Reinventing the Hickersons

After eight months of being apart, packing up the house we lived in for a dozen years and spending 20 hours in our not-so-big car with two not-so-well-behaved dogs, we have arrived in our new home near Charlotte, North Carolina. Minnesota was our second home for 24 years, but now we are finding a third home state where the weather might treat my husband Stan with a bit more kindness. We have loved pretty much everything about living in the Twin Cities, with an emphasis on the people there who have meant so much to each of us.

Now we are starting over in a sense, in a two bedroom rented apartment, and it feels pretty freeing. Our furniture has been delayed, so as we perched on our plastic lawn chairs purchased at the grocery store the first night here, Stan surveyed our empty apartment, spacious only due to the absence of our belongings and announced, “We are reinventing the Hickersons!” I’m kind of liking that notion. Hopefully, reinvention isn’t necessary (I am fairly certain we aren’t wanted by the law), but there is promise in that statement, and if moving isn’t about promise, it can only be about work and sweat and tears and shit like that.

Top Ten Things I Learned While I Was Un(and|or Under)employed for (almost) Three Years

I have landed, and I am indeed grateful. After (almost) three years of classes, unemployment benefits, unpaid internships, cottage industries|freelance|part-time gigs, networking seminars, countless job applications and resume revisions — I am thrilled to say that I have a full-time job.

When I began the journey, after staying too long at “the fair” (read: my previous career), I did envision the invigorating challenge of finding a new path ahead, but I did not envision how difficult it would become. Let’s just say my timing was less than optimal, for as I was emerging resolute in my decision-making, the bottom was dropping out of our economy.

NOTE: While in the process of job-searching, I would say that I accepted most of the recommendations I was given and followed many of them, though sometimes begrudgingly. I was not always convinced. Now that I have found a job, I can see how true many of them were and|or how they culminated in my final objective… kind of like the stuff your mom tells you is good for you, but you don’t want to hear. So here goes, I’m here to tell you. Take Heed.

1. Use your time and your resources well. First and foremost, contact your local unemployment office. Don’t think of it as “unemployment”. They exist to help you achieve “re-employment”. (My home state of Minnesota has an incredible resource in their job search programs. Hopefully your state also does.) Take a class. Find a mentor. Do some soul-searching: a great free way to do this is with Marcus Buckingham’s directed online course. This was an invaluable tool for me as I searched to find a different path|new career. (Available at http://www.oprah.com/money/Marcus-Buckinghams-Career-Intervention)

2. Reach out in every direction. Perhaps most importantly, re-connect with past business acquaintances|work friends. If you are like me, you will be amazed to find how many are in the same boat. You’ll have an instant support group of like-minded talented individuals who can aid each other in the job search progress. In this situation, sharing|brainstorming|commiserating can be both therapeutic and constructive.

3. Keep your sense of humor, no matter how sarcastic.

4. Appreciate your spouse|family’s stress also. They are feeling your pain and quite possibly, added responsibilities and sacrifices themselves.

5. Get therapy. When I was stuck and couldn’t seem to move forward, therapy helped me greatly — my therapist was able to spur me to action by identifying small, logical steps for me to take. He got used to the tears of frustration. I think…

6. Take a day off. Let it go. Cry. Go for a walk. Get so mad you clean your house really well — or whatever works for you to burn off some steam. For one day, don’t peruse the job boards or obsessively check your email to see if anyone has written back.

7. Start a blog, paint, draw or journal. Start your own website. Not only are these great ways to focus your attention elsewhere, they can prove to be good portfolio items in the future.

8. Find a way to get face time. Easier said than done, but when I was finally able to do so, I got the job.

9. Surround yourself with positive and supportive influences. Read The Secret. Seriously. Though I had read it before and thought, “Yeah, I get it”, when I actually believed it, things changed. I am not saying that the book itself or the affirmation changed the universe in a miraculous way. I know for sure that it inspired me, calmed me and fortified me, so I was able to present my best self in my various interviewing situations.

