She Doesn’t Want My Job, I Don’t Want Hers

Nightmare Job

In honor of Labor Day in North America, tell us what’s the one job you could never imagine yourself doing.

We have the day off in the U.S. today. Why? In celebration of all the hard work done by the labor force. What better way to commemorate hard work by taking a national day off? Seem odd to anyone else? Oh well. To the daily prompt…

As I read the prompt aloud to my wife, she promptly responded, “Yours.”

My normal day job involves lots of reading, editing, writing, revising, formatting, and sometimes spreadsheets. All computer based work. Eight hours a day or more spent at monitors working to merge and refine documents to help win government contracts for the company. Then I come home and log on to WordPress and blog, or write stories as a creative outlet. She cannot dream of doing that.

She is a creative person, but in a more tangible, hands-on way. Crafts, arts, games, lively interaction with family and friends are more her style. She paints, sculpts, does mosaics, woodwork, and generally makes our home more beautiful all around.

I can’t see doing what she does. My tolerance for the works in process is low. I look forward to the finished product and the intermediate steps cause me frustration. I have a vision in mind for the final craft, but struggle to make it appear. She constructs with ease and almost uncanny adaptability.

Her approach: That side is crooked? Zing, bang, twist, and boom, it’s perfect, while mine collapses into a haphazard pile of unrecoverable rubble on the table. One arm sweep into the trash is all that can be hoped.

Her day job involves crawling on the floor with preschoolers. Again, not for me.

In contrast, writing comes easily to me. She hates it. I enjoy stringing together the words to conjure images and carry the reader along for my brief tales. Storytelling is part of me. She says it stems from my overconfidence and natural lying ability. I say it was honed as a defensive need in the environment of multiple siblings both older and younger. Distraction and deflection equaled safety.

Deadlines Drive the Day

The delivery date approaches. What seemed so far off one month ago now feels like it accelerated as it approached. Our perception of time is so skewed.

English paper due by the end of the semester? No problem. That is so far off, I have plenty of time (to procrastinate).

Wait, what do you mean it’s due next week? Where did the nine weeks go? There couldn’t have been that many days elapsed since the last time I thought about it. I’m pretty sure I only saw five sunrises, and three sunsets. See? Only a few days have passed.

Oh yeah. I’ve been up before dawn, arriving at work in the dark. Spending all day indoors. Working late on multiple projects. Leaving work after dark. Dark to dark. No days to mark.

How could this get worse? I know. I’ll mentally commit to participating in regular blog posting and responding to several daily prompts each week? No pressure. What could go wrong?

After all, it’s only after 9:30 p.m. (eastern US) now and I’m finally responding to the morning prompt…

New Dawn

How often do you get to (or have to) be awake for sunrise? Tell us about what happened the last time you were up so early (or late…).

Season Change, Schedule Change?

August Blues

As a kid, were you happy or anxious about going back to school? Now that you’re older, how has your attitude toward the end of the summer evolved?

Back to school? Not this year. The last child graduated from high school in June. No more homework to check. No papers to prod forward. No morning rush to get him up and out the door for the bus with seconds to spare. Now what?

It must be part of the reason why I started blogging. No more of his papers to check, I guess I’ll put myself on a schedule to write and post every few days. No pressure but my own. No teacher to disappoint, only my followers and random clickers that stumble upon my pages.

Oh crap! I created another obligation in my life. People are counting on me. Strangers. Folks from around the globe consistently stop by and “like” or comment on the words I string together. I can’t let them down. Yet, I do, frequently.

The daily post grinds out another prompt and I am unprepared. The clock ticks 8 am (eastern US) and the post appears. Within minutes, other bloggers are posting. Lengthy posts, well constructed, clearly not written beginning at the time of the prompt. How do they do that?

I must post and log off. I have a morning doctor’s appointment looming. It was rescheduled from Monday after my doctor called in sick. I wonder, is it too soon to be seeing him? Should I be the one wearing the mask and rubber gloves?

Ah August.


August Blues




Salt: A World History

“Hey, Pepper! Where’s the salt?”

I’ve heard that question most of my life. Usually from people attempting to be clever about my last name. It got old in the second grade. One day in my early adult years, I came across the book Salt: A World History, by Mark Kurlansky and now have my answer for any who ask.

It’s a follow up to his book, Cod: A Biography of the Fish that Changed the World.

I suppose they needed a lot of salt to preserve all that cod.

Hayride Gone Wrong

Celeste giggled as she chewed a piece of grass taken from the hay bale she sat on. The hay wagon bounced its way down the road pulled by the powerful green Oliver 1650 tractor. We loved bringing in a load of hay. It was the best reward to follow the hard work of throwing the heavy bales on the wagon, the careful stacking to fit a full load and not lose any on the way home. The ride on top of the load was our favorite part of the job. It was a ride no carnival or parade could match. The summer sun tanned your back while a cooling breeze in your face wiped the sweat away. The view of the countryside from thirty feet up on a moving stack of bundled grass made the work seem worthwhile. Continue reading