I bumped into our retired police chief at a fundraiser for my son's preschool this weekend. "How are things at the newspaper?" he asked. I informed him that I had been laid off in September. "You," he stated, rather incredulously. We talked about a variety of things: the state of the paper, what I plan to do now, the hidden blessing that I have this time to stay at home with my son before he starts elementary school.
The 10-minute conversation took place between the Epicurean cutting board and the collection of four bottles of St. Croix Vineyard wine upon which I was bidding. It was repeated several more times that night as I encountered other people I hadn't seen since the layoff.
I felt bad that I couldn't bid with abandon on the silent auction items or dare enter the fray of the live auction. I felt even worse that I hadn't given more in previous years when I could have afforded to. But worst of all, I felt what a downer it must have been for these people to have to hear about my misfortune. (My husband assured me that I did talk about other things, and even laughed and joked with closer friends and acquaintances.)
I went home with the cutting board but not the wine, as well as a sense of fading into oblivion.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
Exchanges like these happen daily in our close-knit community. The support from our family and friends -- especially encouraging messages from our Facebook friends -- has made it a bit easier, but the recurring sting and the pit in my stomach still make it hard.
ReplyDelete