The tide will turn

April 14, 2009

It’s been another rather rough day on the morale front. For the past 20 years, I’ve dreamed of being at home every day cleaning and cooking and doing some reading and writing. Now that it’s here, it’s amazing to me that I don’t seem to be able to enjoy it.

My body and brain wants to get up in the morning and get off to the salt mines. There’s no doubt about it. That routine is deeply ingrained, and it will take some time to let it ease its grip on my psyche. I know that time will come. I just don’t know when. The tide will turn at some point – maybe tomorrow, next week or next year.

I found myself during the day pledging that when I get another job, I will cherish it like a jewel, without complaint or compunction. Wow!

I’m even jealous of the people I see driving off like automatons to their appointments with the daily grind. God help us.

I madly fired off resumes today to get myself back in the workplace. I need to back off a bit and smell the coffee.

I remember my father, among many others, saying that if he had it to do over again, he wouldn’t have retired at 65. “Silent Dick,” as they called him, had his routine every weekday. Get up at 5 a.m., have boiled coffee, go out the door, get in the big old Lincoln Continental, stop for breakfast at a greasy spoon somewhere and then get to the job.

Since he was an electrician, he worked all over the place, sometimes at Donner-Hanna Furnace, sometimes at Children’s Hospital. It depended on where the union assigned him. He’d buzz home at 4 p.m., take a shower in the basement.(The shower actually was a garden hose hooked up to the hot water spigot and the nozzle was held in place with a piece of wood nailed to the ceiling.) "Hockey puck hamburgers" and whole potatoes boiled for three hours were served at 4:30. From 5 to 9 p.m., he parked himself in front of the tube, sometimes drinking a 16-ounce World’s Fair glass of wine and chowing a bag of chocolate chip cookies as an evening snack. Then it was off to a gaseous night in the crib. And he loved it. He told me when he retired about what a bad decision it was. I think many people feel that way.

So be careful what you wish for, folks. This joblessness isn’t all it’s cranked up to be. I’m only 52, so there are many more productive years ahead (although Judy loves coming home to a hot cooked meal and a sparkling clean house).

Tomorrow, I’ll be headed to D’Youville for a few hours to get more information on the Masters in Education Program. Maybe some of those employers will even call.