Four years ago yesterday my Mother passed away. I think of her every day and wish she was still with me.

When I went to college, a little late at the age of 20, my Mom started something that I always treasured. She sent me care packages. Now being at college this was always a great delight to find a note in my mailbox that I had a package waiting for me to pickup. It would be filled with simple yet thoughtful things: local news clippings, colorful markers, packaged goods like Reese’s Cups and my personal favorite Mom’s home-baked Toll House cookies (double chocolate chip, if you please).

As the years went by, even after college halfway across the country, Mom continued to send these packages. While working in Houston it was still wonderful to get a package with enclosed goodies.

Mom, I miss you very much and I’m trying to do well. I love you. I miss seeing your handwriting.

I had an interview a few weeks ago with a studio in Falls Church, H8ST8. This commute would be equally hellish as the one I had with G, but at least it would have been a paying job. I could have caught up (rather, re-started) in my reading on the bus & train & train & bus 1.5 hour commute. Alas, I found out this afternoon that I didn’t get the job. Oh well. Tis a shame, because the company’s initials are C+C and I was going to call them the Music Factory. A in “I am now heading out for my daily stint at the Music Factory.” Hopefully you will be old enough to understand that inside joke.

Tomorrow I have an interview with another company, this one thankfully downtown. It’s the company where my brother works, but it’s a huge global corporate company. So I’ll have to wear a tie at least to the interview. I don’t think there will be any jeans/shorts wearing at this job, unforch. The position is in their Architectural/Design Services division being a Technical Editor/Writer Coordinator. The job description is a little odd, some writing & editing included with traditional graphic design services. They wanted to have me come in for an interview after reviewing my resume though, so there must be something in there that they think will be a good fit. Wish me luck!

I went home for Thanksgiving this year. I didn’t go last year. Speaking with my Dad last year he said, “I know sometimes you want to get together with your friends…”. I hadn’t missed a Thanksgiving in the last fourteen years I’ve been living here so I had no idea what he was talking about. But I took advantage of it anyway, and didn’t have to deal with the travel hassle of a quick trip. But this year I decided to go, since I hadn’t seen many relatives since February and I think Christmas is going to be a little “off” this year as my brother and his family will be going to visit my sister-in-law’s in New York state.

It turned out that renting a Zipcar was just as expensive as taking the train down to my Dad’s so I chose that option, which would give me greater flexibility about traveling times and definitely less stress about getting to a train station twice. I scheduled a 24-hour reservation, leaving Wednesday evening and coming back on Thursday, after the feast.

Since all Zipcars (thankfully) have iPod adapters now I was able to leave the seemingly-archaic CDs at home and just take my iPhone and play music from there. I put on Arcadia’s So Red The Rose and headed south, reminding me of those Friday nights headed to Badlands cranking the tape (EMI Catalog: 42148) so many years ago. It still sounded good loud, exhibiting its many nuances.

Upon arriving it’s the requisite sit-in-the-living-room-watching-History-Channel stuff, and then when it gets close to 9:00 I ask “Can you switch it over to Channel 5 so we can watch Glee?”. Well. About ten minutes into it my brother (my oldest brother) says “This would be a great show if they would stop singing.” Um, yeah, I think that’s kind of the point. He gets up and leaves and then my Dad, instead of watching the show with me, starts reading a road atlas.

Fast forward. It’s about 2:00am and after going to bed and listening to some music I decide it’s actually time to go to sleep but I toss and turn until almost daybreak. Looking back I think I was dozing in and out of consciousness but at the time it seemed like I was just laying there, awake.

At times the dim light coming through the cracked bedroom door would appear to turn red like a laser beam, but only in its color not in its concentration. Then it would cloud and flicker back to a warm dim yellow which seemed more natural.

Then, and I don’t know if I dreamed this or imagined it and whether it actually happened, I felt something, a cloudy presence, off to the right of my eye. It was a form, but not a recognizable form, that slowly changed and flowed as if smoke from a cigarette was contained in a glass sphere, swirling around and around but not dissipating. Was this the ghost or spirit of my mother, who had died in the bedroom down the hall two-and-a-half years ago? Maybe I was groggy and frustrated from not being able to attain sleep. Regardless, I looked at it for a while and said “Hi Mom, I love you.” and immediately fell asleep.

