Women of the Resistance

My parents lived through the Great Depression and World War II.

My mother told us how her parents didn't eat until their children had had their fill. And if there wasn't any food left on the table, they went hungry. Which prompted my oldest uncle to make sure his siblings took modest portions so his parents could eat. It wasn't until years later that my mom understood what he was doing.

Right after high school, my dad was drafted and sent overseas to fight in Africa and Italy. While he didn't see a lot of action, he never knew when he would be called upon to fight. He was not sad when they dropped the bombs on Japan, because he surely would have been called into that conflict.

As for me, I had to endure measured meal portions during my childhood, hand-me-downs and taking a bus or hoofing it to attend school. And, while my life so far has had its ups and downs, it's been pretty unremarkable by comparison.

Maybe that's why my imagination was captured by two women who have just had books published about them.

Both had roles as spies in the French Resistance.

The first was Virginia Hall, a well-to-do American, who was the most highly decorated female of World War II. She was a master of disguises and identities, changing her code name repeatedly. She eluded capture by the Nazis, once by crossing the Pyrenees in winter -- with a wooden leg she called "Cuthbert." When the war was over, she went back to America and worked for the CIA. I listened to the author, Sonia Purnell, speak about her book, A Woman of No Importance. Now I'm looking forward to reading it.

The second story is about Marie-Madeleine Fourcade, who is featured in the book Madame Fourcade's Secret War by Lynne Olson. She was a Frenchwoman who headed the Alliance Network during World War II. She once escaped the Germans by removing all her clothes and squeezing between the bars of her jail cell. Her code name was "hedgehog," not because the animal is stinkin' cute (well, it is), but because hedgehogs have the ability to roll themselves into a ball of spikes that precludes attack by larger animals. She, too, was a master of disguises. Madame Fourcade survived the war.

I won't talk about the fact that it sucks these two women, and many, many others, haven't been given serious props all these years for putting their lives in danger and for their contributions to the Allied war effort. No, I'm not going to do that.

The hell I'm not.

Anyhow...I've got my summer reading lined up. In between beach reads, I'll be learning more about these two amazing women and their critical roles in the French resistance, when freedom from fascism was at stake.

And hope that we never have to fight a war like that again.

Merrily We Roll Along

"You spend too much time on Facebook," Mr. Ginley observed the other day.

Park-ing with Mr. Ginley

I vehemently denied it. And yet...

I have begun to get"Similar to Posts You've Interacted With" from my friends at FB that include things like videos of puffins, how the Finnish town of Ii is fighting climate change and a dog who frolics on its owner's back while his master does push-ups.

So, okay, maybe I am on social media more than I should be, even taking into account I'm currently between jobs.

In my defense, I've done other stuff, too. I attended two library lectures this past week, visited with Marie from my old neighborhood and took walks with Mr. Ginley, mostly in the MetroParks. And, of course, I set aside time each day for my job search.

This temporary new world of mine is both a respite and a challenge.

Yes, I miss seeing my coworkers, having a place to go and a feeling of purpose as well as the challenges of my former job.

But I'm enjoying the easy structure of my days, which blend together from one to the next effortlessly. Somehow, the time passes so quickly, I hardly notice.

So, that's where I am.

My next plan of action is to see about taking a course or two at the library to add new technical skills to my repertoire. Keeping my brain active and moving forward, not letting it languish, is a big priority at this point.

So, yes, putting the phone down and stepping away from FB is a good idea.

And I'll do that.

After I post this my FB page...

It All Started...

The Big Bang Theory broadcast its final episode Thursday night. While we weren't sure for awhile there, Mr. Ginley and I both teared up at the end of the show.

As relative latecomers to Big Bang fandom, we'd been binge watching previous episodes. We're still working our way through Season 11 and hope to catch the re-runs of Season 12.

It's been great escapism for us, but it's also sparked a conversation about the characters in the show.

Mr. Ginley pointed out that all of them are flawed. And yet, when they come together, their obvious affection for one another binds them. So even as Howard is ragging Raj or Penny is needling Leonard, you know it's not out of malice but comes from a caring place.

And the fact that none of them strangled Sheldon, not even once, is a testament to the power of understanding and forgiveness.

Okay, yes, I know these aren't real people. But it's a tribute to the writers and the actors that we've come to care about this quirky group of friends.

There's something especially poignant for me personally, because it seems to be a year of goodbyes. This is just one more.

I wish I could bring all my friends together and sit around eating take-out Chinese food, while kibitzing about nothing and everything.

Maybe Sheldon could tell me where he got the cool t-shirt folding device. Or Howard would let me play with his Steven Hawking-mobile. Or I could join a book club with Amy.

After all, that's the magic of TV. Imagining other lives, other places, other friendships.

