Activities of Daily Life
Long time, no post. Life is still complicated, just differently, that's all.
Visible means of support?
My contract tech writing job ended last month. Upper management basically informed me at 4 pm on a Friday, and I managed to pack up and get out by 6:15 or so. Sigh. I would have liked a bit more time to tidy up loose ends, but it wasn't possible. On the other hand, the exit interview was a good deal more positive than I had expected. I'm wary about what kind of reference they'll give me, but they said surprisingly nice things about the quality of my work. I aired some of my "issues" (among other things, that was perhaps the third piece of actual feedback I'd received during my 10 months of work. I had no clue that they were happy, unhappy, or indifferent to anything I produced, and I found that extremely frustrating. And yes, I'd repeatedly asked for feedback. It was a start-up, and no-one had time for anything that tasted like "overhead." I'm a cat at heart, and thrive with some attention. Not necessarily a lot of attention, but some is necessary.) and I had the uncertain satisfaction of knowing I'd been heard and acknowledged. I say "uncertain" because I have no idea if anything will come of my comments (for a small company, its internal communication was severely constipated!), but at least I got to say my piece.
So I'm back to jobhunting, and it's been hard to build up momentum. Several friends have been helping me out by checking in and asking about my plans and verifying any progress, and I'm getting a little more productive. I'm still making breakfast/coffee dates several days a week, to get me out of bed in the AM and keep me from getting too isolated.
Meanwhile, I am doing some childcare for friends with multiple kids. Teething is Hell. But rocking and singing a baby to sleep is really satisfying.
Anyone need a slightly used tech writer?
So, Mrs. Lincoln, how was the play?
I'm doing makeup for two shows and I'm behind on both of them. Haven't even talked to the director for one of 'em, but at least it's the second of the two shows. The first one opens this weekend. 8 shows in all, 2 each day for two weekends. It's double-cast, so most folks are in one show per day (altho' a number of folks are in both casts, but sing a lead for one show and are choristers in the other). There are just about 80 people in each show. I am in the process of teaching a number of helpful folks to do stage makeup (most of it is just basic makeup -- base, rouge, highlight/shadow, eyeliner, lipstick), but most of them have no frame of reference for it. In other words, they don't know how much to put on. The lights weren't up during the only dress rehearsal I could attend, so I don't yet know how strong it'll have to be. Even women who wear street makeup have difficulty believing how much rouge you really need under stage lights. Pancake base is something of an acquired skill, too, and it's not obvious how much color one actually deposits on the skin if one has never done it before. By the second day of next weekend, I hope to have most of the kinks worked out.
As time goes by...
March 10 was the eighteenth anniversary of my father's death, one of the worst days of my life to date. I can't believe it has been eighteen years. Can't you get time off for good behavior? A note excusing dad from being dead? No. Doesn't work that way. Discovering a cache of old family photographs the week before didn't help, either.
I'm glad to have the photographs, really. It's just hard to be unable to discuss them with my parents. I don't know who all the people in them are, and even when I do know (for example, there are an appalling number of childhood pix of me and my Evil Twin that our dad took), I'd like to hear the stories behind them. A number of very old pictures have descriptions on the back, but in Yiddish. For those unfamiliar with it, it's sort of double-encoded: Hebrew script, but mostly German language. I hauled eighteen of them to a photo shop to be reproduced and digitized, so I can send some out to some of my relatives. And, altho' its hardly a good time for spending major bucks, I am getting one cracked photo restored. It must be over one hundred years old, and it's my great-grandparents on my mother's mother's side. Something inside me refused to wait until I had a real job again... I'd probably forget about it and/or lose it for several years, and it's so very irreplaceable. The cousins who would probably treasure a copy most live in Israel, and they're in their seventies. Waiting is just not a good idea...
My Evil Twin and I went to services to say Kaddish for dad, as we do every year. It hurt a little more this year, because it's kind of a milestone. I was glad to find some photos of dad in that boxful -- since he took most of the pictures, he wasn't in very many. Several of them are among those being reproduced.
Nice Jewish Girl, Redux
Not that I've managed to make time for it, but I'm still running my usual crazy potluck Seder on the second night of Passover. Just say "oy." With feeling.
More on next rock... time to go to bed so I can get up in time to meet a friend for coffee at 8:30 AM. Right place, right person, lousy time. But helpful. For My Own Good, and I know it.
