.

Treading is always an option

I spent yesterday morning giving swimming lessons to a friend who didn't really know how to swim and who started to panic a little stepping into water a little over 3-foot deep. My friend is not a dwarf nor abnormally short. The fear had a different origin. One that was a foreign concept to me because, for the longest time, I've been at home in the water. Texas is so fucking hot during the summertime that the only way to survive to spend it immersed in something other than your own sweat. Parents toss their young into the pool at a young age and expect them figure out. I survived the ritualistic baptism by fire in our 4-foot above ground monstrosity. Shortly after that test it was swim lessons every summer that ended the year I maxed out and finished the final course before lifeguard certification. Yes, I've rescued a drowning dummy and used my own jeans as a flotation device. From there is was the city swim club and competitive swimming. I didn't suck but didn't really win either.

As yesterday's sun beat down, my only goal was to at least convince her she could float on her back. We came close. Even though she wouldn't give up control and let go of the wall, she did indeed float on her back. There was no faith in the water not to screw her over, to be that invisible layer of support beneath her back. I hope I was understanding and patient. A teacher I am not, but I figure I do okay when I try. It also made me realize that there are things I'm afraid of, and even though others may be able to do them, the smallest step will be difficult for those who are afraid.

Trailblazer

I spend a lot of time worrying about whether I'm doing the right thing with my life and if I'm doing enough to make the world a better place. I feel the need to make an impact, to solve some big global problem. I know I can't but feel like I should at least be trying to contribute my two cents to the cause. This is why guilt and feelings of selfishness tend to wash over me when I start to entertain ideas of trying to do something more creative with my life.* It's only when I read articles like the Washington Post Magazine's piece on locally-based artist Allen Carter that I start remember how art and the creative have been used to shift thinking and spur social change. Carter's (Big Al) work not only reflects an amazing dedication to the art and imagination, Battiata talks of how his art challenges you to face realities you may not want to deal with. The butterflies in my gut in reading this article are for excitement and remembering all the writing, art, photography, theater that has helped in shifting my frame of reference. Even in my current field I see the value in the creative. At a recent conference on rivers I attended, an award was given to Beth Maynor Young for the awareness she's raised with her photography of southeastern rivers. Her photographs have inspired land and river protection throughout the region. Even crafts have gotten activist again** with sites like Craftivism that highlight ways to give back, act out, etc.

Anyway, I ramble on simply to say that I'm excited and hopeful and may just be working my way towards that Master's thesis.

*I feel like that was such a conceited sentence. I'm in no way saying I'm creative enough to ever do anything like that as a career. We're talking a dreaming-only scenario.
**Those old school ladies sewing circles could be pretty revolutionary ; )

More Luke than Christopher

***Warning: You may not want to read this post if you haven't seen the season finale of Gilmore Girls.***

We all make mistakes in life, those last minute decisions made in a moment of panic or desperation that either turn out to be harmless or alter the course of our destiny forever. Imagine my shock when I decided to pay a visit to Stars Hollow yesterday and saw that final scene with Lorelai in bed with Christopher. How familiar was that face that screamed "Oh shit, what have I done," without moving a muscle? As disappointed as I was, I knew what few errant twists of fate it took to get there. For Lorelai it was months of feeling like she was on the backburner in Luke's life and that immediate broken heart (and probably a little bit of old feelings for Christopher, etc., etc.). In my own life, see how easily those bad decisions come to me. Sure, one more drink won't hurt. I'm sure it's just a leak in the oil pan. Not talking to the mystery guy yet AGAIN!*


* Yes, I saw him again last night and froze like a deer in the headlights of an oncoming vehicle. I saw him 3 out of 5 days last week and managed to not say a word. Soon fate is going to flip me off.