The next thing I remember is waking up a few hours later and hearing my dad in the kitchen making coffee. The remainder of the day would be filled with having my five-year-old niece read a story about Pilgrims to me, getting kisses from my nephew and catching up with aunts, uncles, cousins and their children and grandparents. There was a lot of family love there, I could feel it.

Today my Aunt & Uncle who live in Stephens City, VA (near Winchester, the home of Patsy Cline) are having a horseshoe/BBQ in honor of my Mother. I guess it’s a Father’s Day thing, too. I’m going to ride out there with my cousin and it takes a few hours to get out there so it’s going to be a long day.

Last night I went to bed early, taking a sleeping pill to assure a long night’s rest. Well, I woke up around 1:00 after a couple hours of sleep. Laying awake until about 5:00, the 8:30 alarm resulted in waking from a groggy sleep to Courtney wanting to be the girl with the most cake and Peter’s heart going boom-boom-boom.

A bit of explaining: Years ago, I guess in the early 90s or thereabouts my Mom would always organize a horseshoe tournament over Thanksgiving or the holidays when all the family was around. I was away at school for some of these but they were always fun and a good way to work off some of the huge meal we had just eaten. There was a plaque with a list of winners and I think some trophies were handed out too. These games ended when my Grandfather had a stroke; my Mom’s efforts were centered elsewhere than horseshoes. My Uncle (my Mom’s brother) is trying to start this tradition back up again, which is nice.)

Back to today. On the way way out west we drive through the vehicular mess that is present day Tyson’s Corner and I’m amazed at all of the closed car dealerships that line Route 7. I once test drove a Mustang at that one. I test drove a Fiero at that one. I sat in a DeLorean at that one. Hello, new economy.

Several hours later we’re in at my Uncle’s house and three grills of burgers & dogs are cooking, with a whole spread of food inside (my Aunt Waima makes the best potato salad). I’m paired up with my cousin Rick for horseshoes which is good because I pretty much suck and I’m hoping Rick will carry our team. We won our first game but then lost our 2nd. That’s fine, it was all fun to play. It’s like billiards or bowling: you don’t have to be good at it to throw some metal and have fun.

The winners: my brother Chuck and cousin Don (Rick’s brother). It did turn out to be a long day (getting home around 9) but it was great to see everybody and get out of the city for the day.

As a continuation of Sunday’s post…

My good friend from high school, Charlene, did indeed pass away Friday. Suicide.

How far does one have to go down a path to commit suicide? Do you get to a point of no return and is that point unrecognizable to those around you?

I’ve spent this week communicating with, or trying to track down, high school friends. Some are on Facebook, some I have phone & email contact, others I’m desperately googling to find an access point.

Those whom I have gotten in touch with, I’ve told what I know of Char’s story on the phone or through email. The phone conversations are actually best, partly because these are folks that are/were actual friends and it’s easier to have a back-and-forth conversation, but also because I don’t have to sit there and write a long letter to the others who are responding to remote emails. Still, I’ve been writing them and once they respond back, let them know the details. At first I felt odd about revealing too much, too many sordid details, but then this isn’t my story to be told and these are the facts that I’ve been left with. So I’ve given them all the information that I know.

Now I’m coordinating for the services this weekend. There are two viewings on Friday, one from 2–4 and another from 6–8. This must be hell for the family to have two viewings. I remember my mother’s viewing and it’s a weird thing to do, to actually have an open casket. I remembered the role I played there, of strongman, holding up my Dad and welcoming guests & friends, thankful for each person that showed up. Char’s funeral services (as well as the viewings) will be held Saturday at 4:00 at George P Kalas Funeral Home just outside of Annapolis.

Ironically, a previously-planned PVHS 1982 mini-reunion was and is being held this Friday evening. While I hadn’t planned on attending, now I feel compelled for camaraderie with my peers from 25 years ago. I plan on attending the 2:00 viewing and I guess I could came back into town, keep going, to the other side of the ‘burbs and go to the mini-reu. Maybe it’s what I’ll need in between the services.

RIP, Charlene Polen 1964–2009
aka Charlene Kimble, née Charlene Pogue

UPDATE: Char’s obituary can be found here.

