The Tomatoes are In

This is the weekend when many Americans do something to remember their lost love ones. A visit to the cemetery, looking through a scrapbook or just sitting on the newly completed screen porch drinking cold Sierra Nevada's thinking about the dearly departed.

Actually, this is my first one (holds up an empty.) Excuse me a second. I'll be right back.
(time passes. He returns with a fresh frosty, and continues typing)
Most of the day was spent in the garden. It was a perfect day. 70 degrees, mostly sunny skies, no wind. I planted two Rhododendron bushes and two dozen tomato plants. And, assorted marigolds.

According to the old Farmers Almanac this is the first planting day of the season for vegetables and flowers that are not "hardy." People who do not garden seem to have a warped sense of how May weather is supposed to be. They complain, "Where is Spring?"

Just because April is a cruel temptress with those lovely warm days, a lot of people are seduced into thinking that Spring will come early this year. Then comes May - the Evil bitch goddess of frigid rains and unending dankness. We, who plant tomatoes, know these harridans well. We know that killer frost can come anytime in May. So, we wait until Memorial day to plant our tomatoes, and we hope to start picking the Early Girls around the third week in July. Then for a glorious month or so, we have fresh homegrown tomatoes for our salads, sauces, salsa, sliced, or just to eat out of your hand, like an apple.

This year, I planted an extra 6 plants. Last year the rodent population squirrels, rabbit and chipmunks was out of control. They nibbled at everything in the garden. More than once I saw squirrels making off with tennis ball sized tomatoes. This year, I will not have the time to guard my little patch with the trusty BB gun, so I just planted more, hoping to offset the losses from varmints. I do not invest all this labor and effort to save money. I is all done in anticipation of the incomparable flavor of home grown tomatoes over store bought.

My mother used to call me "Farmer Brown." I miss her sarcasm and sense of humor. Here's to you, Mom, wherever you are. (Guzzles down the last of the Sierra, then goes inside for a nap.)

Week One

OK. I made it through the first week of full-time employment without any major issues. Ok, maybe a few, but they are mainly associated with the commuting distance - 20 miles - and , of course the chief complaint is how much this work thing eats into my free time.

Here it is Saturday and I am forced - like so many other working stiffs - to cram all my chores into the Saturday-Sunday routine. I have been accustomed to leisurely doing my dump run on weekday mornings when there is no line, then picking stuff up at the laundry whenever I felt like it. Maybe a stop at the beer store, supermarket and hardware store. All these tasks were done on off-hours. Now, I am not only stuck in the daily commuting grind, but also stuck in the weekend crush to get the chores done. At least I do not have young kids to take to soccer games...

The bright gem in all this is the work itself. Some of you may find enjoyment in doing crossword puzzles or refurbishing old houses,. I suck at these types of activities. But give me a complex data model to figure out, and I am in hog heaven. All week I have been studying Oracle 11 e-Business data models. Next week I will be writing database queries. This is better than being Pope. OK I exaggerate. But honestly, I am happy with the situation. I like the people I am working with, The boss is not a micromanager - in fact, he is very busy and commutes from Arizona or someplace like that. He's only going to be around four days a week and too busy to be delving into my underwear. They actually told me that they wanted experienced people on the project because there is no time to train them how to do things or even to check up on them. :-) . Even the young bright designer boys are glad to have someone there who is willing to go out and find out what the business users are thinking.

Retirement was great, but there is a depressing reality looks back at you from every mirror. You are getting old, it says. I think the reason I feel happy, despite having given-up much of my freedom, is that it makes me feel younger. And now, I can afford Single Malt Scotch. Life is good. And I can do anything for four months.

Doing It For Money

The headline for the feature story in the Business section of the paper today reads "Mass Unemployment Lowest in three Years." There is an accompanying graphic to prove it. I wonder just how they are counting the "unemployed". Once you fall off the unemployment benefit payroll, you are no longer counted in the stats since no one really knows what has become of you. Can't tell if you died or moved away, stopped looking, started your own unsuccessful consulting business, took a part time job, or just started collecting retirement benefits. None of the foregoing activities would include you in the unemployed number. I think they are really reporting that less people are collecting unemployment benefits these days because companies have started hiring back to fill slots that were shed over the past several years.