Missed connections

Do you believe in fate? As with many things in life, I've walked the line between buying into it and also knowing that regardless of fate I choose my own destiny. Lately I've started believing in fate a little more as I continue to cross paths with this one guy in all the oddest places. I first locked eyes with him as an off and on Barn customer. Maybe it's my imagination, but catching each other's eye has intensified over time. That said, I wouldn't think anything of it if it were just the Barn. It's not. I've accidentally parked beside him at Target and passed him on the streets of D.C. on a handful of occasions, each time eliciting a double take (from him). After seeing him again on Tuesday night, I finally decided that next time I saw him I would speak to him. He's cute, tall, and makes my heart skip beats. I'm interested. Easy enough, right? Well, fate is one smart-ass bitch because last night he boarded my normal bus a few people behind me. I've never seen him on this bus before, and he happens to get on so soon after I made my decision to speak?! As I took up residence in my normal seat (back corner), he sat down and proceeded to crane around to look at me. We locked eyes yet again (can I just say I'm ready to move beyond the eye lock). He would look back periodically and would glance at everyone that passed to see if it was my stop. Meanwhile, I'm putting on the lip gloss and texting Scarlet trying to figure out what to do. The bad news is that (1) I was dead tired having just gotten back from an event in Jersey; (2) tired does not = uber hot; (3) was carrying a tote where you could see my mixed drink pj bottoms on top; (4) was dealing with the drama of figuring out how I was going to get gas to my roommate who was stranded in the rain; and (5) already late to the Barn. So, even though I had my line prepared, I didn't approach him. The timing was just off. I do believe in fate and know we'll cross paths again. Next time I'll be prepared ; )

Thumbs down to news

I used to pride myself on staying abreast of current events and regularly catching the news (either print or TV); however, ever since September 11 happened, I've found the news a bitter pill I'd rather not follow. I realize this is a dangerous game I play, risking being so out of the loop. Knowledge is power...I buy into that ideal. I just need to get my knowledge some other way. Have I found the delivery method right for me? Not yet. I definitely frequent "new media" (that's blogs, peeps) and do read the paper periodically. I go old school sometimes relying on word of mouth (dangerous, I know). You'd be surprised how much people want to pass along to you or what you can overhear just keeping those ears alert. Having been on the road for more than 7 hours today, I feel only affirmation in my feelings of dissatisfaction with the news. Seven hours, 4-5 NPR stations, and the same 4 stories over and over and over. I can now recite the story of Bush's reaction to the USA Today article on the NSA tracking the phone calls of millions of Americans. Curious about immigration policy or the proposed tax cuts? Give me a call. I respect the journalists working hard to keep us all informed, admiring them from afar with what could sometimes be called jealousy. All I really want is to continue to see the envelope pushed and the harder questions asked. As media conglomerations grow, let's hope the news reported is less watered down than we've come to expect.

Do you contra?

Contra...out of breath dizzy fun. According to wikipedia, it's an English country dance originating in the 17th century and later adapted by the French. Once co-opted by the Americans it was re-interpreted and considered some form of American folk dance. Honestly, it reminded me a lot of square dancing. Whatever you call it, I was doing it on Monday night after a glass of wine and a little Red Hook. Someone had the bright idea to hire a caller and band the last night of the river rally I went to in New Hampshire. Couldn't have been too terrible an idea as young and old (and, yes, me) poured onto the dance floor to fling each other about. Passed from man to woman to man while skipping, swinging and do si doing all I could do was laugh. Don't be surprised if I try to get a little contra going at the next party ; )

...live from New Hampshire (on a hijacked internet connection)

I was going to complain. I had plans last night for my blog to be about how I just don't connect at some of these events. Today happened though. It wasn't the breakfast of chai french toast or the fact that my presentation was over this morning (successful btw). It wasn't even how a session on water privatization re-energized my activist spirit. It was a simple box lunch on a rock by a dancing river at the base of Mount Washington in the White Mountains of New Hampshire. It was pen and paper to record my thoughts as the water danced over the cobble and a look upstream revealed the glare of gentle whitewater. It was knowing that I did have friends inside the resort but could come down here and find my center. It was having a spider race across my foot and knowing it was time to go. It was a silent chuckle to myself and knowing I'll always be me and that's an okay thing.

Why metro is truly trying sometimes

Currently on the orange line traveling in the direction of Vienna and
surrounded by crazies. Seriously, I'm not being judgemental here. Any
psychologist would put both of these guys in a mental facility or at
least prescribe a heavy drug regime.

Crazy #1 talks really loudly, spouting off minute facts about Sesame
Street. I now proudly know that there was a special retrospective to
Mr. Hooper in 1983 after he died. Perhaps my favorite that came out of
his mouth was on the the new theater in Tyson's Corner.

