OMG at the OVR

I don't know what I expected when I went to OVR on Tuesday, but I expected better than I found. There were a couple of moments when I heard my brain think, "Oh, no!" and I wondered if I had stumbled into an alternate universe with a different set of rules for interview behavior.

The woman I had spoken with a few weeks ago to set up the appointment sounded like she might be in her early twenties. We spoke for almost half an hour and she went over most of the material in my application. She told me then that it was the most fully completed application she had ever seen. She was taking notes, she said, as we spoke, so that when I came in for the interview, we could finish quickly. We set a date and time and the call ended.

Tuesday, I arrived about ten minutes early. Right at the appointed hour she opened the door to the office and said to me, the only other person in the place, "I'm expecting...oh, what is her name?...would you be that person?"

I am if the person you expect is Martha McLemore, I answered.

"Hmmm...maybe," she said. "But come on in. If the right person shows up, you can wait out here again."

(Oh, no, said my brain, in a tiny voice, barely audible. But I heard it.)

This was the same person who had left a voice-mail message last Thursday to inquire if I had written down the hour of our appointment, since she wasn't certain when I was scheduled to be there. She had written down 1p.m. and 2p.m. for appointments but she couldn't remember which was my slot. I thought that odd at the time, but figured she was young and new to the job, so I would cut her some slack. Besides, I forget things all the time, so who was I to judge her?

She isn't young, by the way. Only a couple of years younger than I am.

She ushered me into her office and said to make myself comfortable, but not to sit in the chair on the other side of the table, because that was her seat.

Oh, I thought, you mean the one where your coat is draped across the back, there where your laptop is set up and where you have your briefcase and portable file sitting? Okay, I'll be sure to avoid that chair.

(Oh, no, said my brain. Be quiet, I answered.)

"Okay, so who are you, again," she asked.

(Uh, oh, said my brain.)

I gave her my name again, and reminded her I was her 1 o'clock...just in case.

We settled into our respective seats and she began fumbling through her briefcase and the portable file.

"I know I have your application here somewhere," she said. "OH! I forgot! My name is C---- L------; did anyone tell you who you'd be meeting today?"

I reminded her that we had spoken a few weeks earlier and that she had introduced herself to me at the time as my case worker.

"Of course, of course," C---- said. "And you are Martha McLemore."

(Oh-no, oh-no, oh-no, said my brain. You're right, I answered, but we're here now, so let's just be patient. She knows her name and now she knows mine, so we're off to a good start. Just be cool.)

C---- found my application, and took out a handful of other papers for me to sign before we got started. The next part of the interview went okay, while she was explaining the forms I had to sign. She had this part down pat.

At some point she realized there was a second copy of my application paper-clipped to the one she was reviewing.

"For heaven's sake," she muttered. "What is all this? Did my secretary make a copy of your application? Why would she do that?"

I sat there quiet, but my brain was beginning to buzz with a string of oh-noes.

"This is my handwriting!" she exclaimed. "These are my notes! How did this happen? Why do I have two copies of your application, and why is one of them scribbled on in my handwriting?"

I suggested that perhaps she had written on my application those weeks ago when we spoke on the phone.

"Why would I do that?" I think C---- was speaking to herself.

"Got me," my brain retorted, before I could stop it.

C---- took a deep breath, shuffled all the papers together, and we began again. A few minutes into the next part of the interview, she stopped speaking and looked at me in surprise.

"Why, you remind me of a sister!"

Of your sister?

"No, you remind me of a sister - a nun!"

This time, my brain had nothing to say. Neither did I.

"Oh, it must be your tops. You know, the navy blue and the white collar. And you're so clean!"

And here I was worried because I didn't take the time to shampoo my hair this morning, I said, trying to make a joke - more for my sake than hers. I really needed to lighten the moment.

(I'm out of here, said my brain.)

C---- chuckled, a good sign. She recognizes humor, or pitiful attempts at it, anyway.

"And you are so focused!"

(One of us has to be! my brain smarted off.)

Well, I'm here to learn as much as I can today, I answered her.

We got back on track, until C---- had to look through her portable file for another set of forms. She wasn't having much luck, and her frustration was increasing. Her professional demeanor, such as it was, began to slip.

"Dammit," she said, "if my assistant forgot to put those forms in here, I'm going to be pissed!"

Brain and I were stunned. I don't have any prudish ideas, as you all know, about cursing, but there is a time and a place for such things, and this was neither the time nor the place, to my way of thinking. I mean, we hadn't even had coffee together, yet!

"You know," C---- continued, more to herself, because she didn't seem to remember there was anyone else in the room. "I've had just about enough of this bullshit!"

"Well," said brain, out loud again, "I guess it's a good thing I'm not a nun, after all, isn't it?"

C---- looked up at me in shocked surprise, caught the joke, slapped her ample thigh and let loose with a laugh that echoed around the room like a thunderclap.

"Oh, I guess not!"