10. Be grateful. Yes, grateful. Genuinely. Every day. Every morning. Every night. For your family, friends, pets, food, heat in the winter, electricity... all of it. It may sound trite (grateful for what? you may think, but then you’ll remember). It may sound simplistic. But it helps, it works, it focuses one’s energy and it gets you through another day… til that next one, when you finally do find that job.

VIVA ITALIA

Italy speaks to me: of food, art,
architecture, history and romance of all sorts. As it speaks, it beckons—a call heretofore unanswered by me.

My mother, Elena, was born in Naples, of an Italian mama and a German papa. Her childhood was split almost equally, the first half spent in Italy, and the second half in Germany. Since her mother and brother had died when she was young, her ties to Italy weakened over time, and she was more often affiliated with Germany in our minds. My father is an American-born German, so our home was often clothed in harsh guttural whispers as my parents tried to keep us from ugly truths about limited finances, troubles at work, and family gossip—but instead, made us quake in our beds at the sound.

My mother looks more Italian than she does German, and she has the combined strength of both of those tread-upon nations. Her accent is a peculiar mix of both (when I was young, friends calling the house would ask if we had a maid). Growing up, the only references to her Italian roots were her occasional Italian meals, created with the same ease as her other made-from-scratch, often German offerings—and very sporadic, occasional references to Italians in her past.

With strong ties to friends and family in Germany (where she had endured the poverties of war in heavily bombed Nuremburg), our family held closer to that heritage than any other, so I was fortunate to visit there several times during my own childhood. Though I understood the language better as I grew and took high school German classes, it still retained its element of mysterious, often dark connotations.

When time and circumstance reunited my mother with some of her Italian roots and she freshened her skills in that language, I was treated to its more poetic, romantic sounds. It sounded like the sunlight I imagined there.

When I was an adult, my parents began to visit the northern part of Italy annually to visit friends, and upon their return, their transformation always surprised me. Hard working folks who never had it easy, they appeared to become giddy with delight, like honeymooners with a secret, on their Italian trips. They spoke of Italians singing with joy as they walked the streets and worked at their jobs there. My father, a performer by any definition, played the role in countless detailed practical jokes perpetrated by their friend Enrico while they visited there. My mother, a moral compass of sorts, also gave way to abandon, “sleeping” through border crossings when she forgot her passport, talking her way into a private home they had heard had a great view, and in general, supporting the antics of the men’s farces as they wreaked havoc on Enrico’s hometown of Vicenza. After a few days or weeks, their heightened sense of fun would gradually fade, until they were back to their typical lives here, often struggling very hard to survive each day.

I haven’t made it to Italy as of yet. So far, it has remained a dream, a bit of an ideal, further romanticized by art history slides, many movies, and my own daughter’s high school trip there. I will get there, I am just not sure when. Until I do, I often wonder about the slim heritage I share from my Neapolitan grandmother, Tina Maria Comporeale, whose name alone conjures exciting romantic images in my suburban middle-western mind.

What if I were meant to be there? I often feel my mother was, that her life would have undoubtedly been sunnier and more carefree than it has ever been here.

What it I am more Italian than I am German? What if I am meant for that lighter, brighter, loftier version of life? I grew up loving aspects of my German heritage and its culture, landscape and food, but what it I find Italy and know that it is home? (Picture Katharine Hepburn in Summertime’s Venice, minus the creepy, albeit handsome married love interest, Rossano Brazzi. Or Audrey’s Roman Holiday, no need to exclude the Gregory Peck in this dream.)

I am sure that when I set foot on Italia’s warm sunny soil, I will know. I will be home and I will know it and in turn, I will be more beautiful, more heartfelt, more artistic, and in general, just an all around better person.

When I get there, I’ll let you know.

