Datebook: Monday, May 19th ~ 2008

Let me be honest—this has not been my best weekend.

For the past three years I have been working towards getting an administrative position in the field of education. This is probably the closet thing to being an indentured servant as we have in our society today. It means six or seven graduate level classes past the Master’s level, numerous committees, several chair positions, projects, team leadership to the third power, and leaping through several fiery hoops in a single bound. And all of this after working a full day. On Saturday I got a letter saying, “No Thanks” for this year—there is no room at the inn because no one is leaving. In skating language, this is like being the 5th or 6th place team at Sectionals—you get to fill out the forms just in case but there is little chance there will be a call up to Nationals. A little recognition and a lot of heartbreak at being so close to getting an invitation.

So, I was feeling a little weepy and sat sipping Sangria and scanning the radio for either some Carpenters or Captain and Tennille songs to sing a duet with when my daughter called me on her way to a Kanye West concert.

“That’s great,” she proclaimed.

“Great? I said I DIDN’T get the job.”

“I know what you said, that’s why it’s great.”

“Really? Great? You realize this may mean you have to wear the same black patent pumps for another season, right?”

“Don’t be silly! You always told us you have to do choose—you either work doing something you love, or you work at something that you at least like that allows you to make enough money to let you do what you love.”

I sigh. Surely, if I knew how to do needlepoint I would have made a pillow for the couch with that ditty. I am not in an Erma Bombeck mood however.

“Mom. You love to write. You haven’t been able to write because you have been too busy preparing for this job. And, if you got that job, it would have been worse—you would never have had the time. And, you know what you promised!”

Ah, yes, door number 3, when one and two were a goat and donkey. This should be the new car—but it might just be a team of mules and a herd of goats.

Although I have had several stories and essays published, I had promised to write my first book if I didn’t get the job. Or finish my already started first book. Or start a second book instead of my unfinished first book.

“So now you can take the whole summer and write—you can even take your laptop to Lake Placid to edit if you have to.”

“Lake Placid is 10 weeks away—I don’t think I’ll be finished by then. I’m not even sure what to write…”

“What are you thinking of?”

“Well….the book I started is a bit Janet Evanovich like. The main character is an English Professor at the Community College but she used to be police officer and she keeps getting dragged back into the criminal investigation world by her students.”

“That sounds like your life.”

“No, this would be fiction”

“What else?”

“Well…I was going to write a non-fiction piece about a case I worked where a woman drugged her husband, shot him three times, and then cut his body up in eight pieces so she could carry it away in bags to bury in difference places.”

“That’s so gross…people wouldn’t sleep at night.”

“And then I was thinking of doing a novel about skating—I have a tentative working title of “Prick of the Ice”…”

“Oh, that’s clever—it brings in toe-picks”

“ I guess you could go with that—but I was thinking more of a fiction piece about some of the public personas versus the real personalities. You know, you would have to imagine someone with a big head and a little heart—you could probably do a lot with that theme line.”

“I’m not sure there would be a market for that—maybe you should ask some other people what they think you should write—can’t you just do a Mombo type book and make it longer. Oh, and change the skating character—make it a boy—a skating son.”

“We’ll see. Where are your tickets for the concert—did you get lawn seats?”

“Oh you are funny tonight—getting lawn seats would be like taking food into a restaurant—it would be rude. Besides, you always say, it’s not worth going if you’re more than 10 rows back.”

Gosh, I talk a lot. When did she start remembering all of this?

Mombo