Job Hunting - Not Just for Old Ladies

The closest to perfection a person ever comes is when he fills out a job application form.

Stanley J. Randall

All this talk of weddings and college visits and choices has bypassed another son in my house. One embarking on a new adventure. Remember Jordan? The boy who raises fawns?




And kills rattlesnakes?

Tucked in the middle of that wedding and high school graduation is the completion of a Bachelor's degree in biology -- trip to Arizona for my husband and me to see that boy grasp his diploma. And, of course, college graduations bring gainful employment where children elope from parent's payrolls. Permanently. Right. RIGHT!

In the file of resumes I've kept on my desktop for ready use this past year, Jordan's has the freshest face. Young, unattached, eager to take on the world -- everything he owns will fit in his car, opening up the many possibilities he's finding countrywide that offer his next adventure.

While completing 17 hours of study to adhere to the four year tuition schedule allotted by his parents (those dwindling funds now assigned to his younger brother) each day he searches the wildlife websites for open positions, adjusting his resume and cover letter to fit the job. A science guy, he has utilized his mother's typing fingers to tighten up the verbiage. Makes me feel useful and I'm glad he's asking. (I can fix other people's sentences much better than my own.)

Impatiently, he checks his email to await responses to his applications. Nothing yet. But the windows keep opening, he keeps applying, and he is ready to fly.

If I compare his possibilities to mine, the Midlife Jobhunter, I see a much broader skyline in his search. Youth backs his flight. Although his credentials may not contain as many skills or as much experience as mine, he is more employable simply because he is young, flexible, willing to relocate, and has the energy to work long hours and get his hands dirty.

Not to say midlifers can't do that, but a definite difference exists for those of us no longer trained in the newest technologies. Those that have too much baggage to pack up all our belongings in our Civic and head off down the road. Those that can physically no longer take on the tasks that younger years offered.

Makes for a most exciting time for this young son. One that will strike out on his own and has not completely figured out how exciting life will be.

Another one - that I once carried in my arms - all grown up.

What Lies Ahead

We've had bad luck with our kids - they've all grown up.

Christopher Morley

Once upon a time I spent my days with a gaggle of kids that followed me where ever I went. My world revolved around the three souls I pushed out of my womb and then made sure they had food placed in front of them, shoes that fit, and swimming holes to explore. My days sometimes seemed to never end. I ached for an hour or two where no one needed me for something. Just an hour. Or a minute. Like an opportunity to shut the bathroom door and pee alone.

Even though it didn't seem possible I'd ever escape the always present mountain of laundry, the sticky floors from juice spilled, or the driving schedule that began at 3pm and ended when the last game or guitar lesson ended hours later, I knew there would come a time. That time is now. My last son is a high school senior and next year, my calendar will not have hours of baseball games filling the slots and there will be no one's ass to chew about getting homework completed.


How in the world did this little boy become old enough to go off to college?

Youngest son, Ian, and I took a road trip last week. College visit. He had been accepted to a few schools. Some even with in-state tuition. But he had a dream, and never one to not encourage those, I arranged flight, a car, and time to visit an old friend who teaches at the university.

Ian and I walked around campus, taking in all the sites. Took a tour. Visited with our old friends who drove us for hours on end to see the surrounding area. Overwhelmed, Ian and I retreated to our hotel for siesta time, watching the Olympics or talking about what we'd seen. As Ian endured Ice Dancing, for his mother's sake, we read the local newspapers and just soaked up the entire environment - not talking about a decision.

On the last day, Ian went on ahead of me as he had a meeting scheduled with the head of his department. By the time I got my camera out, (my hands were shaking) he was almost out of my sight and in the building.

We've since had a discussion on which college he's chosen to attend. Come fall, the last of those that followed me around will be off on their own. How does that happen so quickly? My grieving has begun, although...

...I'm probably going to be working so much to help pay for his butt to attend, that I won't have time to miss him. Now, there's fodder for future posts - that midlife job hunting thing again.

Remind Me What Friends Are For?

I've always said that in politics, your enemies can't hurt you, but your friends will kill you.

Ann Richards

Last night, two of my girlfriends and I walked to the corner Wag-A-Bag for a bottle of wine. That we were walking should not be an indication of our condition. At all. Anyway, while walking on the sidewalk in front of them, my friend JC said,

“I think your exercise is working, Julie. Your ass isn’t as big as it used to be.”

“Yeah,” KO said. “It’s not nearly as wide as it was in that picture when you mooned us at the beach.”

I gazed up into the street light above, trying to decide how to receive these, these comments. As I recalled, I wasn’t the only one catching a breeze that day at the beach. I distinctly remember a line of us, like four old broads testing the hypothesis that women over 50 are invisible. And I truly believe the camera that caught that flash of mid-life girlfriend's weekend-at-the-beach-tomfoolery had a faulty lens. No way was that my real rear end.

But since these women and I have been friends for almost twenty years, and I know them well enough to know this was their way of giving me a compliment, I only nodded, and said a simple "Thank you."

Guess I really will have to keep going to the Y.