VeraBlue
Executive Chef
Like little Wishniks from the 60s, my parents have turned out to be good luck charms. I am officially no longer living off the government teet
. Instead I am once again gainfully employed. I am the new Director of Dining Services at a mid size and very charming college campus in western NJ.
My parents and I spent a quiet evening at home last night. House seemed very quiet after I took Lou to the train station. Dad was finally bouncing back, and Marianne and I were jonesing for hot fudge sundaes from Dairy Queen. 10 degrees out and we're going for ice cream. Have to admit, it was delicious.
I got up at 6 and headed to the gym. That gave me enough time for an hour on the eliptical and some leg work before showering and going to my interview. This was the third and 4th interview at this unit. I left a full pot of coffee, assuming they'd be up by 8 to drink it before the heating element turned off. Somewhere along the years my parents stopped waking at the crack of dawn and actually sleep like a bunch of teenagers. Gone are the days of my mother barging into my room at 7am on a Saturday to vacuum next to my bed. Forgotten are the days of my dad screaming through the house at 7am on Sunday that you simply cannot eat eggs once they get cold. Fondly, I recall using the soothing sound of cascading water of the second rinse cycle to lull me back to sleep on summer mornings. I survived their private and vicious methods of teen sleep deprivation torture only to be shocked to discover that they sleep later than I'd ever believe possible. Anyway, the coffee was stone cold at 9:15 am. As I'm cruising towards my interview I received a frantic call from my father. I thought he was calling to wish me luck, but instead he was in dire need of coffee pot directions. My pot grinds the beans, shoots them into the basket and then brews the coffee. He managed to get the water into the pot, and he even got the beans into the proper vestibule. Rather than let the machine run it's course, he turned it off after the beans ground. Off usually means really off, not just sorta off, or this is off but that is still on. Off means off. He wanted to know how to finish the process. So now I'm driving down the road, checking road signs and trying to explain the 'grind off' button, little green lights and the on/off button. Everytime he promised he'd had it, I would hear the thing powering up to grind beans that no longer required grinding. After 3 attempts and my slightly exasperated 'Dad, I cannot help you like this' I finally heard my mother in the background shouting 'I got it!'. I was pleased to hear that because, frankly, I wasn't convinced I could give the upcoming gauntlet of interviews my full and undivided attention if I believed Jim didn't have his morning cup of joe.
When I was offered the position I wanted to do a little dance right there in the kitchen. Instead, I walked back to my car and called Lou. Got his voice mail, so proceeded to call my ex husband. He was very happy, saying he was confident I'd get it, etc etc. He must have called his girlfriend (the one who got laid off the day after I did) to give her the good news because she called me about 10 minutes later to offer congrtulations. I called my son, who got laid off 3 days after Blair and I did, and he offered his congratulations, too. Then he asked if I was still making macaroni and meatballs for dinner. Confirming that indeed I was, he said he'd be over by late afternoon.
Talking to my parents on the ride home was, well, funny, as usual. You try to talk to one parent, but the other one is right behind giving what sounds like play positions. Everything you say to one has to be repeated to the other who responds loud enough for you to hear, but the other parent repeats it, anyway. Needless to say, they were releived, as was I. I didn't want them to worry about my finances. They have their own financial problems, what with fixed incomes, IRAs, pensions, etc.
They are out right now. I gave them my car so they could run some errands. It didn't sound like they were going far, but I worry, nevertheless. When I get in the car tomorrow moring I'll have to put the seat back. My dad drives with the seat so close to the dash board that the airbag, if it actually could deploy with a body so close, would probably break his chest cavity. He could steer with his shoulders, he's that close to the steering wheel.
Things on the MIA list today: the purina cat chow I give to the stray cat that lives in my yard, the scissor I keep with my thermometer in my knife block, the foil, one of my cutting boards, a wooden spoon. I've been able to locate and restore everything so far, but it is amusing having to play 'guess where' so much.
. Instead I am once again gainfully employed. I am the new Director of Dining Services at a mid size and very charming college campus in western NJ. My parents and I spent a quiet evening at home last night. House seemed very quiet after I took Lou to the train station. Dad was finally bouncing back, and Marianne and I were jonesing for hot fudge sundaes from Dairy Queen. 10 degrees out and we're going for ice cream. Have to admit, it was delicious.
I got up at 6 and headed to the gym. That gave me enough time for an hour on the eliptical and some leg work before showering and going to my interview. This was the third and 4th interview at this unit. I left a full pot of coffee, assuming they'd be up by 8 to drink it before the heating element turned off. Somewhere along the years my parents stopped waking at the crack of dawn and actually sleep like a bunch of teenagers. Gone are the days of my mother barging into my room at 7am on a Saturday to vacuum next to my bed. Forgotten are the days of my dad screaming through the house at 7am on Sunday that you simply cannot eat eggs once they get cold. Fondly, I recall using the soothing sound of cascading water of the second rinse cycle to lull me back to sleep on summer mornings. I survived their private and vicious methods of teen sleep deprivation torture only to be shocked to discover that they sleep later than I'd ever believe possible. Anyway, the coffee was stone cold at 9:15 am. As I'm cruising towards my interview I received a frantic call from my father. I thought he was calling to wish me luck, but instead he was in dire need of coffee pot directions. My pot grinds the beans, shoots them into the basket and then brews the coffee. He managed to get the water into the pot, and he even got the beans into the proper vestibule. Rather than let the machine run it's course, he turned it off after the beans ground. Off usually means really off, not just sorta off, or this is off but that is still on. Off means off. He wanted to know how to finish the process. So now I'm driving down the road, checking road signs and trying to explain the 'grind off' button, little green lights and the on/off button. Everytime he promised he'd had it, I would hear the thing powering up to grind beans that no longer required grinding. After 3 attempts and my slightly exasperated 'Dad, I cannot help you like this' I finally heard my mother in the background shouting 'I got it!'. I was pleased to hear that because, frankly, I wasn't convinced I could give the upcoming gauntlet of interviews my full and undivided attention if I believed Jim didn't have his morning cup of joe.
When I was offered the position I wanted to do a little dance right there in the kitchen. Instead, I walked back to my car and called Lou. Got his voice mail, so proceeded to call my ex husband. He was very happy, saying he was confident I'd get it, etc etc. He must have called his girlfriend (the one who got laid off the day after I did) to give her the good news because she called me about 10 minutes later to offer congrtulations. I called my son, who got laid off 3 days after Blair and I did, and he offered his congratulations, too. Then he asked if I was still making macaroni and meatballs for dinner. Confirming that indeed I was, he said he'd be over by late afternoon.
Talking to my parents on the ride home was, well, funny, as usual. You try to talk to one parent, but the other one is right behind giving what sounds like play positions. Everything you say to one has to be repeated to the other who responds loud enough for you to hear, but the other parent repeats it, anyway. Needless to say, they were releived, as was I. I didn't want them to worry about my finances. They have their own financial problems, what with fixed incomes, IRAs, pensions, etc.
They are out right now. I gave them my car so they could run some errands. It didn't sound like they were going far, but I worry, nevertheless. When I get in the car tomorrow moring I'll have to put the seat back. My dad drives with the seat so close to the dash board that the airbag, if it actually could deploy with a body so close, would probably break his chest cavity. He could steer with his shoulders, he's that close to the steering wheel.
Things on the MIA list today: the purina cat chow I give to the stray cat that lives in my yard, the scissor I keep with my thermometer in my knife block, the foil, one of my cutting boards, a wooden spoon. I've been able to locate and restore everything so far, but it is amusing having to play 'guess where' so much.
.
