The depths of unemployment

There's an excellent article in this month's Hadassah magazine called "Breaking a Recession's Social Barriers."

As someone who has been experiencing the depths of unemployment for a year now, I found Ilana Goldhaber-Gordon's commentary to be thoughtful, hopeful and even comforting. It also could be helpful to family, friends and still employed colleagues of those who are unemployed.

Here's the link: http://www.hadassah.org/news/content/per_hadassah/archive/2009/09_Oct/commentary.asp

Happy anniversary

My layoff buddy and I celebrated the first anniversary of our unemployment from the DNT yesterday. We were a few days late as the actual one-year mark occurred last Thursday.

A friend of ours, one of the few former colleagues who has kept in touch with us, took us out to lunch at Lake Avenue Cafe. (The salmon wild rice soup and three-variety mushroom pizza were delicious, by the way.)

Afterward, we poked our head into Grandma's Marketplace, a gift shop that's headed out of business where everything is 50 percent off. (I managed to buy three Hanukkah presents and a gift for my mother-in-law for under $12.)

While there, we offered advice on navigating the world of unemployment to the store's sales personnel who soon will be losing their jobs. Unfortunately, our newly acquired expertise is in demand.

Happy anniversary Karen, Bente, Tracy, Ann, Ryan, Matt and Steve.

Hanging out the laundry

I really enjoy hanging laundry out to dry. In fact, I find that if I approach it in the right frame of mind, it's a task that can restore my soul.

There are plenty of practical benefits:

• You don't waste energy by running the clothes dryer.
• Clothing and bedding smell fresher.
• You can forgo ironing and put clothes straight into drawers or closets.

And then there are the non-tangibles:

• The peaceful nature of hanging the clothes out on the line. As you bend and stretch, you can't help but notice, even relish the warm sunshine on your back, the caressing breeze on your arms, the sounds of nature around you.
• The sense of accomplishment in a job completed and even done well. I consciously group similar items and colors -- the family's pajamas, my son's t-shirts, pants -- on separate lines, giving the clotheslines an order.

But to capture the non-tangibles, you have to stay in the moment. You can't become overwhelmed by the number of items you need to hang. You can't let your mind race ahead thinking about what you'll do next. You can't worry about running out of clothespins or line.

Of course, summer only lasts a few short months here in Duluth.

Delivering the deliverables

I'm officially fully unemployed again.

If you recall, I started a contract writing job about six weeks ago. At 4:30 p.m. Tuesday, I "delivered the deliverables," as per the contract language, by deadline.

I give my first venture into reporting and writing for a client (as opposed to a newspaper, magazine or wire service) about an 87, a solid B. I've always been a hard grader.

The topics I reported on and wrote about -- such as the pressures facing Lake Superior and the North Shore -- were important and interesting. I learned a lot about the area's ecosystem, met a lot of great people who care passionately about the big lake and its inland natural areas, and spent a gorgeous day out and about in Grand Marais.

My "employers" were easy and fun to work with. They contributed creatively to the process of determing my budget of stories and suggesting potential angles and sources. The editing process went smoothly, which isn't always the case even when working with professional journalists.

My learning opportunities came in the areas of pricing and efficiency. The prices per story I initially quoted were a little low, given the hourly wage I had hoped to achieve. I hadn't estimated adequately the amount of reporting time spent in finding and connecting up with the right sources, or considered that some of the stories would have additional chapters to pursue. I also hadn't taken into account the long-distance phone calls and road trips.

And if I do this type of work regularly, from home, I'll need to move my computer from the living room desk to the guest room desk, get a better phone there and consider signing up for some sort of call waiting or voice mail feature.

But overall, I'm happy. The deliverables, actually six stories and some siders in journalism lingo, are quite good, if I say so myself. I'll come under fire of the critics in a couple of weeks.

Dream work

I had a dream about the newspaper the other night. It's one of many I've had since the layoff.

Most often I have these dreams after encountering a former colleague, hearing news of another layoff, or explaining my current job status to someone in the community. I believe this particular dream was prompted by the news that one of my favorite former editors had left newspapers after 30+ years for a different line of work.

Almost always, the dreams focus on me working on some task that has no end or some problem that has no solution. Sometimes, they involve me being treated badly by supervisors I thought respected and appreciated my work. I always wake up exhausted.

This dream was different: The DNT pressroom sat in a separate building on a hill directly above the DNT newsroom. I was the senior newsroom manager on duty, leaving for the night. I looked up as the electronic sign broke away from the pressroom building. A janitor stood outside, also watching the sign fall. Sparks flew. I could see flames in the pressroom windows. I frantically called 911 on my cell phone and the publisher, a former publisher who had just returned to the paper. My desperation to reach the publisher grew as I watched firefighters trying to rescue the workers in the newsroom, which now also was on fire. I felt I should run in and save my former colleagues, but to do so might cost me my life.

