A financial thought

A brief note about what to do with your money in the coming year.

I wouldn't buy stocks, if you're the type who like security and not a lot of excitement. They'll go up a little & then come down. Unemployment is going to get uglier and uglier in the next six months. But eventually, you cannot keep all your money in cash, because even cash is going to lose its value.

Gold? I was reading the other day that gold today is at the same equivalent price it was in 1300. Gold is a metal with no independent use to it other than the value which others place upon it. Yeah, the $ value may go up and down, but it's still the same old thing.

Bonds? Maybe, but with the government controlling not just the interest but how much of them there are ... well...not that appetizing.

Think local. Think critical.

Think local. Do you really want your life savings invested in a plant in Thailand, halfway around the world, with many middlemen between you and your money? Think local. Put your investments where you can see them. And get as close to actual physical ownership as possible. Warren Buffet is buying an entire train line, not mutual fund shares in it.

Think critical. When times get hard, people still need food, clothing and shelter, right? But when times get critical, what do they need? Critical necessities...and you can figure those out for yourself with just a little thought.

The problem which is befuddling most economic pundits is how to position wealth so that when currency becomes worthless and commodities lose their value, what is going to retain some worth, once the dust settles?

After all, Buffet's trains are still gonna turn a profit, regardless of what that business's street value is.

Friday

Life bubbles on.

I wish I was out of this holding pattern. I want so much to get on with life, regardless of what direction it is in. I have eight more work days here. I start my new position at the beginning of the year. December is knocking on the door, with its attendant traditions and demands. I want to go do this, to see that, to meet new people, but don't dare without rocking the boat.

Or should I say the boats?

I think both Halves are unhappy with me, and yet neither wants me in their domestic situation. LOL. Isn't that funny? The people I care about the most in the world . . . don't want me. I do seem to be developing a sense of equilibrium which is not dependent on either of them, which is helping immensely.

It certainly cuts down on the drama.

At least on my end.

The River

The Chattahoochee starts in Northeast Georgia, and cascades down out of the hills of Habersham into the giant lake created by the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers back sixty years ago. The dam is massive. Lake Lanier provides water--per a recent federal magistrate's ruling--for agricultural use for Alabama and Florida and--oh, yes--Georgia. It is not there, the Judge declared, to provide water for the five million souls in Atlanta, through which it flows just south of the dam.

I live five miles south of the dam, some 35 miles from downtown Atlanta. Each day I go to work in another northern suburb, I cross over it. This is how it looked this morning.

The river is always there. It may be shallow at times; it may be deep and swift at others. But it is always there. The same is true of our presence in other people's lives. We're there: may not be the way you like, but we're there nonetheless.

Sunday Night

An odd day. Everyone dragging around. Some did not get to bed last night until 3 or 4. I was safely tucked in by 1. There has been little energy. The ladies went off for pedicures. I watched previews of the new 2012 movie.

I need to go ahead and leave. I think it's probably kinder, and safer, for the two of us. The glances of suspicion, the resentment of being dependent on me for this or that emotionally. I don't know what the kids will do...they're both adults (in spite of juvenile behavior on occasion). I don't know if it is healthy for me to remain like this. I'm given to understant her therapist thinks it isn't healthy for her. But the Queen has always had a mind of her own...and a will to match.

Cookie Day

I can barely move. All the doors upstairs are closed to the various rooms. There is someone I don't know curled up on an easy chair in the den with an afghan thrown over her. My low back is killing me. The dog quietly moans from the basement.

I guess it was Cookie Day.

It was a beautiful day. Brilliant blue skies. Little humidity. All those people milling about with champagne, taking their turns at kneading and rolling and using cutters to cut out the various shapes, then trays of raw cookies taken to a long table where they had candied cherries and almonds and fruits imbedded into them, then on to the oven where the stalwart volunteer dutifully cooked them, and from whence they were carried over to the glazing table, where a thin fondant was slathered over top of them and finally they were transported to the dining room table and sideboard for resting.

Dinner was spectacular. There is so much food left over.

Cookie Day

It's that time again--Cookie Day. 50 people scheduled to come over to drink champagne, make Christmas Cookies, and be fed a gourmet dinner. This year, the menu includes smoked salmon, and a shrimp/scallop/mussel Pinot Grigio sauce over pasta with homemade Caesar salad, and worchestershire/brown sugar marinated roast pork with broccoli casserole and mashed potatoes and brown gravy. Desserts will include pecan pie, lemon tarts, and chocolate cake. And more champagne.

This event which we've been doing for so long is made very difficult this year because of the situation in the my home. Is this the last Cookie Day? All these friends and family members floating about the house who rely on it to start their holiday season and have grown up with it and look forward to it, and nobody will know what has been happening. The One Half and I silently sit on the matter, in order not to jeopardize the younger daughter's last semester in college. We love our children so. We are telling noone until she graduates; we are not rocking the boat. Sacrifice of yourself for your children is something you get used to. But the toll is almost unbearable for The One Half. She teeters on the verge of depression.

And over the mantle, observing everything that will go on, is the painting of The Singing Butler.

Epiphany

It was right there when I woke up this morning.

The answer.

I've been wracked for so long with the hefty issues encircling me. For so long, I've been sleeping less, drinking more, despairing.

"This isn't letting me enjoy my life."

That one thought was the tipping point.

God gave me this life to enjoy it, and to do good with it. And I've permitted things in my life which interfere with that. I'm not sorry God made me ***. I am grateful He gave me so many talents. But I am sorry that I've given certain people around me elements of control over me. Whether it's a bitch slap from the one who has had my heart, or from the one that has had my life.

I am not giving them that anymore. I'm giving it to me.