It’s now been three months since I was laid off from my job. In these last 90 days I’ve dealt with city and state bureaucracy, shame at the grocery store and extensive amounts of utter boredom. I’ve taken walks halfway across town, sometimes to accomplish errands but sometimes because there was nothing better to do. I’ve seen the sun come up on Wednesday mornings, and not because I’m getting up while it’s still dark, as I did when I was employed. I’ve often stared out of my front door during wet, cold weather, watching traffic and the occasional D6 fly by. I’ve walked to the Metro and back during evening rush hours just to get a sense of what everybody else’s world is still like. I’ve gone to the corner store, without showering for a day or two, at 11:00 in the morning, wondering if they’re wondering why I’m there at that hour.

I know what this experience is like now, becoming accustomed to an unwanted routine. I wonder what the next 90 days are going to hold for me, as I see unemployment benefits terminating, and what happens next? At what point do I start putting furniture and other material goods up for sale on craigslist? At what point do I stand out front during the morning car commute avenue and hold a cardboard sign saying “will blog for food” or “websites while you wait for the red light, $14.95″? At what point do I give everything up and stay with each friend for a night or two and how long can that be sustained? At what point do I (shudder the thought) move in with my Dad? At what point do I abandon everything, seeing how far I can work my way across the country, doing menial jobs without being tracked by a credit card?

Currently, I still have not received this month’s food stamp ration, and while I’m not starving, I’m still hesitant to spend any cash on groceries, hoping everything will be rectified and my deposit that was supposed to he made eleven days ago will go through. I think if it does, I’m going to have a meal that forgoes my usual “buy only what’s on sale and make a meal out of it” mantra and buy some scallops or a porterhouse steak.

Because of some vacation days I had previously scheduled, the last day I was actually employed and in the studio was my birthday. That day we had planned to visit a homeless shelter and cook food for the residents there. I thoroughly enjoyed it. I was in charge of frying up the grilled cheese sandwiches; we had decided a hot meal was in order, so we supplied tomato soup and a vegetable soup too. It was a total group effort from the six or seven of us that participated that day. It felt so great serving the residents and they seemed genuinely appreciative.

Now, I wonder if I’m closer to the receiving end of this process than I am to the giving end. Working in a creative field in a non-creative town, it’s hard to see any kind of upswing anytime soon. People I know who work in other fields are still going like gangbusters—DC is weird that way, often recessions/housing markets don’t hit us quite so hard because the government is still going to employ people, and those people need places to live. So those markets never dry up. Providing smart, unique messaging systems for them and the businesses that rely on them, however, is something that is frequently (and often, stupidly) cut from budgets.

So where does this halfway point leave me? Maybe thinking it’s time to stop looking for a comparable job to my experience and take a position that earns half the salary I’m used to making? Doing someone’s crappy temp work on Powerpoint? Waiting tables? Being one of those rubber-gloved guys cleaning out Metro trash cans during rush hour? Coffeeshop barista? Or maybe it’s *really* time to become the joke job of my 2nd year architecture professor: court reporter. Certainly I’ve seen enough late-night commercials where I can earn that degree in 6-8 weeks.

Right now I am on am Amtrak train (79 Carolinian) headed south to have supper at a Golden Corral. Yes, apparently some of the steakhouses from the 70s still exist. I’m going to Fredericksburg for the day to celebrate my paternal grandmother’s 90th birthday, which was actually on Thursday.

After a restless night of sleep, it was a bolt to make it to the train station (eight minutes to spare). Since I’m going to need caffeine jolts to keep me going, I decided to stop by Jacob’s on the way for some coffee. The people in line in front of me, I swear they were ordering milkshakes for breakfast. I could have sworn one of them said “scoop of vanilla ice cream”. Their total for three milkshakes coffees and a couple of muffins was $18.72. My large French Roast was $2.08.

I make it to the train with eight minutes to spare. Yikes, that one was close. The only double-seat available is on the sun-side of the car (I know these things). But luckily there’s no window, a structural element is there so hopefully I won’t be in the sun and won’t bake on the ride down.

//Message over train’s PA system: Do not stuff diapers into the toilets. This will render the restroom inoperable.//

A note about Golden Corral, for those of you who don’t remember or were brought in the time of casual dining (Bennigan’s). GC was where you’d take the family “out” for a dinner in the 70s. It’s a steak & baked potato for $3.99 kind of place. When vegetarianism spread outside of California, circa 1977, they added a salad bar. But back then everybody ate meat and they liked it. There was also a similar competitor, Ponderosa. Notice how both have cattle ranch-inspired cowboy themes? The waitress uniforms in the 70s undoubtedly consisted of embrodered denim skirts and red gingham shirts, complete with scarf and cowboy hat. And possibly a toy pistol.

