Grey's Anatomy, the Carousel, and My Job Interview

As Meredith says on Grey's Anatomy, "the carousel never stops turning."  Despite the desire to stay home, watch more Grey's Anatomy, and eat cereal, life has continued on, and I need to get on for the ride again.

I had a job interview today.  My first job interview since I graduated University almost 20 (ahem) years ago.  I can't believe it.  Teaching and the cake business long forgotten, the Lord has brought me to a different place, a world of reaching women in crisis, and giving them my ears instead of my baking.

I spent the weekend getting ready for this important meeting: shopping for an outfit, borrowing a friend's shoes, getting a pedicure and manicure, and trying to forget I had a job interview while remembering I did, in fact, have an interview.

About two hours before the meeting time, I discovered my new shirt was see-through, my new dress pants too long, and I couldn't find the shoes I'd borrowed.  After rummaging around for a camisole and a pair of shoes my nails were chipped and I was sweating terribly. With just enough time to get to the interview I threw my makeup in my purse, printed out my references, and jumped into the jeep.

While pulling out of the driveway, suddenly the gas light came on.  Aargh!  I had no time to stop at the station; I would be travelling on fumes.  Jesus take the wheel, I prayed.

There are certain questions that come to mind when one is in this position.  Do you waste more gas by driving faster or driving slower for a longer time? What does it feel like when you run out of gas? Will I be able to pull over? How far could I get, and could I walk the rest of the way? But then I'd get all sweaty again.  Oh, how I wish I'd printed out the CAA phone number and info I just purchased last week.  Perhaps I could call the interviewers and they could come and pick me up?  Oh, good grief.  What am I thinking?

Thankfully, I safely got to the interview.  I quickly put on my makeup, smoothed out my awkward clothes, and walked to the door.

The interview went well, I think, except for a few minor moments.  Perhaps it was my nerves or my frazzled morning, but I may have put my foot in my mouth.

"What is your best quality?" she asked.

"I'm hilarious." Er...thoughtful...caring...good grief...

"What do you friends think of you applying for this position?"

"They say if you knew anything you'd hire me." What??? Filter...where is your filter?

I am shaking my head even as I write this.  I really am a nutter.  We did laugh a lot, and they scribbled my garbled answers on their papers... I was charming, had the experience, and despite my see-through shirt, looked the part.

Of course, after I shook hands and went out to the driveway, I hit the wrong button on the remote and set off the alarm on my jeep and couldn't shut it off.  Good grief.

I'm home now, hiding under the covers, my see-through shirt all wrinkled.  I will get back on the carousel another day.

Instead, let's go watch a Grey's Anatomy rerun and eat cereal.

Little Miss and Tattling

As of late, I have been pressured, cajoled, and sweet-talked into getting back to my hilarious writing about Little Miss and our home adventures.  This past year my attention was stolen by my other blog, Sweet Kitchen, as a three-post-a-week job, and by other miserly money-grabbers like editing, online sales, tutoring and other things that make Mr. Man sigh.

I have since toned it down, and am ready to be hilarious once again.

That being said, my funny bone is tucked in there pretty deep.  It may take me a while to get it oiled up and in full force.

For now, here is a story of Little Miss to wet your appetite:

Little Miss and Tattling

When tucking Little Miss into bed one night she looks up at me seriously, starts discussing her brother, and telling me what mischievous things he's been doing.

She started in, "I was coming up the stairs and he pulled on my pants and tried to... "

"Aw, come on," I said, as I laid my head on her tummy, "Don't make the last words of the day be a tattle!  I want to remember my boy in a nice way.  Just tell me a story about butterflies or flowers."

I snuggled down beside her with my head on her tummy, and she conceded.  As she touched the top of my head with her hands, she began her story.

"Once there was a flower and a butterfly," she said, "Then the butterfly suddenly got REALLY goofy, and was coming up the stairs..."

"Hey! I know where this is going!" I shouted.  And we both laughed.

"Okay, okay, let me start again," She laughed, waving her hands in the air.  She began to tell her story a second time.

"...then there was this flower.  Suddenly the butterfly came over and pulled at her pants...even tho flowers don't have pants..."

Well, that was it.  I roared with laughter.  Ingenious parable of life's lessons by Little Miss.  Don't pull on your sister's pants.  We both ended our snuggle in giggles and I laughed all the way downstairs.

Maybe she'll be the writer someday.

What Do You Wear to Work? A Conversation About Conversing.

Originally written January 2013:

Somebody asked me the other day what I wear to work.  It was an unusual question, one that I'd never think of asking someone before.  Oddly, it shows what interests the asker, rather than what is really interesting.

To answer her I blurbed out some vague answer about t-shirts and jeans, and an apron on the off-chance that I remember.  This led to a short conversation about aprons. Pretty lame stuff, really.

When I was a teenager, I started to watch people.  Read people, I guess, is a better way to describe it.  When you are shy, awkward, and not exactly radiating confidence, you become a listener rather than a speaker.  I had to push myself to converse with new people.

In my people-watching, I noticed were those who were particularly good at striking up conversation managed to tune in to one interesting thing (big or little) about their listener, and would ask about it.  Kids, work, health, recent canoe trip...but not just, "how is work going?" or "how are the kids?"  It was the sincere questions that intrigued me. "What is it like to work in ___?" "Tell me about your son," and other pointed questions that can't be answered with "fine," "good," or "nice."  It allowed the listener to become the speaker.

There are those who are genuine and interested in what people and their lives have to say.  Then there are those who love to hear their own voice continually, or, on the flip-side, who hate a lull in conversation and continue to rattle on about nothing.

I have a dear friend who has been what we call a "professional student" up until last year when he became "Dr." Daron, with a Masters, PhD and a many more letters to his name in cancer research and radiation therapy.  Do you think I could understand what he has done over the last ten years while I have wiped snotty noses, pulled lego out of the tub, made batches and batches of red velvet cake, and taken the dog to the vet?  No, but I try.

So when someone turns to me and asks, "What do you wear to work?" I realize although they may not be really interested, it is one of those questions to which I cannot answer, "fine," "good", or "nice." I am forced to talk about my life as a baker.  I certainly can't complain that people don't understand what it's like to do what I do, when I don't tell them.  Alas, here I am asked, and I stumble over the answer.

I know the answer now, days later.  It's really catchy, too.  "It's what I wouldn't wear, actually," I'd say, "I can't wear my hair down, or have loads of make up on, in case it falls into the batter.  The make up may smear off on my hands, and contaminate something.  Actually, that's why I never wear earrings.  It would be awful to make this giant cake only to find you are wearing one earring when it is all finished."  Funny, eh?  No opened-toes shoes is another one, and I could go on.  But are they really interested?  I sure don't find it interesting - but hey, you never know.

So are you the person who does all of the talking, or the person who asks the questions?  Or are you the person who says absolutely nothing and wears the same coloured clothing as the curtains in order to blend in?

Dare to be different.  If you hear your voice nattering on about your kids or your Nobel prize, stop and look around at who you are talking to. Find out about them.  If, on the other hand, you tend to pull back and get the other people talking, speak up, be proud of what you do, or what you are interested in, and listen to the sound of your own voice.

You may fail.  They may walk away from you because your family did not come off the boat from Holland, or simply because you talk too much about bean sprouts, but keep trying.

And you may continually start talking again because the other person is so quiet. Wait it out. Be gentle. They have something to say, even if it takes them forever to say it.

Me? Tonight, when Mr. and I are out, and I am asked about what I wear to work, I will loudly answer, with a smile, "a t-shirt, jeans, messy apron, and icing in my hair! And (gasp) sometimes pyjamas!"