I can agree that there has been a definite increase in the number of posted jobs with the words "Business" +"Analyst" in the title.

That reminds me, A number of you have asked for more details about the new job. Now, I have started more than a dozen new jobs in my career. Not one of them proved to be the job I expected based upon the interview and discussions that occurred pre-day one. It's not that the hiring parties lied purposefully. No, the fact is, stuff happens that changes everything. I know this. I expect to be surprised. (But, you are saying, How the bleep can you expect to be surprised? Isn't that an Oxymoron?)

Well, let me tell you what I know: I will be working full-time on a four-month contract job as a business systems analyst for a big company that is implementing a new CRM system for a local HMO.
Note that I do not use names in this medium for reasons that are pretty easy to figure out - at least not until they prove themselves to be a hellhole.)
My job is to act as liaison between business users and the technical team, to ensure that the users get the info they want/need out of the new system. Same stuff I have been doing most of my career.
People have said, Hey I thought you're retired. So was George Foreman.

The details of the job will be revealed in due time, as I start the journey at 9am on Monday morning. I'm sure there will be moments of entertainment, pathos, stress and uncertainty - and that's just the commute. The job itself should be an easy thing. And even if it's a Hellhole, it is only for four months. You can put up with anything for 4 months.

The End Is Near

The builder just dropped by. He apologized for not returning my numerous voice messages and threatening e-mails, but he has been away on vacation and then jammed with work. He promises him that the screens will be up by Memorial Day.

Breaking News

Ok, this may sound crazy - and, you cannot tell anyone about it: I have a new job.

You are probably thinking: " Huh"?

That is my sentiment exactly. I was minding my own business, planning a less-than-heavy schedule of working 10-15hrs at the Part-time job on Mon and Fri mornings - balanced by aimless puttering around the premises during the rest of the week, Lawn and gardening, shopping for dinner, whipping -up delicious feasts, grilling meat on the Bar-B, swilling frosty brewskies with my pals, spending inordinate amounts of time hanging around the periodical room at the library, leisurely reading the WSJ down at Starbucks, taking long walks on the beach, painting the front hall, pruning the crabapple trees in front, fishing for stripped bass - that sort of stuff.
Maybe afternoon naps on the new screen porch (which has yet to be graced by any [bleeping] screens; my [bleeping] builder seems to have "runaway" probably to get away from the stress of actually finishing a project!)

He will come back eventually. I know it. (I still owe him a lot of money. )

Yes, it was indeed shaping-up to be another pleasant year of marginal employment - blogging about the hellaceous things that I recall from my working life and shooting at trespassing squirrels with the BB gun, to keep them away from my tomato garden. To me, this seemed like a full schedule of activity.

Now all that is ruined by this new job thing. Now, my thoughts are dominated by angst and trepidation. I need to venture into the dark, unmapped recesses of my closet to see if any of my good shirts still fit me...and I will probably need to be at the office at an ungodly hour and there will be a commute.

Voices rage in my head and images of past clueless management and back-biting co-workers play like a B movie in my dreams.

Against this tide of disappointment and fear of the future is a tiny, but strong current of Hope. My wife is thrilled that I am "back in the game", earning money to help fund her opulant Hiltonesque lifestyle.

And a small part of me admits to being glad to get back to the world of work and ideas. The prospect of making good money appeals to the streak of greed that runs thick in my soul.

Besides, there are servants to pay, horses to stable, pools that need to be maintained. In a word, we have Standards that must be kept. Ok, this part is sort of a lie, but it could happen. As Bloody Mary sings (in South Pacific) "If you no have a dream, how you gonna have a dream come true?" That's why I keep buying lottery tickets.

Mother's Day as an Orphan

Weather forecasts are gloomy for the next few days, ruining what should be a great spring planting weekend. And, of course, Mother's Day. I have seeds sprouting under lights in the basement - my rite of spring. The supreme annual expression of hope and expectation. Cell packs of Tomatoes, peppers, herbs, marigolds, Mom's favorite morning glories, cucumbers and lettuce. 