It took another fifteen or so minutes for us to conclude the interview. Someone from her office will call me in a few days to set up the vocational tests early next month. Once they have the results, she and I will meet again and we'll go over my training or education options.

If she can remember my name. I think I'm changing it to Sister Sofie.

(It just dawned on me that perhaps the interview was the Personality Test, mentioned in a previous post. If so, I think I might have passed that one, after all.)(c) 2010 Martha McLemore

Soup Week

I've been fighting a bi-lateral ear infection this week, using soup as my antibiotic of choice...plus, soup tastes better.
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Started Sunday with Leeky-Potato soup, in chicken broth with a little bit of cream added at the end. Yummy, but not strong enough to knock out the bugs.







Monday night, I made another favorite, Italian Bean and Sausage, in beef and chicken broth, with extra spicy sausage and both white and black peppers. Also made a pan of cornbread, which feels good and scratchy against a sore throat. Used Swiss chard instead of broccoli rabe and was surprised to find I like it very much in soup.






Today, I left work early because my ears hurt so bad I was ready to smash something. Since my bosses were the first things I saw, and because I need them to sign my paychecks, I thought it might be better to just leave work early.

Today's soup is something new, made up from things I could find in the fridge and the pantry. I used chicken broth, some leeks and baby portobello (crimini) mushrooms. This time, I used lots of peppers - black, white and Chipotle chili pepper to up the heat. While searching the freezer for anything else to add, I found the container of orange zest I was saving for cookies or a cake.

I remembered Plutarch's poem, in which he writes:

• "...in that lacquered Chinese box,
  Where, hard and dry, curled segments
  Of tangerine peel are stored
  (To perfume ice cream or soup)..."

Some of the orange rind went into the soup, lacking tangerine. The Chipotle chili heat almost overpowered the orange zest, but the zest was an unexpected pleasure in the mix. I'll have to buy some tangerines to see what they will add to soup. Perhaps citrus zest is meant for dessert soups or puddings, but I liked it in the Leeky-Mushroom broth.

After a couple of bowls of soup, I fell into bed under extra covers, hoping to sweat out the fever and perhaps open my ears. I slept for almost five hours. The fever is gone and ears feel better, but not clear yet.

Time for more soup, I think.

Cramming for Tests

Today I go in to OVR (Office of Vocational Rehabilitation) for my intake interview, and - possibly - a battery of tests. Personality, IQ, work preferences, interests...that sort of thing, all geared to help me find work and/or training for a new career so that I may support myself for the rest of my life.
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I've crammed for the IQ test and the others, but I think I might fail the personality test. I mean, how does one study for a personality test?
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I've practiced making lively, friendly facial gestures in the downstairs bathroom mirror, the mirror that makes me look less old and wrinkled. I call it my Enchanted Mirror. (It has to be enchanted or under some sort of spell not to reflect my true visage.) I've practiced being interested in other peoples' boring conversations, especially the self-absorbed people, whom I normally tune out after about thirty seconds. I've bitten my tongue when my bosses insult me and refrained from rolling my eyes when this one sexist pig of a creep tells me yet another dumb blonde or gay or lesbian joke. (I've gotten in his face about how stupid they are, but that only fueled his desire to bring me the latest sample of idiocy, so I don't bother with trying any more. I just take several very deep breaths and keep in mind that bashing him over the head with a file cabinet is not in my best interests - in the long run, anyway.)
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I've tried transcendental meditation, but there are so many voices and other noises in my head that I can never focus the way you're supposed to in order to get in the zone.
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Another reason I think I might fail the personality part of the tests is that I think you must have one to begin with, and I lost mine several years ago. I don't think this is one of those tests where multiple guess will work for me.
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For the other tests mentioned above, I am taking my thinking cap, several pencils and my best pencil sharpener, plus a really good eraser.
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For the Personality Test, I was thinking about taking my Warrior Goddess' claymore. Think that'll work?
(c) 2010 Martha McLemore

My Augean Task

Specs found here

I am faced with a task as onerous to me as cleaning King Augeas' stables was for Hercules, although my place doesn't stink as bad, nor does it have any horse/cattle manure. Lots of SPIDER(!!) poop, though. Since I don't have a couple of rivers nearby whose streams I could divert to flush out my "stable," I'm forced to look for more modern equipment...heavy-duty equipment, the likes of which O-Cedar broom-makers only wish their products could emulate.

I'm talking earth-movers here, Peeps. In particular, the Bobcat MT52, as seen above. (BB, check out the specs, linked under the picture. Sweet, hunh?) This baby comes with all kinds of attachments: plow blade, front-end loader bucket, post hole digger and the most bodacious revolving snow-terminator whatchamacallit I've ever seen - and its blades are blue, Lucy! That beautiful October-sky blue that you like. It might be the snow-terminator that won my heart. I can just see me throwing snow over Mike's fence next winter with the MT52. For that matter, I might even start a new business for myself and Donovan. Yeah! McLemore and Grandson Movers, Inc.