"It's outrageous!"

Metro patron: "You mean expensive?"

"No. Outrageous, like in beautiful. It's beautiful."

Metro patron: "Oh."

"Outrageous. Jem...she's truly outrageous (he's singing, mind you).
Like that."

I swear he said just that. My lip throbbed just a tad as I bit down on
it to keep from laughing. I stopped laughing when he began to carry on
a conversation with himself in the mirror.

Crazy #2 had an obvious problem that he needed to share with the closest
metro employee. I didn't hear everything but evidently someone was near
him with a knife and he was afraid for his life. He also wanted to know
if it was ok to kill someone.

You can't make this shit up.
Serena

More geeky than freaky

Thanks to Netflix (and Steven and Charlie for the strong recommends) I watched the pilot episode of Freaks & Geeks last night. Immediately it became apparent that this was in fact a documentary shot at my high school. I found myself watching and trying to figure out which group I had fit into in high school. Freak...geek...popular...jock...no...no...no...no. I was a floater, a little bit of many. Band nerd and honor society convert, the geeks were my peeps. I dated the guy who would quote Star Trek (don't ask). Don't pigeonhole me though. My cynicism and hatred of the "system" also gave me a home with the freaks. Though too straightedge to ever fully join, I hovered around the perimeter, dabbling occasionally. Popular never really took hold, though I had remnant friends from my junior high days as a mainstream cheerleader wannabe. I'm embarrassed to say now because it makes me look like such a bitch, but I considered myself better them, so I didn't even try matriculating into their crowd.

I'm curious how a show with such a strong underground following and such a tap on reality didn't make it more than one season. Were the geeks who grew up to become producers and directors tired of having to relive their awkward youth on the small screen, or maybe the jock/bully/popular kids who morphed into shiny ad execs didn't want to see freak kids and geek kids up close and personal so ad dollars were lost. Like I said, I've only just begun but am stoked to stroll down memory lane, reliving real life through the kids of Freaks & Geeks.

Deniability

Deniability only gets you so far in this life. I used to try to deny where I was from...even while I was still there. I spent my formative years loathing country music and nagging my mom to only buy me designer jeans. Hell, I even chose to be liberal. I was convinced I was way more cosmopolitan than the city I was forced to call home and would dream of life in a "big" city up north. Texas runs through my blood. Not metropolitan, urban Texas but rural, west Texas. In a town surrounded by fields of cotton and corn and a house not more than a mile from a dairy, I sweated out my existence just knowing I was better than that. The problem with denying your reality is that eventually it will hunt you down like an escaped con and remind you who you are. I did eventually did make my way north to the concrete jungle of D.C. The problem is that country followed me. While I thought I never had it, turns out I couldn't shake it. I began to get subtle reminders from some country bitch deep inside me that she wasn't going without a fight. Imagine your first "real" job in the world of PR and letting slip rather loudly in a group conversation that you're fixin' to do something. Hoots and harassment do follow. Overcoming a red flush of shame, I vowed to double-check my vocabulary before ever opening my mouth again.

However, the longer I was here an odd thing began to happen. I became more comfortable with where I grew up and the little bit of country that lived in me. I tired of the pretentiousness of DC and began to embrace my working class background. Don't get me wrong, I still don't want to move back to Texas, but I decided the that internal country deserved some airtime, too. It fought long and hard to get here, so a little country slip every now and then isn't so bad.

Why this? Why today*? I was reminded of yet another article I had seen on Britney Spears and suddenly it hit me. The reason Britney and the rest of the normal world are so at odds or in shock over her past couple of years is that everyone is forgetting what she truly is. She's just Texas country with a little trash thrown in. No matter how much she denies it that internal country bitch will rear its head. Star or not...deniability doesn't work forever.

*I also got a funny email this morning from my mom. I won't share, but let's just say it reminded of how every country we are.