The best part is, we can go back to Season 1 anytime we want and start unraveling the mystery all over again.

(And pause after the credits to read all the cool Chuck Lorre vanity cards.)

I Shore Love Birds

I awoke at five a.m. Friday to the sound of my sister's phone alarm.

No, I didn't move to C-Bus.

Disoriented, I opened one eye and remembered where I was...in the midst of The Biggest Week in American Birding, an event hosted by the Black Swamp Bird Observatory.

The day before we'd gone to the Ottawa Refuge for a talk on birdsong. It had been a rainy but warm day, and we wound up driving around the park and peering at any birds who didn't mind getting their feathers wet. Admittedly, the view wasn't optimal, but we did manage to see a few winged warriors between the raindrops. The weather cleared a bit, so we stopped at Howard Marsh, where we got our first look at some long-legged shore birds.

Overnight, we settled in at the Maumee Bay Lodge. Friday morning, the bus was set to depart at six a.m.

I followed Diane to the lobby, where I picked up the box lunch I'd ordered the night before and climbed into the bus. We headed to the "Wilds of Erie County" to see what we could see. First up was the Pipe Creek Wildlife Area, followed by the Sheldon Marsh State Nature Preserve.

Pipe Creek is just across the way from Cedar Point, but it couldn't be more distant in terms of human civilization. It was wild and amazing, with lots of shore birds, from great egrets, blue herons and cormorants to terns, gulls, sandpipers, killdeer and dunlins. On the shores were the remains of fishes that were dinner for some large birds.

Sheldon Marsh was more of a woodland adventure, hosting warblers, chickadees, swallows, sparrows and nuthatches. Plus, as a special bonus, a bittner, which is not rare but is tough to spot. (And yours truly spotted him, hah!)

Lunch was delicious!

Saturday took us in the opposite direction, to Michigan, where we explored Pt. Mouillee State Game Area. It was cold and windy, and most of the time we viewed the birds from the van. Because the water levels were so high, the birds were clustered on small patches of mud. On one finger of terra firma, there were a couple hundred dunlins. To see them sweep up together and fly in unison, dipping and soaring this way and that, is really something. Nature does some amazing choreography. (The June Taylor dancers ain't got nothin' on these guys!) Pt. Mouilee is also home to pelicans, so I got to check them off my list. Other cool birds we saw today: a horned grebe, green heron and bobolinks.

An advantage to going with a tour, aside from the fact the leaders know their birds both by sight and sound, is they bring along scopes. So if you can't see a particular species with your binoculars, you can view them through the scope. (Which they offer for sale, by the way, although I didn't even ask the cost, I knew better.) Sometimes I wish I could photograph what I see, but I figure I'll just leave that to the experts. I remain an observer, with access to eBird, so I can go back and re-see what I saw.

This Dunlin is Rockin'

Slogging around in all kinds of weather looking at birds may not be everyone's cup of tea. But I find it relaxing and exhilarating. There's nothing like watching a bald eagle in flight. Or a baby killdeer trotting along in the sand after its mom. Or hearing the cacophony of birdsong in a remote area in the early morning. I still get a kick when I can actually spot the buggers in my binoculars. Just watching them preen or hop from reed to reed or ward off competitors -- it's all good to me.

On the way home, I was tired and my knees were aching.

But I felt a deep peace and satisfaction that went all the way to my core.

And that's what it's all about.

Embracing the Clutter

In light of our recent change in circumstances, one of the discussions we've had is whether it makes any sense to pick up stakes and move to a smaller place locally.

I still recall when we moved my mother-in-law in with us and all of the detritus my husband's folks had accumulated over the course of 40 years.

We've lived here 26 years, but we've collected enough stuff to make the prospect of moving daunting, indeed.

Props to Ryan and his wife, who sold their house and most of their belongings, bought a truck and RV, and hit the open road. Alas, Mr. Ginley and I are beyond the age of adventure, at least to that extent.

"Would you ever consider living in a tiny house?" my beloved asked me the other day. "I couldn't stand living in a space that small."

"I could for a night or two. Or if I was living alone," I mused. "But with another person? No way. I'd end up smothering them in their sleep."

What about an apartment or condo? It would depend on the rent, but in all likelihood, it would cost us more than what we are paying to live where we are now. And condos always have those nasty monthly upkeep fees, which can go up and up.

Also, we'd have to do some work on the house before we could put it on the market. And get rid of many of our prized possessions (i.e. books).

Although...

In today's newspaper there is a story about a new library they're building with several floors of apartments above. Mr. Ginley has often said he dreams of living in a library. This might be the next best thing.

I suspect, however, the curators would get tired of having to throw him out every night.

So, here we will stay, comfortably surrounded by the things we know and love.

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!