Fragmented
Wed., March 19, 10:00 AM
Another anniversary of sorts: two years ago this past weekend began my retirement. I had been less than happy working for Bosslawyer over the past year or two, but — because I am the way I am — I had to be pushed over the edge. My vision simply was not good enough to continue doing legal work.
As usual, my guardian angel was forcing me into what I knew was the right course. Things were rapidly deteriorating at that office. Think about how Bosslawyer called me a month or so later to ask me if I would come back for a while. I should have known he was just keeping the spot warm until he could hire the child of one of his friends; it had happened before.
Once the new kid came in, he was all about “how wonderful Kimmie is.” Yeah, she was so wonderful that he bought a new computer for her; he let me labor along with the old one. I wouldn’t want to work with “Kimmie,” not if she’s anything like her father who, from my dealings with him, seems to have no redeeming qualities whatsoever. (There’s nothing like working on someone’s financials for the IRS to demonstrate that he’s just another guy in an empty suit.)
Meanwhile, the Otherlawyer was ill, and that was something I had to hear from a stranger. I phoned Bosslawyer to ask, and he said it was pretty bad but they thought he would last the summer. They were wrong; he died in June. Otherlawyer owned the building, and he had put it up for sale when he first got sick; it’s still for sale a year and a half later. Bosslawyer is still working there, despite his wish to find an office closer to his home.
So I was indeed fortunate to get out while I could. It really seemed to be working out well. I didn’t have to ask for time off when my son got married, or for my daughter-in-law’s shower. I had no worries about unfinished work when I took Husband to the doctor, or when I had my own medicals to consider.
At this point, however, my life is fragmented. Maybe it’s just the weather; I am longing for spring. I start projects, only to remember there is something else that needs to be done. After a day of working on a to-do list, I realize as I fall asleep that I forgot something else. (At least I don’t get up to do it; the sleep is more important if I am to get through another day.)
I didn’t realize I would miss the car so much. You simply cannot be flexible in the suburbs without a car, and watching a line of deer — at least four of them — strolling through the weeds does not alter the fact that I am stuck at home until someone reliable will drive me somewhere. Reliable is important because I will not leave Husband alone for too long; in addition, if he is at day care, I must be back before him because I don’t want him returning to an empty house. (Think of it as dealing with a toddler; you just don’t know what he will get into.)
Now that St. Patrick’s Day is over, whenever people celebrated, I believe I have a solution for the dilemma, though it will undoubtedly be some time before it rears its head again. As a disinterested party who observes neither St. Patrick’s Day nor Holy Week, I think it makes perfect sense. When is the last time you heard someone complaining about St. Valentine, even if his day fell on Ash Wednesday? Just call it Patrick’s Day, make it a celebration of Ireland, and forget about the role of the Church in the celebration. As we know, it’s all about the marketing anyway. Furthermore, if it isn’t all about the Church, think how many nonbelievers will be glad to take part.
My dad told me about the time that the stock market crashed in 1929
He would have been about twenty years old. “Not everyone lost money with the crash,” he said. “For example, people like Andrew Mellon and companies like J.P. Morgan made a lot of money.”
I was reminded of that last week when J.P. Morgan Chase bought up Bear Stearns for about a tenth of its published value. Plus la change, plus la même chose.
Update on the newspaper issue (no pun intended). The paper we started buying instead offered a very nice incentive to subscribe. The first thirteen weeks (better than monthly billing) comes at a discount. So far we have not missed a paper, nor have we received a wet one or an incomplete paper. If they keep it up, I will have to include a tip for the carrier!
This fragmenting is definitely mental, whether it’s cause or effect. I lose patience, and I lose whatever creativity I have, two qualities that were always important to me. Take notes, you young chicks; this is what happens when an old woman loses it.
