Autumn approaches. The air is crisp and clear. The sky is studded with puffy clouds and it's good to be alive, and outside, with long sleeves. A time for reflection, to nourish that seed of inner peace that has taken root in the fecund humus of the soul.
Yesterday, I planted a row of hardy chrysanthemums on the north border with the Murphys. I built a berm out of compost from the back yard. It took about twenty wheelbarrows full of rich dark organic material. I had several large, aged piles of rotted grass clippings, vegetable peelings, assorted prunings and leaves. The back is kept mostly natural so pine needles and leaves are never raked, but left to decay naturally. This produces a layer several inches thick of the black gold called "leaf mold". I mined several barrels of fluffy, pure compost to mix in the gardens, thus assuring another bountiful harvest next year.
At the end of the day, sitting with an icy Harpoon IPA, I am struck by the alarming brevity of days and the sudden realization that summer has passed with the velocity of a clattering freight train. One moment you are thinking "Jesus! This is eternal." Then, without warning, a thunderous silence. You find yourself squinting at the blinking tail light of a caboose retreating into the dark distance.
The summer was well spent. It started in May, when the leadership at the Hellhole decided to make a decision. The CMT (Crack Management Team) felt that they had to do something to fix the company. The choices were: 1) to reduce the number of costly offsite executive planning meetings, 2) to pump up an impotent sales force, or 3) to lance the festering boil of a bloated workforce.
Previous decisions had included Instituting a new Dress Code, Changing the Company Logo, Reorganizing and Redefining Mission Statement (and confusing nearly everyone), Eliminating free water, Hiring more lawyers, Downgrading support for the biggest customer (because they wanted to be less dependent on the cash cow), Forcing the implementation of a less effective systems (which annoyed the biggest customer even more), and instituting a simplified but incomprehensible set of performance goals.
The results of these initiatives were gratifying for the HR department. Not only did they have more interesting work overseeing the new goals and org chart modifications, but they could busy themselves getting new stationery and business cards with the new logo.
Unfortunately, none of these decisions resulted in increased revenue. The CMT fretted about the bad economic situation, and decided that they needed to go down to Naples Florida, which was the only place that they could think clearly (not to mention the excellent golfing, fishing and other accommodations). They would have to make some hard choices.
The CMT had no use for the wisdom of gurus like Tom Peters who says "You cannot shrink your way to greatness." They felt that the time-honored way to save a sinking boat is to throw things overboard. "Jetsam" is defined as cargo or equipment that is tossed intentionally (as opposed to "flotsam" - the stuff that is ejected into the water as the ship sinks).
Funny, they didn't lay off any senior execs, even though these are the ones who led the ship into the shoals of fiscal wreckage. We marvel at their ability to blame failure on external factors, but fully ready to take full credit for any successes, no matter how accidental.
So, my fellow jetsam and I have had ample opportunity to reflect on the nature of work. And to explore other professions - gardening, multi-level-marketing, thoroughbred handicapper, piano player in a sporting house, freelance writing, fisherman, van driver, house painter, gigilo, you name it. Some of the jetsam engaged in furious job hunting, and some of them did find successful landfall. I have sown some seeds and made some calls. As a no-limits person, I feel that one of these fine crisp days, the phone will ring with the perfect opportunity. (I just hope I am not out back sitting by the verdant garden, snoozing on the chaise lounge when the phone rings.)
Yesterday as I sat, admiring the new compost berm, my wife came home after a hard day at the office . She inspected my work and declared with a scowl, "It looks like a grave."
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