With a Little Help from My Friends

There's a story they tell people in Alcoholics Anonymous. A guy is walking down the street, when he falls in a hole. A doctor goes by, and the guy calls out for help. The doctor writes out a prescription, throws it down the hole, and keeps walking. A priest passes by, and once again the guy asks for help. The priest writes out a prayer and drops it in the hole. Finally, a friend walks by, hears the guy's plea for help, and jumps down into the hole with him. "Why did you do that?" the first man asks. "Now we're both stuck in the hole." The second man replies, "Yes, but I've been here before, and I know how to get out."

For the past week, I've been the first guy in the hole. But rather than just one person to help, several have jumped into the hole with me. Some have experienced job loss, too. All have offered support and advice on how to cope.

George asked me out for coffee on Tuesday. We sat and talked for 2 1/2 hours. He was in the same place as I a few years ago, and shared his insights and experiences. I had a wonderful visit.

Wednesday night, I discovered Mario's blog about moving forward after being let go. It had a lot of helpful advice on taking the next step.

Then there's my former boss, who sent me a letter of recommendation. But it isn't just a letter, it's a golden ticket. A stunning testament to a 29-year career. I was wowed and a little teary. Thanks, Harry.

And Friday, I got a recommendation from Dana on my Linked In page. (It was the second -- Barbara also recommended me.) Again with the waterworks.

All of these people understand that being dumped by your employer does not just affect you monetarily, it's a real kick to your feelings of self-worth and pride in what you do. And you need time to heal.

Which has been the refrain of practically everyone, from Mr. Ginley to my sister to Lisa to the folks I've already mentioned.

And that's also why Mr. Ginley has taken me out every day for a walk, to bird watch and breathe. To buy a lottery ticket or visit the library. Or watch our friends' son play high school baseball. (Thanks to Mark and Mary for your support and prayers.)

I am amazed that with all the crappy feelings that have assaulted me the past couple of weeks, these people have filled me with gratitude and joy.

Yesterday, I closed the book for good when I cleaned out my desk and said goodbye to my fellow workers.

Before I departed, I got one last cup of coffee at the on-site Starbucks. As I said adieu to the gentleman who prepared my coffee, I told him it was my last day.

"Be blessed," he said sadly.

I thought to myself, "I already am."

On the Shores of Change

It was a rough week. First, Notre Dame got burned. Then I did.

I, and a few hundred others, got "the call" and were told we were "being separated from the company."

Breaking up is hard to do. Especially after 27 years (29 if you count the time spent as a contractor).

At first, I was euphoric. We'd known about the layoffs for months. Having it happen felt like a gigantic weight had been lifted from my shoulders. My coworkers were wonderful. They are the part of my job I will truly miss.

Then the enormous reality started to settle in. Stuff like bills. Paying for continued health insurance. Finding another job.

The day after, I prepared a rough draft of my resume and sent it to my son. I got it back with many revisions. Then more. Then a few more. (The apple doesn't fall far from the tree.) Eventually, it got to a place he deemed satisfactory. I have been truly blessed with this son of mine. He has been a tiger about putting out the word and offering me links to potential jobs. He is a keeper.

I also had lunch with some (now fellow) expats. That was diverting and fun.

In the meantime, Mr. Ginley, concerned about my psyche, insisted I take a few days off to process. Because the Sword of Damocles had been hanging over my head for so long, I'd gotten past the first stages of grief (anger, denial and bargaining). I'm working on depression and acceptance.

On Thursday, we went to Wendy Park. It was the first time either of us had been there. It's a lovely place, and it was great to go on a weekday morning when only the hardy fishermen and a lone photographer were sharing our space. I saw several common loons (I guess that's why they are "common"), which was a kick. Walked around the restored Coast Guard Station. And sat by the lake and got blown around a bit. (Wendy is windy!)

I'm enjoying the time with Mr. Ginley. We're going to pretend it's a (very frugal) vacation.

Aside from having the internet, we're looking at it as living like our folks did. We can do that.

And this week, I'll be searching for a new start, hither and yon, hoping someone will hire a "well-seasoned" worker with plenty of passion left in her old bones.

Thanks to all who are reading for your support. It means a lot to me.

And, oh, yes, Happy Easter to one and all!

By the Numbers

Etched in my heart is the memory of my mom, standing in the living room with a light over her shoulder, working on her latest paint-by-number. She wore an old paint-splattered white dress shirt.

I didn't think much about it at the time, but in hindsight, I realize this was her way of decompressing after doing all the mom-stuff with a house full of kids. She did two religious paint-by-numbers, one of Mary, the other of Jesus. She hung Jesus up in the living room, and we swore his eyes followed us around the room. She also did a series of bird paintings that she would rotate in and out of our decor.

I was reminded of this last week with the passing of Dan Robbins, who came up the with concept of paint-by-numbers. At the time, he was employed by the Palmer Paint Company of Detroit, and the idea was to help sell his company's product. He and his partner, Max Klein, went on to fame and minor fortune -- at its peak popularity in 1955, 20 million paint-by-number kits were sold.

Mr. Robbins came up with idea from Leonardo da Vinci, who used numbered background patterns to teach his students and apprentices. An artist himself, Mr. Robbins also employed artists to paint pictures, then deconstructed them into a set of numbers. The paint-by-number kit would include brushes, a cardboard canvas that was numbered, and paint pots labeled with the corresponding numbers, so you knew which color was which.

At the time of his death, Mr. Robbins was living in Sylvania, Ohio. He was 93, which is quite a good run. (I was going to make a crack here about his days being numbered, but I decided it would be in bad taste.)

So, mazel tov, Dan Robbins. And thanks for giving my mom an outlet for her creative urges all those years ago.

I See!

"I want to take you out to the ballpark so you can tell me if you can see the spin of the ball!" Mr. Ginley enthused, after my second cataract surgery was pronounced a success.

Frankly, I am just thrilled that I can drive at night and in inclement weather without worrying about my ability to see clearly.

The second eye surgery went almost as fabulously as the first. It is taking a little longer to heal, but this week I was told I now officially have 20/20 vision in both eyes.

It has been a little piece of heaven to have both eyes playing well together again.

The only adjustment has been the switch in handicap, from being nearsighted to being farsighted.

Last week, we went to the dollar store and purchased several "cheaters" in the strength that seems to work best for me. I am keeping one pair at home, one at work and one in my purse. The tasks that require both ranges of vision have been the most challenging. For example, grocery shopping and cooking. Glasses on, glasses off. Glasses on, glasses off.

If I'm watching TV and looking at my phone, glasses off, glasses on.

For my next appointment, once they determine my vision has settled, I'll be getting prescription glasses with progressive lenses that I can keep on my head all the time. This will solve this issue. Honestly, I don't have a problem with glasses, having worn them most of my life.

Also, Mr. Ginley can't get used to my NOT having them on. So there's that.

I'll continue not wearing them when I drive. I love using my new peepers on the open road.

And I'm really psyched about, hopefully, improving my success with birding. I'm going to drag Mr. out to the MetroParks sometime this weekend.

All in all, my operations were a raging success. I love my new eyes.

Though sorry, Mr. Ginley, unless we get seats behind home plate, I do not think I'll be able to see the spin of the baseball anytime soon.