Berries

Dave and I walked to the bagel shop yesterday morning for our standard Saturday breakfast. On the way back I snapped these photos of a cluster of bushes we passed on the way. I have no idea what they are, specifically, but the color variety is interesting.

We've had a relaxing weekend. On Friday we went to see "2012," the apocalytpic thriller that depicts the end of the world. I am a HUGE fan of disaster movies, having grown up on the Irwin Allen variety in the 1970s, so I had a great time, even though every minute of "2012" and every bit of dialogue is completely, utterly absurd. How can you not be thrilled by skyscrapers crashing over and California sliding into the sea? I mean, really!


Yesterday we went to Wegman's and bought some supplies for a cooking spree. Dave made beef short ribs and mashed potatoes, and creme brulee for dessert. I know, I know -- I haven't been a red meat eater for years. But one of the changes I've decided to make in my life is to be open to all kinds of food. I want Dave to be able to cook everything and not feel restricted by my diet, and after all, does it really make sense to eat chicken and fish but not pigs or cows? How do the chickens feel about that?

I will still be largely vegetarian when choosing my own meals, but when Dave is in the kitchen, I'm going to approach food with an open mind!

Gray November

My blog pal Lorianne posted recently about the difficulties of photography during the darkening month of November -- and indeed, the challenge of looking for brightness on all levels. I really liked this post, because it spoke to my own need to see the positive in every day, as well as my own difficulty in practicing photography in rainy, gray weather.

I left my office yesterday during my extra-long, completely unauthorized lunch break and took some photos. I walked around Hell's Kitchen in a light, drizzly rain, convinced I'd be able to find some things to shoot even in less than desirable weather. And indeed I did, but Lorianne is right -- seeing and photographing can be a challenge under the circumstances, in my case because I usually respond so well to light and shadow. In the absence of both it's hard to be motivated.

I liked the remark in Lorianne's post from a Zen teacher: "Whatever you pay attention to grows." The gray weather of November, particularly in the wake of the tattered remnants of a hurricane, definitely challenges me to pay attention to my creativity and nurture it.

(Photo: Stairs on the outside of the Adolph S. Ochs school, Hell's Kitchen, yesterday.)

Swirl

“Happiness is the only good. The time to be happy is now. The place to be happy is here. The way to be happy is to make others so.” -- Robert Green Ingersoll

People sometimes talk of experiencing a “swirl of emotions,” and though I’ve long known cerebrally what that meant, I don’t think I’ve known emotionally until now. I really do feel like I’m swirling! One moment I’m anxious, another I’m sad, another I’m perversely happy and excited, and then I’m anxious again. Around and around!

Part of me relishes the opportunity to take some time off and pursue my own interests over the next few months. Obviously I’ll be looking for a job, so my time won’t entirely be my own, but I ought to have the opportunity to get out and do more photography on nice days, for example. I’ll be able to read and write more. My career path is wide open. Sounds pretty nice, actually!

Also, I’m intrigued by the opportunity to throw off some of the burdens of journalism. Maybe now I can be more outwardly politically vocal, for example, with less need to maintain an unbiased veneer. Once again, I’ll be job hunting, so I won’t go crazy -- but the possibility is appealing.

I mentioned my layoff explicitly on Facebook yesterday, with the rationale that it’s better for my 400 friends and contacts to know so they’ll think of me if an opening arises. And I’ve told most of my coworkers. My Zen teacher said I have “a new life,” and added, “the important thing is to keep practicing, and being open to what arises.”

It’s oddly exciting, you know?

(Photo: Upper East Side, last week)

Sleepwalking

Thanks to everyone for the words of encouragement regarding the job loss. I'm in such a strange frame of mind right now. I feel a little like a sleepwalker, or someone in a surreal movie. I come to work, sit at my desk, and yet I feel like I'm not really here -- I suppose because my mind is already thinking about next steps. Very bizarre.

I went to New Jersey last night and Dave made dinner -- a comforting butternut squash risotto. We watched "Top Chef" and talked about the future. That future is a big blur at the moment, but I have a lot of options and possibilities to think through. I need to sit down and make some lists and charts and graphs and calculate the possible outcomes.

