Spinning a yarn or two.

I posted the links on Facebook, so if you’ve already checked them out, feel free to ignore them here. This is part one in BrooklynTweed’s series on how his Shelter yarn is made at the Harrisville Designs mill in New England.

Here is part two. And part three. Followed by part four. And the finale, part five.

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Last week, one of the in-house publications at work sent out a request for stories about first jobs. While the following was not my absolutely-first job, it was the first one I had after business school.

How did I enter the working world? Kicking and screaming, at the ripe old age of 20. I had dropped out of college, gone to business school, and interviewed for two jobs about three weeks before I was due to finish that program. One was with an architectural firm owned by the parents of a classmate at business school. The other was with an organization aligned with the medical industry.

The second job made me an offer first, and I accepted. Three days later, I got an offer from the first job, which would have been my dream job at that time. But having been raised by my parents to keep my word, I went with the second job, which turned out to be the most miserable place I have ever worked. My boss was acerbic, almost to the point of being verbally abusive. I lasted two months.

That was nearly 40 years ago. I have long since gained a testimony of work, and I *love* my current job.

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This, recently from our office’s safety committee. I’m sure that Dallas is not the only place having this problem.

The crime rate on the bus and train is at an all-time high. The crime has to do with personal items (laptops, purse/bags, etc.) being stolen.

The scam:

A group of teenagers get on the bus/train and will distract you with their rude and loud behavior. When you are distracted watching what is going on, another teenager takes your personal items and gets off the bus/train before you notice anything is missing. The distraction usually occurs very close to a stop.

Please be aware of what is going on around you and your personal items. The thieves are counting on you focusing on the situation and not your belongings.

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Had something interesting happen at the kids’ house last night. Secondborn greeted me at the door, asking if I had gotten her text. No, I hadn’t. I didn’t turn the phone on, all day. Her dad had invited himself over after church, because there was a stake priesthood meeting that evening, and he wanted a ride with 2BDH.

She wanted to give me the option of coming later, or not at all, if it was going to be an issue for me. [My kids are considerate about that. And for my part, I work hard not to be one of those ex-wives. I want them to be able to have whatever level of relationship they’re comfortable with him, without interference from me.]

So, he was upstairs, listening to a Harry Potter audiobook with 2BDH and the kids. I stayed downstairs on the couch. (I was not being obstinate. I really, truly, do not like their stairs, which are well-designed and adequately railed. There are just so many of them.) Secondborn sat down on the other end of the couch and got caught up on NewsOfTheBoy. I promise, there would have been no pouting from me if she had chosen to go upstairs with the rest of them.

Eventually, her father came downstairs to head out for the priesthood meeting. He was startled to see me, but greeted me politely, as I did him. Out the door he went with 2BDH, and we started preparations for dinner.

When 2BDH returned a couple of hours later, he said that the children’s father had asked him in the car, “Who was that girl on the couch with Secondborn?” When 2BDH told him it was me, he said, “Oh. She didn’t look like I remembered.”

I immediately went into checking-the-emotional-dipstick mode and discovered that it didn’t hurt. Anywhere. And I’m still in that place, this morning. [Because this is my blog, and it’s mostly all about what goes on inside my own brainpan.] I will feel very sad if the day comes when he does not recognize our children or grandchildren, but I am perfectly fine with the fact that he may be losing his memories of us.

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When I was at dinner on Saturday night with my BFFE from our childbearing years, we talked a little about the bad old days, when life was so hard in both our families. And I told her that I could not have done it without her love and support, or that of a mutual friend. If you are one of the blessed souls who has never struggled with what Churchill called his Black Dog, or you have not had to deal with a loved one’s depression [and I hope you never have to do either], then you have no idea how much pain one human being can hold without falling apart.

Driving home from Secondborn’s last night, this came on the radio. Y’all, be kind to one another. You may never know that your kindness has saved your friend’s life.