A to Z, part 3

Okay, so it's been a few days since I posted because well, I'm home visiting family and well, Christmas happened so things have been busy. But, here we go. Today is J through M.

J-Jobs. While we were attending the same college, my brothers and I frequently discussed what we called Get-You-Through-School Jobs.

(My brothers and I a few years before college)

These were not the menial jobs we actually had during college, but, rather the jobs we never wanted to be forced to have if we opted to drop out of school and forego an education. See, an education provides choice, glorious choice. For my brothers, Get-You-Through-School Jobs included: construction, roofing, door-to-door salesmen, and anything having to do with manure (shoveling, distributing, burying, hauling, etc.). We had a particularly memorable interchange on the way to school one day in which my older brother declared he didn’t want to have a job that involved pallets in any form: moving pallets, stacking pallets, loading pallets, etc.
For me, it comes down to two main categories of Get-You-Through-School Jobs: Daycare and Sales. Recently, I inserted both feet into my mouth when I made a comment at a social gathering in which I said something like, “You will all know I’m down and out when I’m working at a daycare and selling Mary Kay.” About the time the words left my mouth, I realized that one of the girls sitting there currently does not one, but BOTH of these things. But, as I stammered an explanation that I hoped would lessen the offense I was sure I had issued, I realized this situation just proves the point of the value of an education. She enjoys working at a daycare and she likes selling Mary Kay. She has a college education and is delighted that she gets to do exactly what she wants to do. I have a college education and am delighted that I get to do exactly what I want to do—and I assure you it is not the dream she is living. I love being a speech pathologist. I get to work with people one-on-one. I get to work in education, but with a medical twist to it. I get to learn about science-y things, but not to a crazy detailed extent. It’s the perfect job for me. God bless college.

K-Kittens. See, the problem I have with kittens—although they are unbelievably cute—is that they grow up into cats. We had cats growing up, but they were of the outside-mousing-hissing-scratch-the-heck-out-of-you variety versus the inside-lovable-watch-the-kitty-chase-the-yarn variety. There’s a big difference. I remember one day my older brother and I saw one of the uncatchable kittens (they were all uncatchable kittens) underneath the climbing rope that hung from our swing set. In all of our seven- and eight-year-old stealth, we decided to carefully sneak up on it to lovingly hold it in our arms. We moved ever so slowly towards it, all the more awed as we moved closer and closer without it running away. Feeling pretty proud of ourselves, we observed that the cat’s mouth was open as if it were smiling—like it wanted to play with us. It wasn’t until we got within arm’s length that we first suspected that something was awry with the very still kitty. Even so, my brother reached a finger under the kitten’s paw to give it a jiggle, you know, to wake it up. Upon doing so, the rigor mortis that had already settled into the kitten was quite apparent as it stiffly rose and fell back to the ground.
Looking back, I suppose our response should have been one of sadness, grief and well, at least some emotion. Instead, we both kind of sighed, pronounced it dead, and fetched mom to go and bury it before jumping on the swings and continuing with our play. I’m just not a fan of cats. Maybe this is why.

L-Love. This past August, I moved halfway across the country to go pursue a doctoral degree at the University of Nebraska. A few weeks later, my brother and his wife had a family gathering at their house to have a beard-shaving party (that’s another story…). When my parents pulled up and got out of their car, my brother noted that they were decked out in University of Nebraska garb that they had gotten when they dropped me off at school. When my brother asked my dad if they were now supporters of Nebraska, he replied, “Nope. We’re supporters of Katy.”

(My parents and the two littlest grandchildren-Ben and Emily-supporting Katy.)

M-Mirage. A friend and I were on a road trip to Seattle and the Tulip Festival. As often happens, the conversation turned to the state of our lives and, because she had just had a disappointing occurrence with a particular boy, an aura of discouragement, frustration, and hopelessness had settled over the car. Driving on the fairly deserted road between Hanford and Mattawa, I looked out the window and saw this. Hope. Suspended in mid-air, as if to say, “Hang in there girls, I’m not as elusive as you think.”