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Friday, March 13, 2009


Whew. The third incarnation of my functional resume is now winging its way through cyberspace to the outplacement consultant for review. Though it surely will be returned to me with a request for copious edits, at least it is finally taking some shape. It’s humbling to recognize what a struggle it is not only to quantify my achievements but to put them down on paper with a semblance of clarity. While I can’t promise that every hour of every day has been dedicated to this feat it has been a focus for the last several, and though determined, the effort to wrench the information from my mind has been taxing. It is as if my accomplishments hang like spaghetti strands from the uncovered landscape of my cauliflower brain, and the only way I’m allowed to pull them off is with a pair of slippery tweezers. And I like to write. For those of you who don’t and are in this situation, you have my utmost sympathy.

This pseudo-accomplishment though, has put me into a “Thank God it is Friday” mentality—which is fascinating, since lately, everyday is Friday for me. Now though, I feel it--that it is only a matter of hours before I’m unshackled from the self-imposed handcuffs of my new routine. It has been a week of minor success in ways both related and unrelated to the employment situation; so for the next two days, in some regard I get to rest. “Some regard” because most of the snow has finally melted. There is sand to sweep from the driveway, branches and sticks to pick up from all over the yard and a probable bonfire to light. Tiny snowdrops with their optimistic white blossoms are emerging from the ledge garden, and out front the crocuses are about to bloom. It’s time to survey the damage to the rhododendrons, to prune the rose bushes and rake up the leftover leaves.

We are not out of the woods yet. It is March and New England and there is plenty of chance for winter to push its arms back into the sleeves of its long flowing coat. But for the moment, the snow is gone. Daylight Savings is here along with budding warmth and mud-earth smells. Every spring creeps ahead with a promise of joy and renewal. I’ll try to keep inching myself forward too.

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