I shared my dream today with a former colleague. We laughed as we started to consider all of the potential hidden meanings behind the dream. My thoughts sobering, I commented on the fact that the former publisher, in real life, recently died.

Moving on, or still spiraling downward?

Returning to work

I return to work today -- sort of.

This afternoon, I'm scheduled to meet with my new employers for a contract writing job that will last about six weeks. I don't know what all I'm writing yet, but I do know the deadline.

I should be excited about getting back to work, even if it is temporary. (I still sense a loss of purpose since my September layoff.) But there's a sadness here I didn't expect.

I've come to like my new routine. Mondays, Wednesdays, Fridays are my stay-at-home Mommy days. And I've learned to be happy and content if I don't get anything else accomplished on those days but being with my 4-year-old son. Tuesdays are my errand and housekeeping days. Thursdays are reserved for my major exercise outings and working on projects of my choosing.

This morning, that routine changed. I took my son to preschool, explaining that he will attend more days a week now until my new job is completed. I traded my blue jeans for work clothes. I printed out my contract and directions to the office. I prepared my thoughts on the overview piece that I will be researching and writing.

Don't get me wrong. I look forward to the work. But I'm losing time and freedom -- for about six weeks.

Unemployment blessings

Thursday was one of those incredibly rare spring days -- brilliant sunshine, temperatures expected to climb above 70 -- a portent of summer in Duluth.

My exercise buddy and I had just hiked through Hartley Field. We had climbed Rock Knob Lookout then trekked through marsh and woodland before returning along one of the ski trails. We spotted bluejays, robins, chickadees, another downey woodpecker. We watched several water spiders struggling to swim against the current of a clear stream. We examined moss and lichen growing on some trees, felt the hardness of a mushroom thriving off a dead birch, side-stepped a fern just poking out of the ground. We talked about whatever came to mind.

At one point, I paused to stretch my arms skyward, my body embracing the warmth of the sun. A thought crossed my mind: I wouldn't be here enjoying this if I still worked at the paper.

Not wanting our outing to end abruptly, we decided to have lunch at Hacienda del Sol. On the drive downtown, I saw the signs for Pancake Days. A familiar thought flickered across my mind: If I still worked at the paper, I'd be eating (and smelling like) pancakes in the cavernous DECC. Instead, my friend and I were dining out on the Hacienda's patio, the first day it was open.

My mind started a list of other things I wouldn't have done that week if I still worked at the paper: "fielding grounders" with my 4-year-old after finding a ball on a mid-morning walk up to the neighborhood baseball field, arriving on time to my twin nieces' birthday party, reconnecting with a friend I worked with more than 20 years ago.

Time and money

I received an unexpected $50 in the mail today, a mother's day gift from, of all people, my mother. Buy yourself a new pair of jeans, the card said. Obviously, she hasn't read my blog. (See "Life's necessities" post.)

I felt like a kid again, when that visiting aunt you never met before tucks $5 into your pocket and tells you to splurge on something you've especially wanted. I started making plans for what I'm going to buy -- either the life jacket or the water shoes and garden clogs. I called my mother immediately to thank her.

It's funny. When I was working full-time, it would take me months to deposit the birthday or holiday check she sent and even longer to get around to spending the money. But now I've got plenty of time to shop -- and an unexpected $50.

Life's necessities

Being laid off has changed my personal shopping wish list -- dramatically.

The first necessity in this unemployed's wardrobe was a new pair of blue jeans. When I was spending most of my waking life at work, I could get by with the pair of tatty jeans that I wore for gardening and cleaning the house. Not anymore. I needed a pair that look good enough for running errands or visiting the in-laws.

Unemployment-ville requires a casual look and entirely different gear than corporate-dom.

Forget that versatile black jacket, I need a life jacket that's short enough it doesn't interfere with paddling a kayak. For years I tried unsuccessfully to replace my low black pumps. No longer. Now I'm in need of plastic garden clogs so I can head out into our soggy backyard, rainboots so I can stomp around in puddles with my son, water shoes to wear this summer in Sweet Lake and snowshoes for trekking outdoors next winter. Instead of nice wool dress pants, I need to find a pair of waterproof lined workout pants that will keep me dry and warm.

As to blue jeans, yesterday I bought a second pair, so I have some to wear when my other pair is in the wash. They were on sale, plus Jacques C. Penne' had sent me one of those $10 off coupons on any item that costs $10 or more. (More on the art of penny-pinching later.)

If you think you might be laid off, the experts advise you to save six months of salary and get your medical, dental and eye exams while you're still working. But I see nothing wrong, too, in gearing up for that lifestyle change.

Information-less

I need a newspaper. And finding one that suits me isn't easy these days.

In September, after 19 years as a home subscriber to the Duluth News Tribune, I ended the relationship. Initially, it was because of my layoff as the newspaper's managing editor. I could no longer afford it. And I couldn't bring the paper into my house without getting angry. My husband urged me to suspend my subscription, at least for awhile. In fact, he offered to cancel it for me.