 As the season matures, the inevitable occurs. Too much rain, not enough rain, too many varmints and bugs chomping on my garden. Thus are the hopes for a bountiful harvest and a luxuriant flower garden pared-down to hopes of a few pounds of ripe tomatoes and a handful of blooms for cutting. It always makes me wonder what people did for salad before refrigeration and rapid transportation. Here in the northeast, lettuce is gone to seed by the time cucumbers and tomatoes are ripening. 

 Speaking of things ripening, the expiration date of my shelf life as a retail employee is rapidly approaching. I have informed my wife that the store employee discount only lasts as long as the tenure of the employee, and therefore one should hurry if one has things on her list that must be acquired. Let me be clear: the store experience has been great. It happened at a time when I needed some structure in my life. The part-time job has given me that structure, and the excitement of helping to open-up a new store was both unique and satisfying. Meeting the physical challenge of manual labor has been the most satisfying thing I have done at work in a long time. 

 But there are two aspects of this level of work that are beginning to bother me. First is the problem of supervision. Any one who has ever been my manager can tell you that I do not respond well to detailed instruction. As I have often said, if you need to tell me how to do my job then maybe you should get someone else. My best most productive mode is in environments where no one knows what to do. The only direction I want from management is to identify the problem and the ultimate goal. To me the satisfaction of working is to figure-out how to solve the problem, to define and implement the solution. I want management to give me the resources and authority to get it done. This level of autonomy does not exist in retail. Retail is run like the military. Brass at the top, scum sucking privates at the bottom of a multi-level command and control organizational structure. There is no level of decision-making expected of the dolts at the lowest levels. There is a book to define conduct, rules, and ways of doing things. The most elementary activity or process is detailed and prescribed. 

 For someone whose career has basically been process improvement, it is difficult to carry-out orders to do labor-intensive things routinely, mindlessly and often inefficiently. Worse, sometimes a person wants to do things differently just for kicks. This sort of radicalism is discouraged. Secondly, there is another spookier aspect of this environment. Relentless cheer-leading. Now, I have spent six decades upon this earth. Most of the time life has been good, but there are times when things go wrong. Many times. Any residual degree of cynicism or pessimism has been earned honestly and painfully. Further, my sense of humor seems to feed upon anger and rage at this screwed-up world. Thus, my characteristic expressions of humorously decidedly negative observations (eg, the other morning, the driver took 15 minutes just trying to back the semi trailer square into the loading dock. My query, "Where the heck did he get his truck driver's license - Sears?" was met with steely looks and taut jaws of the supervisory crew leaders who will not tolerate anything but positivity. There is a palpable effort to control the thoughts of employees by constant (mindless) repetition of uplifting, seemingly harmless tenets of being flexible, working quickly, and smiling a lot. If your not having fun, something must be wrong with you. Well, perhaps something is wrong with me. I am not having fun. Fun is drinking beer and fishing. Playing poker. Watching a great game or movie. Reading a great book. Dancing naked in the moonlight on the front lawn. Writing crap in your blog. You know, that kind of stuff. Fun is not being micromanaged by emptyheaded supervisors who were hired mainly because they like to bust other people's chops. Besides that, I know something else that you don't about my future in the professional workforce. Hint: it is not working at a prison in Baghdad. Stay Tuned. And if you are lucky enough to have a living mother, be nice to her tomorrow.

Job Description

Last night on PBS I was watching highlights of the Crossroads Guitar Festival that was held last summer in Dallas (or maybe it was Austin - whatever.).

Eric Clapton was the celebrity host. It was a fund-raiser. He managed to get a huge array of talent to appear over the three day concert. B.B King, Albert King, ZZ-Top, Joe Walsh, James Taylor and a bunch of others - all who knew how to play dat thing. It was very entertaining and I stayed up until past midnight to watch all of it.

But, the most memorable moment for me was just before his appearance, they had a short interview with Carlos Santana. He was reflecting on what his work meant to him. He described playing the guitar as "the giving and receiving of spiritual orgasm."

I thought that sounded like the best damned job description in the world. It takes "customer service" to a new dimension. It implies a level of worker satisfaction unparalleled in any industry I have worked in.

Just before I dozed-off on the couch, for just a nanosecond, I held a shimmering thought: Maybe I should take guitar lessons.
Then, I fell into a deep sleep and dreamed about corrugated cardboard.