The Missing Key

It has been a busy month. We moved house. I started interviewing for a job I'm really interested in. I got locked out. My Mum visited for Christmas. We had a party. I tried on wedding dresses. You get the idea...I was a tad occupied, and have not had a moment to blog. Until now...

Moving, according to WikiAnswers, is the third most stressful thing in life after divorce and bereavement. Our experience attests to that. We were supposed to close the house sale on Friday December 11th. The mortgage company stuffed up. In a big way. They sent the very large sum of money we needed to the wrong place (How does that happen, and how do you get that kind of cash back? Nobody ever deposits six figure amounts in my bank account!). We were left in the bizarre position of taking a three day rental from the owner, over a weekend, until the error could be fixed and we could truly take title on the property.

Thanks to the owner's mercy, (plus a $255 rental agreement) we were able to move on Saturday 12th, and Eric and I woke up on my thirty-seventh birthday in our new house. It's pretty cute. There are three bedrooms, and the downstairs is a wide open space that works brilliantly for entertaining (as we discovered a couple of weeks later).

But before that, I showed my true stripes as a city girl. I have a confession to make. This is the first house in my life where I have possessed a garage. I'm pretty excited by the garage door opener. And so it was, that on the day we were due to become the real owners of the property, I locked myself out. I just walked into the garage (in my pajamas, no less) and the door to the house slammed shut behind me. Oops.

Meeting your neighbors in a pair of furry slippers and your dressing gown is not ideal. But it forges a certain sort of intimacy. Without keys, cellphone or any modern appurtenances, I had to fall back on memory for my future parents-in-law's phone number, and the kindness of strangers for the use of a phone. All was well, and I was restored to possession of the house relatively quickly. But a family legend has been born.

Santa brought me not one, but two key retaining devices (intended for the garden, where - should you happen to lock yourself out - you should then be able to re-enter without the assistance of neighbors). I can't tell you where they are, since that would be an invitation to burglars. But trust me, they are in use.

The holidays were fabulous, and fabulously busy. We ate a ton, saw lots of family, and cut down a sequoia (leaving five feet in the ground for all you eco-folk) as our Christmas tree.

We are pretty excited about 2010, since it is the year we plan to get married. To all of the folks who read my blog - friends, colleagues, random web cruisers - I wish you a very happy New Year. To those of you who know me well, I hope you will come and visit us in Capitola. I have quite a few keys, now.

The Eye of the Beholder

We were transfixed on Saturday by the sight of a naked woman climbing one of the rocks close to Whale's Peak in Monterey Bay. We had just returned from a fine lunch at the Post Ranch Inn in Big Sur, and were taking a short hike to walk off the delicious (and insanely priced) sandwiches we had demolished.

She appeared to be utterly unselfconscious, and a friend (collaborator / exploiter?) was shooting photographs of her against a backdrop of the pounding waves of the Pacific. We were too far away to determine exactly what the deal was. A madcap prank, decided on the spur of the moment? A photo shoot for a pinup calendar? An art photography project?

At any rate, the unexpectedness of seeing a nude woman in such a rugged landscape set me to thinking that it is time for me to upset the apple cart a little in pursuing my dreams. (Have no fear, readers, I do not intend to do this by disrobing in any public places). But I do need to shake up my job search by trying new strategies, investigating some professional education options and networking, networking, networking.

This decision comes at a good time, ahead of what I hope will be a slew of good opportunities that show up around the new year. And my renewed effort has received its first shot in the arm, with a glowing introduction from a friend to a recruiter. Regardless of whether I get an interview for that job, the introduction alone served as a three month ego-boost!

We continued our hike, and serendipitously stumbled across an Emerson quote, helpfully carved into the lookout bench at the top of the peak, which could have been written to give us some perspective on our slightly bizarre experience: "Nature and books belong to the eyes that see them". Or nature, books and naked women, I guess.

Swearing Oaths

In the shadow of Westminster Abbey last week, it fell to me to swear by Almighty God that I knew of no reason why Eric and I should not marry.

Minutes before, I had signed an Oath written in language that must have been used since the 16th century. "She maketh Oath that she believeth there is no impediment of Kindred or Alliance or of any other Suit commenced in any Court to bar or hinder the proceedings of the said intended marriage AND PRAYED a Licence to solemnize the same between the hours of eight in the forenoon and six in the afternoon in the Chapel of Magdalene College..."

So we have completed the first of several hurdles for our wedding (and one previewed in an earlier post). We knocked out some of the logistical stuff, too, while we were in Blighty, meeting with a photographer, a cakemaker, a DJ and a florist.

While there is no doubt that there is much pleasure in working out such details, they are often a distraction from the task in hand. Job hunting is proving even trickier than I had anticipated.

It is three months to the day since I moved from New York, and it seems unlikely that I will be employed before Christmas (barring a Hollywood-style fairy intervention). The very promising leads I was pursuing before I left for England have gone suspiciously quiet. Current statistics suggest that it may be at least a further three months before I command a paycheck. Judging by the experiences detailed in the Wall Street Journal blog about professionals looking for work, it also seems that any new job may not pay as well as the one I left behind - a depressing if pragmatic fact.

The irony is that during this time "between roles" I have been hiking, blogging, nurtured my stock portfolio, gone regularly to the gym, volunteered and reconnected with old friends - all things which I often failed to do as a wage slave. Yet the fact remains that much as I enjoy these activities, there is always a gnawing worry in the back of my mind that I should be doing more to pursue my dream job. And as time ticks by, with a house purchase imminent, and a wedding to pay for, the pressure to settle for something less than stellar increases.

At some point in the future, I may cave to that pressure. But with oaths on the brain, I am ready to swear this one: Despite the dire state of the economy, I believe there is a fabulous job out there with my name on it. Given the number of hours that we spend working ("married to the job"), it makes sense to me to take some time to find the right one...