Today’s GC is totally different. I was still expecting to order a t-bone or fillet steak, but it was one big buffet cafeteria with all different kinds of  foods. It was definitely grab-a-plate and go. Plate #1 was definitely head to the salad bar section to fill up on that first. Plate #2 was a small steak with traditional sides: mashed taters, carrots and mac & cheese. At least I stayed away from the onion rings and the fried shrimp.

There was a lot of family there, of all different ages and generations which was nice. After everyone ate we had cake & ice cream and took the requisite each generation with Mama Della pictures. One thing about Mama Della: she has always had the kids call her this, even the kids from the neighborhood. So even people who aren’t related to her know her and address her using this moniker. I’ve always thought that was kinda cool.

I actually have an errand to run today that does not involve filing government paperwork. I’m going to get a card, or something, to send to my aunt Waima, whose mother passed away on Sunday. 

Lucy C, Waima’s mother, was someone whom I met as a child but didn’t really have any much interaction with. So while there is a loss there, my feelings are directed more towards my aunt than anywhere else. And then I realize that this person is my cousin’s grandmother. That brings it in a little closer. Speaking with my uncle today I learn that Lucy was two months short of her 90th birthday in April. My own paternal grandmother will turn 90 in nine days, next Thursday. We have a party planned for that following Saturday and while Lucy was bounding around in good  health I hope something as quick & drastic doesn’t happen again before then.

With all the free time in the world, yet without many resources (cash, car) I feel a little helpless to attend any funeral services. They’re happening quickly, this evening and tomorrow. All I have to send are my thoughts and prayers.

Thank you everyone, to those that have wished me good fortune. If I could represent my gratitude in form of our obviously failing and economically outdated stock market, the ticker might appear something like this, in no particular order (and definitely not the exhaustive list):

AMN
F5F
BER
GLDY
HMD
KJT
SING
PHI
BLK
GXM
VLV
MOB
JFK
LAD
JOY
RAMS
MIL
BEX
ANY
EFP
KMO
ALC
NOE
DAD

Today I wake up lots of time late, but enough to finish what I need to do before heading to Union Station for tonight’s train. It’s simple stuff that I want to get done, things that I’d rather not return to tomorrow: dirty dishes, dirty laundry, a full trash can. The chores are simple enough and I’m finished in plenty of time.

There is a 6:03 D6 that will get me there in plenty of time for my 7:00 train. But instead I decide to walk, in order to not have to rely on a bus that might not be on time, therefore raising my stress level. I prefer to travel stress-free, even if it involves the boredom of showing up to the station/airport a little early.

I decide to walk down D St instead of taking the somewhat familiar bus route of C St. The D6 returns down D, but I’m usually taking that at night and I decide that this opposite-direction walk will be more interesting.

The white Scion with the black spoiler and the yellow Mini w/ white roof were parked where they normally are. So was the sun-baked 1979 Mustang Pace Car. What is that huge monstrosity on 12th St? Did it used to be a nunnery or a castle? I assume it’s billion dollar condos now. Scary holiday lawn ornaments on the 1100 block. Italiano Restauranto is hiring, the only place with a help-wanted sign that I noticed. I wonder if they’re hiring wait or kitchen staff? Kitchen staff would be better, to learn the recipes. I’ll have to apply there this weekend.

I get to Union Station, redeem my ticket from the kiosk and get in line to exchange it for a closer destination, as I’m departing Quantico and not Fredericksburg. That $4 credit means a lot in this NuEcon. Plus I saved $1.25 by walking instead of taking the D6. I am a penny-saving fool. I only fear these Poverty Lurks will extend farther into the future than need be. As much as I enjoy beans & rice, I want to eat them when I want to and now when I have to.

Now, an hour after my train was supposed to leave, I’m still sitting at the station, waiting for the 85 Northeast Regional to get in from New York, which is now scheduled to get in at 8:35, almost two hours late. Sigh. I guess delays such as this is why SimCity was ported over to the iPhone, right? I hope Santa isn’t taking a train anywhere tonight because if he is it’s time to dust Rudolph out of the stables and get him in the air.

UPDATE: leaving 2 hours, 8 minutes late for a 50 minute train ride. I’m staying home next year.