Jesus Applies Himself

Written for my friend, who is:

Unemployed, Like Me—
Who Phone Interviewed for a Very Well-Suited Position
And
Was Turned Away, Like Me

Jesus Christ walks into (in our case, a local home furnishings retailer, but you may insert the name of any prospective employer here) and says, "I hear you have a (in our case, visual, but you may insert the name of any sort of employment here) position open. I'm pretty creative." The Human Resources representative said they would prefer to arrange a telephone interview rather than speak with him in person. Jesus said, "That is fine, as I can be everywhere at once."

Jesus looked forward to the interview, and even cut short his vacation in Mexico to make the appointment. Afterwards, it appeared to the Lord in a vision that the conversation went swimmingly. The recruiter was warm and friendly and told him about what a great place (the home furnishings store in our case, but insert any corporate location here) was to work. Jesus thought, "And this is good, for shelter is important to my huddled masses."

Time passed.
Seven days and seven nights.

The recruiter called Jesus back and said, "Jesus, I know I told you I would get back to you by the end of the week, and I just wanted to let you know that the process is taking a bit longer than we first thought, but we will get back to you soon." Jesus said, "Let me tell you a couple of things about myself that aren't on my resume or my LinkedIn profile." The recruiter said, "Sure, go ahead, Jesus, if you think it is germane to our decision-making process."

So Jesus continued, "I am not sure you recognized my name when I first applied, but millions refer to me as the King of Kings, or the Savior. I hate tooting my own horn, but once, I turned water into wine. That is just how good, creative and resourceful I am. I look at every 'problem' as an 'opportunity'." The recruiter appeared to be attentive and interested in Jesus' credentials, and wanted him to elaborate.

Jesus spoke.

"I have some visual experience...I have taught the blind to see. I also have adhered to ADA guidelines, by teaching the lame to walk." When she asked Jesus to describe a conflict that he had experienced at work and how he had resolved it, he thought for a moment and replied, "I was at a corporate retreat once, and the event coordinator had not ordered enough food for the group. I was able to take one loaf of bread and feed all of the corporate execs at the meet and greet."

The recruiter smiled and said, "That sounds great. Tell me a little about your work habits." Our Saviour replied, "Well, I have a strong sense of urgency and I am very conscientious. You will never have to worry about me not showing up for work. You might even say, that no matter how ill I have been feeling, I would rise from the dead to fulfill my obligations."

She posed a hypothetical to Jesus, about a logistical issue that might occur in a retail setting. "How would you handle it if you were the acting store manager and the winter thaw and spring rains caused the store to flood, during the seasonal floor set?"
"Why, that one is too easy," said Jesus. "I would do as I always do, nothing out of the ordinary. I would take it in stride, and walk on water in order to satisfy my customers' needs and get the floor set done on time." The recruiter went on to explain, "When we do those seasonal floor sets, if you were the Visual Manager, you would be in charge of mapping the store and determining adjacencies."

Jesus thought.

"Well, yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death (i.e. corporate doublespeak), I also have the capability and life experience to think outside the box. Since I am a self-starter who needs little direction, I am confident that I could execute the plan both effectively and efficiently."

Days passed.

The recruiter phoned Jesus again and said, "Jesus Christ, our Lord and Saviour, though we appreciate and value your experience and skill sets, we have decided to go in another direction. There are just so many candidates who are so much better than you—as people—and more qualified for the position. Their skill sets are better matched to our needs."

The next day, Jesus got a call from his friend the Holy Ghost, who was excited about applying for the exact same position he just saw freshly posted on Career Builder. The Holy Ghost had recently been laid off by another home furnishings retailer, and was thrilled to be able to apply for this rare and intriguing new opportunity.

And Jesus wept.


Oh, and by the way, the Holy Ghost didn't get the job either.

I'm Mad as Hell and I'm Not Gonna Take It Anymore!

