When I was a child (wow, that phrase makes me sound old!), trick or treating was a Halloween thing. By that I mean, we went out, door-to-door, on the 31st of October, every year. In fact, that’s been the way of things every year I can remember…

Until this year. This year, I keep hearing stories of people trick or treating early. An online friend of mine took her boys out last night, which she says is the way things are done where they live; trick or treating is always done on a weeknight instead of a weekend. Okay, I figured. I’ve never lived where she lives, so maybe it’s just a regional thing.

Then, minutes ago, I saw a Facebook message from someone who lives in my hometown. She and I went to high school together, and she lives there still… and is taking her children trick or treating on Main Street tonight.

What has brought on this change? Why are businesses and neighborhoods handing out their goodies on other nights, instead of just on the 31st itself? Is this due to communities’ desires to reduce “tricks,” or business’ desire to sell more “treats?” I imagine it’s some of each, but I hope the trend does not spread. I rather like the fact that I can take my little monster trick or treating tomorrow. On Halloween itself.

Monday is my wedding anniversary – 6 years since I married my best friend.  Today is the wedding anniversary of a dear friend of mine – 3 years since she married the man I never had the chance to meet.  A year ago on July 4th, her husband unexpectedly passed away.  Her Facebook status today reads:

Happy anniversary, honey. I hope it’s nicer where you are than where I am, and that cool music is always playing on the radio there.

During our conversation earlier today, I mentioned the similarities in our anniversary dates, and that I didn’t expect we would be doing anything special because money is fairly tight around here.  Her response (paraphrased):  “A night of cuddles and closeness are all anybody really needs.”

Yes.  She was absolutely right.  Times may be tough, but there is still so much for which I am grateful.  Taking a look at the situation from her perspective, I admonished myself for what I had said.  Though I know she did not intend to make me feel guilty, and that she welcomes “normal” conversation that does not tiptoe around her widowhood, I still chided myself not only for my insensitivity, but for taking for granted what I do have.

The Author and Jer Husband in July 2009

In all honesty, I already have those things that most valuable to me.  I have a roof over my head, even if it is not my own roof.  I have food on my table, and enough money to continue to buy that food, even if it means eventually dipping into savings to make ends meet.

But most importantly, I have someone to curl up with on the couch while we watch Veronica Mars or The West Wing, or play Wii games.  I have a Scrabble or Trivial Pursuit opponent, there for the asking.  I have a life partner, a father to my little boy and any future children we may have, and a companion.  I have him, and he has me.  And in the end, that’s all anybody really needs.

Pregnancy & Infant Loss Awareness Ribbon. Graphic belongs to October15th.com

It seems appropriate to me that Pregnancy & Infant Loss Awareness Day happens at this time of year. At this point 6 years ago (my God, was it really that long?), I was in a deep depression. September 11th through October 26th, 2003 were the worst weeks I had ever suffered. Those weeks span the time period from when we first found out our baby was dead inside me, to our wedding day – the single bright spot in an autumn of darkness.

Because of this early loss – she died at 5 weeks gestation, though it was not confirmed for several more weeks – I underwent various tests and was watched very closely during my next pregnancy, even though that did not occur for another 3 1/2 years. It took us that long for our broken hearts to heal enough to try again.

We never did learn what caused the miscarriage, nor do I know what caused the even earlier loss I’d suffered some five years previous. The tests showed nothing conclusive, and I had an uncomplicated pregnancy in 2007, resulting in the birth of a perfect baby boy.

Though my heart is healed, the scars upon it remain. Never again would I be able to go through pregnancy without fear. Though my son was carried to term (and a few days beyond) and arrived safe and sound, that does not erase the memory of my previous pregnancies. I can not forget those babies I never held or saw, those whose gender and features I can only imagine.

The baby my husband and I lost together lives on in our hearts. She has a name, given to her long before her conception: Micaela (Caelie) Marie. That name makes her real, and allows us to honor her memory. Though I never gave the first baby any such memorial – he or she was gone so quickly, almost before I knew I was pregnant – I mourned in different ways. Neither child has been forgotten, nor ever will.

