Playing House

The house I grew up in, on Coomer Avenue in Warren, Rhode Island, had lots of great trees, especially the flowering ones. My sisters and I spent many hours playing "gas station" in the spoon magnolia out front. Our bikes were the cars and jump ropes hung over the branches acted as the gas pumps. And yes, there was a mechanic on duty who would turn your bike upside down and inspect it right there on the lawn.

We also had a flowering cherry tree whose branches we would shake so you could feel like a queen or a bride with pink flower petals raining down on you. And in the back, two dogwood trees--one pink and one white. The photo albums have lots of pics in front of these: in Easter dresses or with mom for Mother's Day, or later on, Heidi with a prom date getting her corsage pinned on.

The dogwoods were best for playing because you could hide inside them like a house, and I still remember the day my mother let us move all our play furniture out underneath one. With our small table and chairs, a cradle for our dolls and a kitchen cabinet we were living outside. Way better than the "house" we would make out of piles of leaves raked into room outlines in the fall, or even the dropcloth over the clothesline tent my dad would set up. My imagination ran wild under that tree.

So now I don't have to pretend to play house since I bought my very own last year. It has a nice bit of woods behind it where the neighbor kids sometimes construct forts complete with white flags of surrender. And the house next door has a beautiful old hydrangea bush that blooms now in late summer, its white flower puffs cascading almost to the ground to create a magical space for a child to hide and play and imagine. The girls next door have built a small fairy house in it's branches, and I witnessed them singing songs from Annie and sprinkling petals on each other underneath it last night.

Out front of my house, the sunflowers are blooming and the morning glories have almost reached the top of the string I tied up for them to climb. The garden is gifting us with too many zucchini and summer squash. The plans are turned in to the permit officed to redo the roof, and we successfully sold the extra car to pay for the job. I don't have to play house--it's more like work now. But I want to capture that feeling again, the wonder of finding and creating your very own space, and let my imagination run wild there.

Stress Dreams and Interview Advice

Success! First interview in the bag. Invited for a second interview which happens this afternoon.

Continuing my unnecessary worry about everything under the sun, last night I dreamt I arrived much too early for the meeting, overheard managers discussing the candidates, forgot my notes in the car and forgot where I parked so I ended up late for the interview (how can you be both early and late for an important date?!). Caught on from comments by reception and HR that this was a place I wouldn't want to work, then proceeded to be put in a room with a fat, disabled old Catholic man with a visible colostomy bag who proceeded to smoke the whole time, while asking me questions about God and suggested that "kisses" would get me the job.

Thankfully, what I dreamt up is far worse than any situation I will likely face today or ever, so I can laugh at the comic relief my subconscious has provided. My friend ML says she always pretends when she goes for an interview that she doesn't need the job. She also likes to believe that there's no right answer to any question, so she can't go wrong. I suppose I could also take the advice Marcia Brady (or was in Greg?) was given when she had to give a big speech in front of the whole school: imagine them in their underwear.

My one main goal for finding a new job is to locate a position where I'm not faced with solving impossible problems. I think this potential job fits the bill, so wish me luck!