I’M MAD AS HELL AND I’M NOT GONNA TAKE IT ANYMORE! Though I’ve never seen the movie Network, I love to resort to the statement–when all else fails. It makes me feel empowered, in a strange way–not actually negative, just pissed enough to do something about it. (I have always wanted to open a shoe/bra store with that name–due to personal problems involving asymmetry–but that is a whole other story.)

So, I haven’t posted a new blog entry in far too long; whining or ranting seem to be my only thoughts and ruminations of late and I did not want to whine or rant.

But here goes…the top-of-mind crises I have been experiencing will resolve themselves eventually; that is for certain. Everything will be okay in the end; if it's not okay, it's not the end. I know that, for certain. My friends (and some willing acquaintances) know the details and I have sought their shoulders, ears, arms, and advice, but I haven’t felt comfortable letting the whole world know how frustrated and needy I currently am. Some of the struggles have also been personal ones, enough to prevent me from writing about them–out of respect to others. And let’s face it, no one wants to appear whiny, angry, and needy, all rolled into to one fine, bursting package.

So here goes anyway…one meltdown at a time, I am thinking. My first blog entry spelled out my biggest plight/opportunity:

As a middle-aged (there is just no getting around the terminology) empty-nester, a "displaced" worker (or in my "fortunate early retirement", as my friend likes to refer to me), and a woman trying to find her place in this world, A Sense of Place will hold my space as I try to figure out what my ultimate path will be. There will be ruminations and lamentations, but hopefully some revelations as well, as I write.

Well, it is lamentation time. Newly freed from a too-long position in retail, I may have reveled just a bit–in newfound freedom and promise–but I don’t think I squandered time or effort. First, I completed the must-do steps to secure unemployment benefits. Then, I started on the suggested steps to gain employment. I met with the unemployment counselor; went to seminars on resume-writing, interviewing skills, career searching, networking, even job searching for those over 40; entered the Displaced Worker Program (which, incidentally, is a great resource); and most of all, did due diligence.

I also hit bottom: I thought. Several times. Bottom #1: The day I thought that I realized that I truly had no marketable skills. This was a good bottom, that kind where you are spurred to action. I realized that though the due diligence was helpful, it needed some focus, and I really needed to figure out what I wanted to be when I grew up. More soul-searching along with a great online course with Oprah’s Marcus Buckingham, and I realized what I had never known all along: I am an editor. No worries that I have a degree in art instead of journalism, don’t consider myself a “writer”, and have no experience in the field. I have spent my whole adult life feeling a bit out of place, searching for something, never sure what I wanted to be. Now, I knew. It was right, and I had no questions, other than how to get there.

My first step was a very productive and helpful informational interview with a magazine editor who told me I must get published, above all else. He suggested classes and steps I should take to accomplish my goal. I followed his advice, enrolled in the classes, and set my sights on getting an article in print. Many steps (and mis-steps) led me to some great opportunities; I was given two assignments on the same Monday, and created my own happy dance shuffle in my excitement.

Next, I was thrilled to get an internship at a local magazine publisher. From the second I walked in the door, I felt at home and honored to be there. During my six month internship, I truly loved every aspect and tried to learn as much as possible–without being too much of a thorn to the people working there. My editor was a great supporter, willing to give me chances and assignments and listening to my sometimes lame ideas. Through the experience I gained a good amount of clips of pieces I had written, and met some truly wonderful, talented, and fun people. When I left–crying like a baby–I would have given almost anything to stay. Unfortunately, the company did not have any openings for me. If I didn’t need to eat, I would have stayed and worked for free, I loved it so much.