I admit it; I’m feeling discouraged.  I am feeling as though nothing ever changes, no matter the amount of effort I expend.  This is true of my weight-loss goals, my job hunt, the quest for health insurance coverage… It feels like life itself is just stagnant, even in the areas in which I seek change.

Bathroom Scale, image from http://www.care2.com/

My weight has been stuck at the same place, give or take no more than 2 pounds, for probably close to a year now.  I’d dropped to about 7 pounds above my pre-pregnancy weight at one point, then gained a few pounds back… and there it stayed.  Since we moved to Florida, I’ve tried calorie-reduction and increased activity, and still it remained.  Whether I’m being “good” or not, the scale doesn’t seem to care.  I’m still going to the gym nearly every day, but recently I’ve stopped religiously counting my calories.  I’ve also stopped weighing myself because what’s the point?  It just leads to more discouragement.  (Of course, not weighing in leaves me with this fear in the back of my mind that I’m steadily gaining now, instead of continuing to plateau.)

Now Hiring, Must Have Clue. photo from http://www.carteworld.com

Obviously I can’t do the same with my job-hunt. I can’t scale it back out of frustration. The only thing I can do is to soldier on in the face of the incoming rejection letters and lack of interviews. The only change I can see making is to slowly reduce my pickiness and increase my desperation. I can look for jobs I don’t really want, jobs that are more likely to leave me miserable and tired at the end of the day, instead of leaving me feeling like I’ve done a good thing with my day. I don’t want to get to that point… but I am losing hope of finding the kind of job I actually want. And it’s not like I’m asking that much – I just want an office job with an area (or, really, anywhere in FL) university.

How, in the face of all of this negativity, do I hold on to my hope? How do I keep myself from drowning in all the rejections and letting it hammer away at my self-worth? I can write, and I can concentrate on the positives. But some days it feels like that is just staving off the inevitable.

I want a job, and I am more than qualified for the kind of job I want.
I want to lose weight, and 10-15 pounds doesn’t seem unreasonable.
I want health insurance I can afford, and everyone deserves that, I believe.
And most of all, I want to feel hope that all of the above can be achieved.

Flags, signs and rainbows abound at the downtown Fort Myers "Coming Out for Equality" Event

A week or so ago, I had promised to use my Facebook status message to further National Coming Out Day, today. But then it occurred to me: family members read my Facebook. People I knew in my small-town high school read my Facebook. Many of these people don’t know I’m bisexual. This also led me to consider the fact that this blog is public, and its link is published on my resume whenever I apply for a writing-related position.

But then, isn’t that what Coming Out Day is for? My close friends and family have known for almost ten years now. I came out for the first time about twelve years ago, when I finally realized what denial I’d been putting myself through for so very long. There are parts of my family – my own father, even – who would be less than understanding, or perhaps just write it off as unimportant because, after all, I married a man in the end, right? *eyeroll* As for future employers, yes, it is a risk. But do I want to work for someone who would reject me for what I express here?

I did, in the end, set my status accordingly. And I went off to church, wearing my rainbow tie-dye shirt. At this point, I was still waffling as to whether or not I should attend the Coming Out For Equality event happening post-church, but I was leaning towards not going. Until, that is, one of our speakers got up and told her story. There were hints of my own history there, particularly how we kept our true selves buried for so very long, well beyond the concept of denial. I knew then, I needed to be at the protest/rally/gathering, or whatever you want to call it. Her speech cried out to me, called me to action, and inspired me to face my fears.

"The Sky Didn't Fall on New England." One of my very favorite signs from Coming Out for Equality, depicting a lesbian wedding in MA.

Those who know me well will likely be impressed by this, knowing that I went to the event without my husband and child. I don’t go places by myself, without someone I know very well. But I did, today. I caught a ride with an acquaintance from church, while O brought the Bug home for his afternoon nap.

Not only did I come out on the Internet and come out for equality, I also came out of my shell.