Visible means of support?
My contract tech writing job ended last month. Upper management basically informed me at 4 pm on a Friday, and I managed to pack up and get out by 6:15 or so. Sigh. I would have liked a bit more time to tidy up loose ends, but it wasn't possible. On the other hand, the exit interview was a good deal more positive than I had expected. I'm wary about what kind of reference they'll give me, but they said surprisingly nice things about the quality of my work. I aired some of my "issues" (among other things, that was perhaps the third piece of actual feedback I'd received during my 10 months of work. I had no clue that they were happy, unhappy, or indifferent to anything I produced, and I found that extremely frustrating. And yes, I'd repeatedly asked for feedback. It was a start-up, and no-one had time for anything that tasted like "overhead." I'm a cat at heart, and thrive with some attention. Not necessarily a lot of attention, but some is necessary.) and I had the uncertain satisfaction of knowing I'd been heard and acknowledged. I say "uncertain" because I have no idea if anything will come of my comments (for a small company, its internal communication was severely constipated!), but at least I got to say my piece.
So I'm back to jobhunting, and it's been hard to build up momentum. Several friends have been helping me out by checking in and asking about my plans and verifying any progress, and I'm getting a little more productive. I'm still making breakfast/coffee dates several days a week, to get me out of bed in the AM and keep me from getting too isolated.
Meanwhile, I am doing some childcare for friends with multiple kids. Teething is Hell. But rocking and singing a baby to sleep is really satisfying.
Anyone need a slightly used tech writer?
So, Mrs. Lincoln, how was the play?
I'm doing makeup for two shows and I'm behind on both of them. Haven't even talked to the director for one of 'em, but at least it's the second of the two shows. The first one opens this weekend. 8 shows in all, 2 each day for two weekends. It's double-cast, so most folks are in one show per day (altho' a number of folks are in both casts, but sing a lead for one show and are choristers in the other). There are just about 80 people in each show. I am in the process of teaching a number of helpful folks to do stage makeup (most of it is just basic makeup -- base, rouge, highlight/shadow, eyeliner, lipstick), but most of them have no frame of reference for it. In other words, they don't know how much to put on. The lights weren't up during the only dress rehearsal I could attend, so I don't yet know how strong it'll have to be. Even women who wear street makeup have difficulty believing how much rouge you really need under stage lights. Pancake base is something of an acquired skill, too, and it's not obvious how much color one actually deposits on the skin if one has never done it before. By the second day of next weekend, I hope to have most of the kinks worked out.
As time goes by...
March 10 was the eighteenth anniversary of my father's death, one of the worst days of my life to date. I can't believe it has been eighteen years. Can't you get time off for good behavior? A note excusing dad from being dead? No. Doesn't work that way. Discovering a cache of old family photographs the week before didn't help, either.
I'm glad to have the photographs, really. It's just hard to be unable to discuss them with my parents. I don't know who all the people in them are, and even when I do know (for example, there are an appalling number of childhood pix of me and my Evil Twin that our dad took), I'd like to hear the stories behind them. A number of very old pictures have descriptions on the back, but in Yiddish. For those unfamiliar with it, it's sort of double-encoded: Hebrew script, but mostly German language. I hauled eighteen of them to a photo shop to be reproduced and digitized, so I can send some out to some of my relatives. And, altho' its hardly a good time for spending major bucks, I am getting one cracked photo restored. It must be over one hundred years old, and it's my great-grandparents on my mother's mother's side. Something inside me refused to wait until I had a real job again... I'd probably forget about it and/or lose it for several years, and it's so very irreplaceable. The cousins who would probably treasure a copy most live in Israel, and they're in their seventies. Waiting is just not a good idea...
My Evil Twin and I went to services to say Kaddish for dad, as we do every year. It hurt a little more this year, because it's kind of a milestone. I was glad to find some photos of dad in that boxful -- since he took most of the pictures, he wasn't in very many. Several of them are among those being reproduced.
Nice Jewish Girl, Redux
Not that I've managed to make time for it, but I'm still running my usual crazy potluck Seder on the second night of Passover. Just say "oy." With feeling.
More on next rock... time to go to bed so I can get up in time to meet a friend for coffee at 8:30 AM. Right place, right person, lousy time. But helpful. For My Own Good, and I know it.