So, the search continued. Since I do need to eat, I continue to look high and low. I have re-written, edited, and re-formatted my resume so many times I don’t know which version is which. I continue to search, submit, call, link up, and drop off. I have not limited myself only to my dream aspirations. (Admittedly, I have tried to steer a bit clear of retail, but in case you think I am aiming too high for lofty goals, Cub, Kowalski’s, Trader Joe’s, and Dunn Bros. don’t want my help either.) Aside to cap’n: three interviews means three trips there, three different outfits, three days of leaving current gig early. Just a little something to be aware of in the future…

Bottoms #2, #3…and today: I am frustrated beyond compare. I have found out that generally, any contact falls through the cracks; though my resume is supposedly received, I find out later that it often never even reached its destination. I have become so desperate that I am actually happy when I get a rejection email; at least I can function under the belief that someone, somewhere, maybe glanced at my resume and info (that took me over an hour to re-format according to their particular specifications for submission). Throughout my almost two year job search, I have tried to stay upbeat, hopeful, and sarcastic as needed. I have kept busy and afloat (barely) with my husband Stan’s support (financial and otherwise), freelance gigs doing various things, and a true hope that ultimately, all will be well. I have emailed and texted my friend Jennifer so much, I am certain she must groan whenever she sees my name cross her media path. I have drunk as much wine as necessary.

One question I have is: could I possibly have worse timing? The death of my previous career right before the fall, the potential demise of magazine publishing, and the multitudes of willing, hard-working, talented people who also need to eat make for quite a murky job-search stew.

So, there. I feel better. My friends and family reading this know who they are and have already heard (and borne the brunt of) this. But, I feel better for having published my lament–for all the world to see.

Next meltdown/issue I am currently experiencing: Coming Soon.

James Sewell Ballet Senses Spring

A few days ago, I was privileged to attend a studio rehearsal/discussion of James Sewell Ballet’s Bud!, their upcoming spring offering, If you live in the Twin Cities area and you appreciate dance, go. If you live here, and hate ballet, go anyway. This ballet company honors the classical discipline of traditional ballet, while it simultaneously challenges and enhances it. Since it inception, JSB has promised to “expand notions about ballet and to perform work that challenged…physical limits…and that explore[s] the technical boundaries of ballet.” For the ballet/dance lover, there is a wonderful mix of traditional and non-classical movements. For those disdainful of ballet, these juxtapositions offer a dynamic excitement that is at the very least, unexpected. The energy and synergy create a special life in the company’s performances. Modern, angular, syncopated arm movements may accompany traditional leg and footwork, as the dancers flow through Sewell’s choreography. According to James himself, “this layered kind of movement has been a part of African and jazz dance and a number of modern techniques, it is not known for its expression in ballet.” Any performance of this artistic company is a delight, but seeing their newest dance, Air during its refining stages was even more of a delight.

Air is a result of the collaboration between James and exuberant composer Mary Ellen Childs. Since working together years ago in New York, they had looked for a way to collaborate once again. Their planned collaboration resulted in an NEA grant that allowed Childs to compose an artful environment for Sewell’s choreography. Neither artist needs the other, each perfectly capable of creating their own strong statement, but oh, are we fortunate that they enhance each other’s concepts so completely. When local vocal ensemble Cantus was brought into the mix (they will perform live amongst the dancers onstage at points in the piece), they made another innovative suggestion to Mary Ellen. Not afraid to stretch their own limits, they suggested a vocal performance without any text/lyrics. Having explored that concept earlier in her career, Mary Ellen was eager to delve further into that expression. The resulting piece, with tonal intonations and breath-work, became the impetus for a true collaboration amongst all of the artists involved. Mary Ellen felt there “must be an arc” to the piece; that arc ultimately inspired James’ concept for the vignettes onstage. The vocal artists challenge themselves with breath-work that is counter to their usual vocal techniques, as they also become “actors” in the narrative created by the choreography and the sonic environment.

This three-way marriage brings us the best of music, human movement as dance, and artistic storytelling. Watching the extremely talented dancers push their bodies to the limit, one appreciates their athleticism, their art, and most of all, their humanity. The experience is truly transformative and creates a true appreciation of creative thought and its implementation. James engages the audience before and after, enlightening, as well as asking for opinions. I felt truly fortunate to see “living art” at work. So, don’t make fun, but I honestly even had a “this is a great country” moment, as I was taken in by the wonderful opportunity that these artists have to truly work together and feed off of each other’s thoughts and expressions.