So for starters, I'm going to take a week off, despite the protests of the One Half and the cattiness of the Other Half. And I'm doing it for me.

Bitchslap

4:37 p.m., 11/10/09. "If I take a week off before starting my new job, where would you recommend I go?" I texted the Other Half.

5:09 p.m. 11/10/09. "I hear hell is nice this time of year."

Leaving

Psychologists have known for years that when people know that someone is going to be leaving--death, resignation, simple departure--they emotionally distance themselves from the person, in somewhat of a self-protection manoeuvre for themselves.

It's a little different here, where I work.

It's more like the native Alaskans, who put the elders on an ice flow with a pound of blubber and then the tribe moves on.

Job hunting goes apace. It's especially odd when you work in an industry where everybody knows you. Resumes are pointless, since people have known you, or known of you, for years. Having lunch today with a guy who tried ten years ago to get me to join him. We'll see what happens.

Shit hits the fan

"I need to say something to you," she stated, turning to me as we parked the car in the garage.
"What?", I asked.
"You're not as smart as you think."
"You're not as good an actor as you think you are."
"And I'm not as dumb as you think I am."
I then learned she was absolutely correct.
She didn't rip me a new one.
She simply--and extravagently--ripped my old one.
I can accomodate the Verrazano Bridge now.
Easily.

Matters Proceed

It's Halloween. Rain sweeps through Atlanta today, dropping the temperatures from those of a Sri Lankan rainforest down into something more appropriate for Canada. Type of day where you curl up with a good book or film and either drink tea or bourbon ... or maybe both.

So much going on, so many irons in the fire. Trying to transition domestically, with little baby steps to ease the pain. Job hunting while handling a full case load yet winding down at the office. Assessing the finances. Homeowners Association Board. Sitting in church talking directly with God about how I'm supposed to juggle all these balls and not lose my place with Him. My therapist trying to wrench me away from certain influences. My efforts to assert myself as independent of all influences and asserting my intention to remain with some.

But the little goblins will crawl out tonight, and for an evening, fantasy will replace reality.

through a glass darkly

It's going to be a busy day.

Up at the crack of dawn, into the office. Reports, meetings, discussions, cleaning up & closing files rather than have them pawned off on the other folks here when I leave in six weeks.

There's an image I've recently developed of myself, reflecting the reality of my life until now: someone wearing a plastic body suit which totally encompasses them except for eyes, and the suit looks just like them. The real me is encased within; the outward me--what everyone else has seen--is not me. Only my eyes looking out from within are real. So I was present in peoples' lives wanting so much for them to see me, but all they saw was the outward plastic covering.

And that's changed now. What you see...is what you now get. Me.

(And I'm probably a lot more fun now than I used to be.)

Things are going too very fast; the pace of life seems off and running. So many irons in the fire and a limited amount of time to do things.

Job hunting is becoming focused, and I'm homing in this week on networking. My trial in Valdosta was suddenly cancelled, which freed up time. It's the last two weeks of the billing year, so there's a crunch on to get hours in before next Friday

Am attending a continuing legal education seminar tomorrow on representing children in endangerment cases. It's an avenue I might possibly pursue once I leave here in two months.

Home life is levelling out, as the mix of life shifts and readjusts.

It went below freezing last night, weather which normally occurs around or after Thanksgiving. An early winter...and from what I hear, a harsh one coming.

We redo the house, both in anticipation of guests for Cookie Day in three weeks, but also to give a sense of ownership amidst the uncertain waters of these time of our lives.

Internet Slander

Internet slander.

I've seen blogs where somebody posts vile things about someone else who frequents the internet. You know, you've seen them too. Insulting, biting, sometimes the venom drips from the very electronic blips.

On one site, someone pillories the Other Half. Viciously. And it's not on any posted comment or anything--it's done from their very own profile. Complaints to the site's webmaster don't seem to do much... the perp is still there, with his profiling garbage. I've explained to the webmaster the concepts of false light, invasion of privacy, slander vs. libel, etc.

The internet is like a crowded, bustling street corner. Whatever happens there, is fair game for anything. Civil laws designed to protect the innocent disappear underfoot of the unruly mobs who traipse through its alleyways.

Like our parents always taught us: if you can't say something nice about someone, don't say anything at all.

Besides, anyone who has seen that bitingly funny scene in Oscar Wilde's The Importance of Being Ernest knows full well just how scathing the simplest compliment can be, when done right.

Job Hunting

Job Hunting.

In a way, it's the same as when I was starting out.

In another way, it isn't.

When all is said and done, job hunting is three things: Meet. Look. Package.

Meeting people means networking, hitting up folks you know and linking up with people you don't. You got to get out there and hustle the encounters, all the while being yourself and yet faking everyone out by being presentable when you're actually just a 'humbug'.

Looking is beating the bushes for advertisements and notices and information about job possibilities. Before, you used the newspaper. Today, all the electronic networking technology lies dizzyingly before you. With gizmos to ferret out new postings, job seekers now overwhelm within minutes any employer's use of the internet to announce openings. Indiscriminate filings of resumes from the far distant, the unqualified, and the knee-jerk swamp out filings by qualified, legitimate candidates. Kind of makes you feel like you're salmon swimming upstream.

Packaging is how you present yourself. You are the product; you are the salesman. If you don't believe in yourself, why should someone else? So it's better health, smarter clothes, more attention to the face and the handshake.

I'd been invited this afternoon to a networking group, kind of like the Exchange Clubs, but with a focused business purpose for it. It was a great exercise to dust off the social skills, eyeball a room, home in on certain people. And to listen. So often that simple thing--listening--we forget about, but it can give us reams about other people. And when all is said and done, since people do like to talk...they like to have people around who will listen.