Weird Mother Nature

Here are the trees in front of the house, no leaves . . .

. . . but still full of apples.

I wish they were good apples, but, unfortunately, even the squirrels turn up their noses at them. We just gather them up when they fall off and put them straight in the garbage. One of these days we want to cut down these trees and put something less messy in their place.

The Elephant in the Room

I got an e-mail at work today: "Congrats, I heard you made the cut." No, I didn't get a promotion, what I did was manage to avoid getting cut - cut out of a job, that is. This has been a horrible, sad two weeks at work. It's actually been longer. For months, there have been hints that a "Reduction in Force" was coming and we've lived with Damocles sword hanging over our heads because what else was there to do but wait? That has been the Elephant in the Room of my life for the last few months. I've talked of so many trivial things on this blog, always avoiding mention of the one thing most likely to affect my immediate life.

Well, the time finally arrived and that sword came down and did some bloody damage. Long time employees, sometimes with twenty years or more with the company, have been packaged along with employees that were hired six months ago. People have not been slotted for jobs at the same time that their positions, or very similar ones have been left open. Alternatively, people have been slotted into positions in which they have no interest, thus keeping them from being able to receive a termination package. It's been awful, and no one really knows what criteria was used to decide who goes and who stays.

I've been kept awake at night thinking of a co-worker currently undergoing radiation, who is hoping that her package will last at least as long as her remaining treatment, because that is also the length of time that she will be covered by insurance. I think about another co-worker who has an enormous tumor in her stomach and was waiting for her overall health to stabilize before scheduling further surgery, and whose husband of 13 years just walked out on her. What is she going to do now? There are so many other stories.

Yes, I survived the cut. My job is changing completely, although I'm keeping the same salary and benefits. But it saddens me that when they slotted me they showed so little understanding of where my strengths lie (It's nothing personal, Maria. I know, I know . . . ). I'll do the best I can with the job, it's not in me to give less than my best. And, who knows, maybe it'll be better than I think right now.

I keep telling myself that this job does not define me, that maybe God or the universe has another plan for me and I should go with the flow and let the plan reveal itself. And I'm trying very hard to be grateful that in this economy I have a job.

But right now, it's painful going to work and seeing the living dead: Those that have been told that they will no longer have a job as of next Monday. I think of John Donne's lines:

"Each man's death diminishes me
For I am involved in mankind.
Therefore, send not to know
for whom the bell tolls
It tolls for thee."

May God watch over us all.

In the eye of the beholder . . .

This copper plumbing is a thing of beauty. It represents the successful piping for the new tub, all done by my dear husband, who despises plumbing work above all things. And this was no ordinary plumbing, no PVC pipes to make things easier. This was copper piping that needed precise measurements and soldering with a blow torch.

The black burn marks on the studs were made when the original piping was installed. But my DH wasn't taking any chances: He placed a fire resistant cloth behind the pipes to protect the studs and the walls on the other side while he had the blow torch going. The things I've learned just by watching him!

Afterwards, we just threw the cloth in the washer and now it's squeaky clean and ready for the next blow torch project!

Next step: The electrical work.

The things you learn through Facebook . . .

My second cousin, Sonia, who, as it happens was a junior bridesmaid at my wedding, mentioned on Facebook that for a Sunday family dinner she had made "pastelitos."

"Pastelitos" is Cuban shorthand for delicate, flaky pastries, filled with "guayaba" (guava) or "carne" (beef). They are also made with other fillings: Coconut, pineapple, mango and cheese, among other choices. But when someone offers you a pastelito you will most likely be presented with a white bakery box where you will find guava and beef-filled pastries.

I could go on and on about pastelitos. They are such a part of Cuban life. Sunday mornings at our house began with my father making a trip to the Cuban bakery and picking up a box of pastelitos. We read the paper and ate them and got sticky flakes all over the table, our shirts and our fingers. There's never a party without pastelitos, and the interesting thing is that no one bakes them. They are always bought at bakeries.  In a way, it's like donuts. I mean, who ever makes donuts?

Unfortunately, we don't have a Cuban bakery nearby (neither does my cousin Sonia) so if we are going to satisfy the craving, we are going to have to make them ourselves. I immediately e-mailed Sonia and asked her for the recipe. She responded quickly, and . . . voilà!

My husband, who's had them many times, said that they were even better than the ones from the bakery (smart man!). They did taste pretty good to me, and the kitchen smelled heavenly while they were baking. Now I'm keeping a closer eye on Sonia's Facebook Wall and hope that she figures out a way to make "Guarapo" at home - sugar cane juice.

The last hankie

This was my wedding handkerchief. My Aunt Lala had it made in Cuba hoping that she'd be able to send it to me and that some day I'd carry it on my wedding day. She had no idea at the time that she would ultimately be coming to the U.S. herself and bringing it to me in person. She stood in line for a week in order to be able to acquire the embroidery floss from which it was knit. Fabric was scarce, so the linen center of the hankie came from a shirt I wore as an infant.

I snagged one of the threads with my wedding ring, and Mama Lala offered to repair it afterwards, but somehow, we never got around to it. It's just as well, the snag is part of the memories of this day. The arrow in the picture below points to the handkerchief which I'm holding in my right hand. The photo was taken by my brother-in-law, Doug.

A story without words

Funeral Blues

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,

Silence the pianos and with muffled drum

Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead

Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead,

Put crêpe bows round the white necks of the public doves,

Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

He was my North, my South, my East and West,

My working week and my Sunday rest,

My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;

I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now; put out every one:

Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;

Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood;

For nothing now can ever come to any good.

—W.H. Auden

Remembering my father who passed away on November 2, 1986. He was my North, South, East and West. My true compass for perseverance and moral rectitude. He taught me to appreciate literature and history. He demonstrated to us daily what it meant to love unconditionally. He sacrificed for me, although he would have taken deep umbrage at my suggestion that it was a sacrifice. He loved me and he understood me. I miss him.