Spring, Air, and the fresh energy of the James Sewell Ballet welcome the eagerness that only the change of season can bring.

April 2-5 at O’Shaughnessy Auditorium.

Earl

Much of the time, a place is just that: a hometown, a favorite spot in the woods, a single building. Often times, a sense of place is found in that single building–our home–our space where we live our daily existence, find comfort, and retreat and renew. The power of home is undeniable, as it often defines and intensifies who we believe we are.

But sometimes, a place is a person–where we discover ourselves, where we send our roots, where we find our stability, comfort, and the warmth of love. Only once in a great while, if we are very fortunate, do we find such a person in our lives. My father-in-law Earl Wallace Hickerson was such a person, and I was one of the very fortunate ones to have shared some of life with him.

An astute, successful businessman, Earl never let anything slip by him. He was keenly aware of all that life had to offer, and he embraced it fully. Though he saw things in black and white, carrying facts in his head and figures in the small spiral notebook he always kept in his shirt pocket, he possessed an affirmative spirit of perseverance and grace. When faced with what might have been viewed as a disappointing or difficult result, he would always respond with, “How do you know it’s bad?” He used every life event to learn, to try again, and to teach. His family and friends, his peers, and especially, his grandchildren benefited from this powerful point of view.

His genuine interest in and adoration for his grandchildren were some of his finest qualities. He and his wife, Emma Lou, possessed an appreciation for their grandchildren– because they so fully realized the potential of their young lives. Never complacent, Earl kept completely abreast of news, sports, current events, and pop culture, and loved to discuss them at length, especially with those grandchildren. He loved being able to understand what they currently found compelling; he might not pronounce the band’s name correctly, but he knew who they were and what they were “about”. When one of his grandchildren was the first to move away from our hometown, he called her every Saturday morning to discuss her week’s events, and could recite her friends’ names as easily as she could. Aside from the adoration felt, she also learned to cherish her week’s joys and sorrows in anticipation of sharing them with her grandpa.

When his grown children were faced with their own joys and sorrows, the first thing they would do was pick up the phone to tell Earl. They knew that he would listen intently, give sage advice (only if asked), and remind them “How do you know it’s bad?”, if necessary.

When his health began to fail him, Earl unintentionally provided me with another gift. To me, he was “the one”: the one that we all turned to, laughed with, and leaned on. Never the best at showing my deepest emotions and affections, I was faced with the prospect of losing him, one of my best friends. His final illness lasted several months, and his wife and children endured the worst aspects of witnessing his discomfort. I would drive home when I could and did not have to experience the pain that they did, but every time we came to visit, I was struck by the profound beauty of knowing our time with him was limited. I felt truly graced with the gift of knowing: how important it is to show someone know how much you love them and let them know how they have impacted your life. I would stroke his head, try to make jokes, and call him sweetheart. I felt truly compelled to be in the moment, to appreciate, and to show gratitude. As sad as we were to know we were losing him, I truly felt blessed to be in his presence.

One of the last times my daughter and I were able to visit Earl was shortly before her junior prom. Even through his illness, he knew how excited she would be about her dress, so Earl insisted she bring it along to show him. As she proudly displayed it on the hanger, he said, “Well, go put it on! Make sure you put on your lipstick too, so I can get see what you’re really going to look like!” She obeyed, he admired, and once again, he created a memory for her. He insisted on having a photo taken with her (though he was a bit concerned that he wasn’t “freshly shaved”), bending forward to kiss her lightly on the nose. It was as if Earl guessed we might need an image to hold onto, and once again, he was right. In the days and months since he passed, we often look to that day and the photo to remind ourselves of the unconditional love, the enthusiastic interest, and solid comfort his place provided us.

Today is the 79th anniversary of his birth.

For me, my father-in-law Earl was: all that is home.