It’s no secret to anyone that things are a little bit stressful here in the SJ household.  We’re in a new location, not even in our own home, and we’re both job hunting.  With so much up in the air, yes, anxiety levels are sometimes a little bit high.

So how am I, a woman with a mild-to-moderate case of GAD, coping with the extra stressors that have been piled on since July?  You know, other than resenting the ever-loving crap out of my husband’s former employer.  There are definitely better, more productive ways to manage my stress.

One such method is something I had started back in the dark, dark days of PPD hell – a focus on the positive.  My therapist at the time urged me to try to find positive things about each day and write them down.  I kept with it for a while, and I did notice a difference.  I’ve done it sporadically since then, when things felt particularly bleak, but it never became a real, solid routine.

A week and a half ago, though, one of my dearest friends started posting Daily Positives in her journal, and urged her readers to do the same for a period of eight days.  I latched right on to that bait, and immediately started to notice a difference.  In so doing, I determined that it was something I should keep doing.  Not just for eight days, but for as long as it feels right.  I’m starting with a month (today is day #11), but it may well continue after that as well.

In this time of recession, job loss, and personal turmoil, it is really easy to get lost in negatives.  Every day is NOT all sunshine and roses, even here in tropical Florida, where it’s hard to even remember that it’s autumn.  But every day does have at least a few rays of hope.  No, those rays don’t take away the worries.  They don’t stop my brain from obsessing about finding work, missing loved ones, or trivialities like Christmas plans or something someone said to me in passing.  But remembering the positives forces me to shift my focus, at least for the length of the journal entry (and usually quite a while beyond), onto something good and away from anything negative.  That can only be a good thing, as far as I’m concerned.

Like many people, I’ve never given a whole lot of thought to what Labor Day actually means. It’s been a day off from school or work, the unofficial end of summer, and sometimes a day for picnics and barbecues with loved ones. But what does it really mean?

This year, though, the true meaning is particularly salient for me. This year, not only are my husband and I each seeking work ourselves, but it seems like the whole country is re-evaluating what it means to be employed. People retire from a life-long career, then end up taking on part- or even full-time work anyway because they can’t afford to make ends meet. Job security in the majority of fields is wavering, with the dark cloud of downsizing always threatening. And people are stuck in dead-end, miserable occupations because they can’t afford to quit.

It sounds bleak, doesn’t it? Not much of a thing to celebrate on this first Monday in September. To be honest, being in a brand new area without friends or family to picnic with, we likely won’t be doing much celebrating, ourselves. But if we were, it would be as a tribute to those who are striving to improve the state of the economy. No one can deny that the country has hit some fairly dire straits in recent years. But we will bounce back. However long it takes, whatever path we follow, things will improve.

Keep that thought in your mind, particularly if you are one of those who is either unemployed or stuck in a job that leaves you feeling unfulfilled. Sit back, crack open a beer, throw some burgers on the grill, and enjoy this break from mundania.

This post was inspired by the sermon at The Unitarian Universalist Church of Ft Myers on Sunday, September 6, 2009.

In the chaos of moving all the way down the East Coast, my blogging habits have sort of fallen by the wayside.  Hopefully that will be rectified soon, though possibly not immediately as we’re still trying to get ourselves situated down here.  (And hey – if you’re in the Ft Myers, Tampa, or Gainesville area and have need of an IT professional or Office Assistant/Writer/Editor, drop me a line!)  In the meantime, let me share a few observations I’ve made since mid-August when we arrived.  These are the ways I’ve found (so far!) in which FL differs from upstate NY:

• The differences in the weather pretty much go without saying, but I think if I neglect to mention them, someone will point it out.  So… yeah.  The weather, even at this time of year, is very different.  Hotter, more humid, etc.  And as upstate NY’s temperatures are starting to dip a bit into autumn… we’re still seeing highs around 90 pretty much every day, down here.  I’m going to miss the changing colors (and changing wardrobe options, I admit) of autumn, but I won’t at all miss the chill and treacherous road conditions of winter.