I am still bowled over by the timing of my cat's death. My anxiety would be tenfold if the cat were alive, because that would complicate my future even further. Isn't it strange how things work out, even when they're tragic?

All of this is simply preparing me for the next step. At least I'm being pushed forward.

(Photo: Plywood wall around a construction site, Spanish Harlem, last week.)

When It Rains...

Just to prove the old adage “when it rains, it pours”: I lost my job yesterday.

Can you believe it? Exactly five days after my cat drops dead in my apartment, I LOSE MY JOB.

Those talking heads on television may think the recession is over, but apparently no one has yet informed my employer -- or all the advertisers that funnel money to my employer, and have lately tightened their funnel mercilessly. I got a call about 10 a.m. yesterday telling me that my department is being phased out, and my boss and I both will be working only through the end of the year.

In some ways, this is not a bad thing. I got into journalism because I loved writing. But when I took this job in 2000, I knew I’d be sacrificing the writing in order to move to New York and work primarily as an editor. At the time, the sacrifice seemed worth it.

Now, I’ve lived in Manhattan nearly a decade, and my job has mutated to such an extent that I don’t even do much hands-on editing. I’m primarily an administrator, a planner, an architect of editorial theory. To quote the Talking Heads: "You may ask yourself, 'How did I get here?'"

Losing this job will hopefully give me a chance to move to something more hands-on, more directly fulfilling and interesting.

Also, as I said, I’ll be working through the end of the year, so the loss is not immediate. That’s a plus. And I have a severance package, which extends my income into next year and will give me a cushion while I find something new to do.

The downside? Insecurity. The loss of that regular, steady, reliable paycheck. And also a separation from a company that I love, and coworkers I’ve enjoyed and grown to know since 1988, when I graduated from college and first began working for this particular newspaper firm.

But, oh well. It’s a brave new world. Security is illusory. I now have some time to plan my next steps, consider the various alternatives, and pursue possibilities.

An old coworker of mine used to say, “You got to laugh to keep from cryin’,” and that’s exactly how I feel. I mean, what an insane week!

(Photo: My sentiments exactly.)

Cabbage

Scene: Produce department at Wegman's, Manalapan, New Jersey.

Me, pointing at cabbage: "Wow, look at that."
Dave: "That would make a good photo."
Me: "Yeah, it would!"
Dave: "So why don't you take it?"
Me: "I dunno. I might get in trouble."
Dave: "You've done it before."
Me: "Yeah, but then I had a smaller camera."
Dave: "Oh, go ahead."

So I did.

Empty

Yesterday I finally got to hang out with Dave after surrendering him to the Marching Band Gods on Friday night and nearly all day Saturday. We woke up late on Sunday, took the dogs for a walk, went grocery shopping and ran some errands, and then cooked up a fabulous dinner of scallops, polenta and dandelion greens. (LOVE those dandelion greens -- which, Dave tells me, are not quite the same ones you'd pull out of your yard. Apparently they've been bred and farmed for the human palate.)

Now, back in the city, I must admit it was sobering to come home to an empty apartment. It feels so silent and still without my cat (although, as I told a friend, getting rid of the litter box was no small joy).

Being petless is definitely going to take some getting used to. Do you realize I've NEVER lived for long without an animal? We always had dogs, and occasionally cats, growing up. When I moved to the dorms in college I still had my dogs at home, about 20 miles away, and I saw them every week or two. And then, when I moved to an apartment after my freshman year, I got my cat Angeles, who overlapped with Howard, who overlapped with Armenia.

No wonder it feels so strange! Sure, I have Dave's dogs in my life now too, but they're not here with me in Manhattan. The apartment doesn't feel empty in the wonderful, formless, Buddhist sense. It just feels cold, pristine and museum-like.

Still, it isn't time to think about another pet. Too much is in flux. I have to just see where life leads from here.

(Photo: Reflections and shadows on E. 34th Street, last week.)