Where was I? Oh, yeah. Cleaning my stable.

I am amazed at the amount of crap Ex-B and I have accumulated in the 25-plus years of our relationship. Most of it is junk, and will be tossed/plowed out, though it must have been very important to us at the time we acquired it. There are bundles of ham-radio (his) and writers (mine) magazines collecting dust throughout the house, not to mention hundreds of orphaned computer and radio parts (his) and teapots, art supplies and how-to books (all mine) cluttering shelves in every room that has shelves. This is just the house; haven't even thought about tackling the tool shed, workshop or the barn!

Oh, and dust-bunnies! Out the wah-zoo-o-o-o-o! (No wonder I'm asthmatic!) These are no ordinary dust-bunnies, either, but tumbleweed-sized globs of dead skin cells (human and other animal), hairs (human, cats and dog) SPIDER!! bodies (murdered and naturally-expired) insect body-parts (murdered leftovers from SPIDER!! feasts), toast and other food crumbs, flakes of backyard soil (composition unknown - and let's leave it at that), plus copious quantities of star dust, automotive exhaust particles, microscopic ashes from the few times we used the fireplace, and who-knows-what-else. I've gone through a year's supply of vacuum bags in two days trying to suck up this stuff. I swear to you, Friends of the Blogosphere, I think they're cloning themselves even as we speak, doubling in mass every thirteen seconds.

I might have to widen the doors to get the MT52 into the house, and obtain a hazardous/toxic waste site permit for the back yard to clean up my house (and my life, too, I guess) but it will be worth it...trust me.

(I would post pictures, but my pride won't let me embarrass myself by doing so.)

Because...

...I like this song, and because this is where I am now -- moving on. This time, the post is for me.

There is much joy in moving on...and a little trepidation, but nothing I can't handle.

Thanks to all who left comments the first time I posted this song. I sincerely appreciated what you had to say.

This post doesn't need comments. Just wanted those of you who have endured slogging through the weepy stuff to know that those days are behind me. Thanks for sticking around while I got my act together...sort of, maybe, and for the most part.

Crow Time

(I don't remember whose art this is at the top of this post. I found this image years ago, when I was collecting crow pictures for reference material, so I apologize for using uncredited art. I shall look on the Internet to try to find this again, and give full credit when I do.)

The crows are back. Now that the cat who used to live here has moved in with daughter and grandson, they've begun coming into the backyard again. I have missed them very much. They used to perch in the larches and the oak each morning for their gab-fest...and to wake me, too, I believe. They knew I soon would appear on the sidewalk with a plate full of hot dog pieces for their morning snack. If I managed to beat them to the yard, I would whistle for them. Off in the distance, I'd hear them talking to one another, then would see a couple of them fly overhead, silent, watching me as they did a flyby. The first ones would hightail it back to the arboretum in a straight line, the opposite of the meandering approach and circular flybys. About halfway back, they began calling to the ones left behind. I liked to imagine they were quoting the morning menu.

This is the time of year that nesting pairs have begun or are nearly finished building or repairing nests, having dispensed with the courtship/bonding rituals a couple of weeks earlier. During the courtship/bonding period, males break off twigs to present to the females, perhaps as engagement tokens, or - more likely - to prove they can provide nesting materials. Truthfully, I have no idea why they do this, but they're funny to watch as they do. One year I watched a male present his twig five or six times to the female he wooed, only to have her rebuff him and his twig. Finally, he went to the farther end of the branch, set the twig under his foot, picked up the end opposite the one he had been holding, and presented it again. Ha! This time she accepted the twig and the romance commenced.

Last spring, one of the unmated yearlings claimed the tip of the tallest larch in the backyard. The first part of the morning, he cawed loudly in all directions, chest puffed up, body swaying in the breeze. A few of the older birds, including the pair I think are his parents, flew by, cawing once, as if to say, "Yeah, we see you." Mr. Show-off puffed up even more and shook the tree top. He cawed a couple more times, then began stripping off the small twigs, starting at the one just under the very tip, down to about a foot below where he sat. By the time he finished tearing off the tender twigs, the tree top resembled something Dr. Seuss might have drawn. It still looks that way, almost a year later. What was that all about, I wonder.

This morning, one of the older birds took up his (might be her, don't know) favorite perch in the sassafras tree outside my window, just before daybreak, and called the sun up. Of course, I got up, too, and turned on the bedside lamp. When I lifted the shade, I came eye to eye with my alarm clock. For just a few seconds we gazed at each other; a small connection between two Others - the Crow and the not-Crow. With one great flap of his wings, he was gone, leaving behind a crow-shaped hole (as Plutarch once said) in the air.

I'm so glad they're back.
(c) 2010 Martha McLemore

Enjoy!

Followed my nose from Whiskey River to Sam and Sara Motel where I found this video.