• Wildlife is definitely different down here too.  During our first week here, we found a tiny lizard in the hallway of the condo where we’re staying.  A lizard.  In the house.  In fact, they are everywhere around here!  I’ve gotten used to it now, but it’s still weird to me.
• Even going to the grocery store is a different experience down here.  My loving husband went to buy me some juice a couple of weeks ago because I was sick.  I didn’t want anything citrus because my throat was sore, and the acidity would’ve made matters worse.  But the food and drink choices down here are different too!  Wanting something non-citrus would seem to be something of a cardinal sin in the state of oranges and key limes.  That said, if you like citrus fruit and/or seafood, this is your place!  Also, the flavors of yogurts that we’ve found down here, just in the stores’ own brands… OMG, yum!  Caramel creme, guava, strawberry cheesecake…  Mmm!
• Would you believe that even shopping malls are different?  Here in the Ft Myers area, at least, the majority of the shopping centers are outside.  They aren’t quite what I’d call strip-malls, but they’re also not what I’m used to in NY.  Of course, in NY, such malls would lose a lot of business for a good quarter to half of the year!  And when you’re in a place so full of sunshine, I think it’s assumed that folks want to be outside in it.

I admit, some of it is taking some getting used to. There have been several days where I’ve sulked about how different life is down here. But then, when I moved from Groton, NY to Ithaca, NY – and when I moved from Ithaca to Rochester, I went through the same sets of feelings. This is just a grander scale transition. In time, I will find places and things (and even people) to love here, as well.

Until then, at least the transition gives me blog-fodder!

… of a book, that is. A favored book. Things have been more than a little hectic, stressful, and busy around these parts lately. While some folks might turn to comfort foods (okay, I confess – I do that, too), I also turn to comfort books. My mind is too muddled to keep up with complicated plots or over-wordy descriptions when life is busy. I want simplicity and familiarity, and characters who feel like old friends.

This time around, I’m re-reading the Harry Potter series, as I have a few times in the past when I’ve craved easy, light reading. I also dug out another favorite, The Time-Traveler’s Wife. I restarted Harry Potter last night, but I couldn’t bear to put The Time-Traveler’s Wife back into the box once I’d gotten it out. It’s like an old friend! This is the book that I have recommended time and again to anyone who has ever asked me for book recommendations. Not one person has come back to me with a complaint. Quite the opposite, in fact. Everyone has loved it as much as I did.  They’ve fallen in love with Henry and Claire, just as I did.  We’ve all shared in this couple’s ups and downs, and cried our way through this beautiful book.  If you’ve read it, you understand why I just can’t bear to leave this one stored in a box here in NY while I’m starting a whole new chapter of my own life, in a whole new state!

But this reflection on my own reading makes me curious:  What do you, my readers, consider to be your “comfort books”?

my Gramma on her 88th birthday

On Saturday, the beautiful woman pictured here turned 88 years old. It was also on Saturday that I told her about our moving plans. As is her way, she took it in stride. She asked when we were leaving, and if she would see me again before we go. (She won’t, sadly.) When we left, she told me she’d miss me, and made me promise (as if this was necessary!) to write to her, lots.

So many of the traits I value in my own personality are direct tributes to my Gramma. Like her, I have an amazing ability to be strong for other people. It isn’t until later, when I’m alone, that I break down. Until then, I am the shoulder, the rock, making sure everyone else is taken care of first.

This “ability” (because frankly, it is sometimes as much a curse as a blessing) came into play later in that same day, when I had to also say goodbye to my mom. Mom and I have a rocky history, but we’ve moved past any darkness into a place of comfort, closeness, and companionship – much like her relationship with Gramma, I like to think. Before I left Ithaca for Rochester, we would spend our days off from work together. Since 2001, our visits have been less frequent – roughly once a month or so – but we speak by phone every week. And it broke my heart to see her crying there in the parking lot as we parted. But I didn’t shed a tear until I pulled away, driving down Route 13 with my husband next to me and our son in the backseat.

I wonder if it was the same for Gramma, after we left her room that afternoon.