Wowza

I feel the need to apologize to my sensitive readers up front. The poem below may shock and disturb you...I hope it does. It's poetic in both its message and delivery. I'm posting in because things like what happened at Duke still happen and because I feel like this.

with no immediate cause
by Ntozake Shange

every 3 minutes a woman is beaten
every five minutes a woman is raped/every ten minutes
a lil girl is molested
yet i rode the subway today
i say next to an old man who
may have beaten his old wife
3 minutes ago or 3 days/30 years ago
he might have sodomized his
daughter but i sat there
cuz the young men on the train
might beat some young women
later in the day or tomorrow
i might no shut my door fast
enuf/push hard enuf
every 3 minutes it happens
some woman’s innocence
rushes to her cheeks/pours from her mouth
like the betsy wetsy dolls have been torn
apart/their mouths
mensis red & split/ every
three minutes a shoulder
is jammed through plaster & the oven door/
chairs push thru the rib cage/ hot water or
boiling sperm decorate her body
i rode the subway today& bought a paper from a
man who might
have held his old lady onto
a hot pressing iron/ i don’t know
maybe he catches lil girls in the
park & rips open their behind
with steel rods/ i cdn’t decide
what he might have done i only
know every 3 minutes
every 5 minutes every 10 minutes/so
i bought the paper
looking for the announcement
there has to be an announcement
of the women’s bodies found
yesterday/ the missing little girl
i sat in a restaurant with my
paper looking for the announcement
a yng man served me coffee
i wondered did he pour the boiling
coffee/ on the woman cuz she waz stupid/
did he put the infant girl/ in
the coffee pot/ with the boiling coffee/ cuz she cried
too much
what exactly did he do with hot coffee
i looked for the announcment
the discovery/ of the dismembered<
woman's body/ the
vicitm's have not all been
identified/ today they are
naked & dead/ refuse to
testify/ one girl out of 10's not
coherent/ i took the coffee
& spit it up/ i found an
announcment/ not the woman's
bloated body in the river/ floating
not the child bleeding in the
59th street corridor/ not the baby
broken on the floor/
"there is some concern
that alleged battered women
might start to murder their
husbands & lovers with no
immediate cause"
i spit up i vomit i am screaming
we all have immediate cause
every 3 minutes
every 5 minutes
every 10 minutes
every day
women's bodies are found
in aley & bedrooms/ at the top of the stairs
before i ride the subway/ buy a paper/ drink
coffee/ i must know/have you hurt a woman today
did you beat a woman today
throw a child cross a room
are the lil girl's panties
in yr pocket
did you hurt a woman today

i have to ask these obscene questions
the authorities require me to
establish
immediate cause

every three minutes
every five minutes
every ten minutes
every day

(reprinted from vegankid)
-

**WARNING** The following may be hazardous to your health

Selfishness may feel good at the outset but once done starts to rot and mold like the dank underbelly where the thought originates. The problem is that giving so much of yourself sucks sometimes, too. You give until they expect it...until they take advantage...until you begin to lose a little part of yourself. I'm tired of giving so freely, of leaving myself open. I want to be one of the first thoughts and not one of the last resorts. Selfish thoughts stomp around my head as I think of taking more for me. I dream of ignoring them ignoring me. I think all of these horrid thoughts and then remember that it's Easter. I remember that today is the day we celebrate the fact that He is risen, that He gave of himself selflessly. I remember that no matter how much I take from Him and ignore Him that the giving, the selflessness, is still there. It's unconditional. And maybe that's what my giving should be...unconditional.

Taking care of our own

What would you do if you'd been living a fairly consistent existence for more than 30 years only to learn one day your world was about to be turned upside down? My mom finds out today if the company she has been with for close to 30 years is being shut down. She called me this morning just to hear my voice, but she cracked a little towards the end. The fissure in my heart cracked just a little more that I wasn't there to put my arms around her and tell her it would be ok. Thirty years of knowing your routine, knowing where your paycheck was going to come from. While in this day and age the thought of staying at one job for that length of time may seem like torture, this kind of tenure at one job seems fairly common for older generations. The question is, how do you cope with such radical, life-altering shift to your status quo? The town I'm from is not ripe with opportunity. I don't want her having to pound the pavement looking for another job in this competitive job market. She could work circles around recent college grads, but because she didn't graduate from college and has such narrow (maybe focused is more appropriate) experience she might not get the opportunity she deserves. All I know is that we have each other and that with brainstorming and support things are bound to be okay.