Both Sides of the Fence

A Tosa resident since 1991, Christine walks the dog, cooks but avoids housework, writes and reads, and enjoys the company of friends and strangers. Her job takes her around the state, learning about people's health. A Quaker (no, they don't wear blue hats or sell oatmeal or motor oil), she has been known to stand on both sides of the political and philosophic fence at the same time, which is very uncomfortable when you think about it. She writes about pretty much whatever stops in to visit her busy mind at the moment. One reader described her as "incredibly opinionated but not judgmental." That sounds like a good thing to strive for!

Me, Sarah, and the hunt

It isn't easy, job hunt, Sarah Palin

I have to admit to being envious of Sarah Palin about one thing: her success in the hunt.

I'm referring here to the job hunt. While I have nothing against hunting certain critters for food, I have no taste for it. Venison, yes. An occasional pheasant. But not the hunt. Once, my friend Lynda and I stole her bother's bows and arrows and were messing around with them, and I shot a Siberian crow. That was a shock, and more than enough of that kind of thrill for me.

Some of you know that the job I loved disappeared August 1, as the organization I worked for needed to pull back and regroup.  No matter what comforting generalizations you might be hearing, the economy's rough, and it's affecting businesses and people you know. Right now, there are so many unemployed people in Milwaukee that I lost at least a week's unemployment compensation: I couldn't get through to a resource person to resolve a small problem. As those of you who scorn the government know, the systems don't always have flexibility to correct mistakes. So you'd better not make any.

Enough about that. If you listen to all the discouraging words, you'd just crawl back in bed and pull the covers up over your head. This rainy morning, watching the edge of Hurricane Ike greening up the yard and hearing the comforting hum of the sump pump now and then, I'm engaging in a more pleasant fantasy.

Somewhere, in a dark room littered with last night's pizza cartons and dried crusts, a small group of the real deciders are exhausted with disagreement. They've gone through the short list again and again. The long list, too. One of them says, "This isn't working." The others respond, some using rude words, to this effect: "You got that right." One of them, inspired, says, "Hey. What about Christine? She's smart, creative, works hard."

"I dunno: she's kind of a bulldog, isn't she?"

"What's your point?"

"I see what you mean. We need someone who sticks with it until it's done. But does she have the experience?"

"Not exactly in this. But in other things that transfer to this, hell yes. Besides, she has maturity and judgment. And she's fun to work with. Isn't that what really matters?"

At the door, destiny knocks. Dum dum dum DUM. .. Idgy barks. I answer, still wearing my blue jammies with sock monkey designs but with fashionable purple eyeglasses.

"Can I help you?" 

"Not only us, but the rest of the country, and also the entire free world. The universe as we know it may be involved, too."

"Well, of course. I'm ready!"

I put on my green Crocs: there is no time for fashionable footgear. Besides, you can't run well in heels.

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