Time passed. I scanned the DNT whenever my neighbors left theirs on my front porch or when I visited my mother-in-law. I don't like the new format. I don't like the scaled back content. No offense to former colleagues, but there isn't much in the way of news in there since they shrunk the paper and its news-gatherering staff.

I signed up for the Washington Post and Star Tribune online. The former is great for following what's happening in Congress and big national stories. While I do find more news about Minnesota in the Strib, I also find that block of fluff and oddball contests that dominates the top left of their Web page annoying. I've considered The New York Times, but now that I'm no longer in the business, their self-aggrandizing ads about winning Pulitzers seem pretentious.

So far, this age of 24/7 newspapers is less than satisfying.

"Best years ever"

USA Today founder Al Neuharth's "Plain Talk" column April 10 references the owner of my former company as Neuharth opines about a feeling of hope and optimism about the economy that he has found in mid-America.

With some necessary staff reductions at The Forum, the company, which includes 11 daily newspapers in North Dakota and Minnesota, is having "one of our best years ever," Bill Marcil is quoted as saying.

His comment disturbed my inner peace so much that I exploded in anger over the simple matter of misplaced objects in one of my kitchen cabinets.

I am one of those staff reductions, though not from Marcil's Forum. And I personally know many of the other staff reductions from his recently acquired Duluth and Grand Forks newspapers. (My incomplete tally puts the number of employees he has laid off since March of 2008 at 85. And that doesn't include employees who received buyouts, were fired or simply left -- but were never replaced.)

I can't begin to imagine what happens during one of his company's worst years ever.

Fading into oblivion

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.

The wound is deep

I stepped onto my front porch Saturday afternoon, tired but upbeat after a couple of intense hours teaching Torah and Hebrew to a group of rambunctious kindergarteners. A package notice had been left in my mailbox. My husband receives a lot of packages, so I thought nothing of it.

It wasn't until after I briefed my husband on my morning experiences and put my son down for his nap that I turned my attention to the mail I had tossed on the couch. The notice was for me. A certified letter from my former employer awaits me at the main post office. I stopped cold in my tracks.

They took away my livelihood, cut off my benefits and ended my chosen career of 24 years -- all on one sunny afternoon in September. Now, six months later, what more could they possibly want from me? I am forced to wait and wonder until the post office reopens on Monday.

The wound is much deeper than I believed.

Expecting nothing and still disappointed

I received a call from a woman from my bank yesterday afternoon. She had reviewed my accounts and was happy to inform me that, as a preferred customer, she could move my savings into a higher interest money market account or certificate of deposit, whichever I preferred. Oh and, of course, I'm pre-approved for one of the bank's credit cards, too. I asked her a few questions about any conditions attached to the money market account and if she could make the shift without me coming down to the bank. She would make the change to the higher interest account right away, she said.

She commented on the commencing snowstorm and asked if I was lucky to have had the day off or gotten home early. I'm recently unemployed, I told her.

This morning, I got a call from the same woman. It turns out that she can't offer me the higher interest money market account unless I have a "premium" checking account. That would require that I always have automatic deposit of a paycheck into my checking account. And since I won't have any check to automatically deposit when my unemployment runs out, I don't qualify for the offer she made me yesterday, she said.

Having never expected much in the way of service from this national banking firm, I shouldn't have been disappointed. But she's the one who called me with the offer then failed to deliver. At least this incident settles the decision of where my husband and I set up the accounts for our new business. That will be at his credit union, of course.

Doing my part to stimulate the economy

I received a call Monday from the man who sold me my Honda CRV about seven years ago. He has a $500 check with my name on it just waiting for me -- that is -- if I buy another car from him. Honda is trying to do its part to help stimulate the economy, he said.

I told him that my husband and I had intended to replace one of our vehicles this year. However, I explained, the money we had saved up for a new car will be going toward our living expenses once my unemployment runs out. He was apologetic about having called. No problem, I said, adding that I was very happy with the performance of my CRV.

Which got me to thinking about how long it had been since I had the CRV serviced. So I made an appointment for an oil change and 27-point inspection. On Thursday, with $116.90 less in my checking account, I had done as much as I could afford to stimulate the economy.

By the way, how does one's radiator resevoir cap go missing?

At a Holiday Stationstore

While redeeming my Cub Foods fuel rewards at the Holiday Stationstore the other day, the store clerk commented on how she loved it when people used the coupons to save a few dollars on the cost of gas. And she had been seeing more and more people using them.

I found myself telling her I had joined the ranks of the unemployed. "Oh, hon," came her response, with the sincerity of someone who knows financial hardship and wants to do something to help. "Holiday's always hiring. Just go to their Web site on the computer. Do you have a computer?"

She asked me where I had worked and for how long. "The newspaper," I replied. "Nineteen years." She looked at me, a bit incredulous the paper would lay someone off after so many years. "It's that bad down there?" she asked. "Well, take some time off. You deserve a break."