Made it through first round of layoffs, anyway. Mixed feelings, coming out of the private meeting with the operations manager. Relieved that I get to keep my job at my normal pay; survivor's guilt over the friends and colleagues who have two weeks to sort out where they're going and what they're doing.
It's not over, but it's a cause for celebration. Went to retrieve my favorite meerschaum-lined old Grabow at lunch and found the bit was broken off. Hardly factored in. I can get that replaced. Picked up my trusty Savinelli billiard and headed for my favorite smoking spot, now that the docks are in.
Overcast. No breeze. Storms moving in this afternoon. I sat and watched small fish bump the surface, testing each blossom and bit of fluff that hit the water from the trees. I sipped at my Newminister Danish Black, enjoying life.
Who should appear but old Cecil Loaf, last of the Loaf Brothers from down on the Iowa border. Pushing it, I know, but I extended my lunch on my own authority to sit with him, having to nearly yell to be heard even standing next to him. He's 85, nearly deaf, on his second set of hip pins, and he's fishing. Can only cast about 15 feet, but he's enjoying life, the old farmer. Down to just minding a little stand of sweet corn anymore, but his cane and shuffle step don't set him back any.
He told of perch and walleye he'd caught her the other day. But I already knew about it. That day he'd beaten me to the dock, and I left him in peace. I leaned against an old cottonwood and watched him as I sipped at the old Grabow. Love that pipe. It was Stanwell Vanilla that day. And I watched in envy. I'll probably never see 85.
But I have today. I had that day. And I still have my job.
My life is rich. I'm one of the richest men on earth. I live in a free country. The government leaves me to my own doings for the most part. I'm ahead on my bills and remodeling my home, bit by bit. My redheaded wife loves me whether I'm working or not, but is also proud to be married to me. My son is coming home now from six years in the military. My youngest daughter is graduating from DePaul in two weeks. My oldest girl, 28, is going back now for her masters degree, full ride. My three step-children are happy and healthy and well. Even my two fine hunting dogs are having a good life.
Even if the next round gets me, how the hell can I complain?
I don't smoke my pipe to handle stress. I smoke it when I'm happy, when I'm comfortable, and to reflect. And today's reflection was ... awesome.
It's not over, but it's a cause for celebration. Went to retrieve my favorite meerschaum-lined old Grabow at lunch and found the bit was broken off. Hardly factored in. I can get that replaced. Picked up my trusty Savinelli billiard and headed for my favorite smoking spot, now that the docks are in.
Overcast. No breeze. Storms moving in this afternoon. I sat and watched small fish bump the surface, testing each blossom and bit of fluff that hit the water from the trees. I sipped at my Newminister Danish Black, enjoying life.
Who should appear but old Cecil Loaf, last of the Loaf Brothers from down on the Iowa border. Pushing it, I know, but I extended my lunch on my own authority to sit with him, having to nearly yell to be heard even standing next to him. He's 85, nearly deaf, on his second set of hip pins, and he's fishing. Can only cast about 15 feet, but he's enjoying life, the old farmer. Down to just minding a little stand of sweet corn anymore, but his cane and shuffle step don't set him back any.
He told of perch and walleye he'd caught her the other day. But I already knew about it. That day he'd beaten me to the dock, and I left him in peace. I leaned against an old cottonwood and watched him as I sipped at the old Grabow. Love that pipe. It was Stanwell Vanilla that day. And I watched in envy. I'll probably never see 85.
But I have today. I had that day. And I still have my job.
My life is rich. I'm one of the richest men on earth. I live in a free country. The government leaves me to my own doings for the most part. I'm ahead on my bills and remodeling my home, bit by bit. My redheaded wife loves me whether I'm working or not, but is also proud to be married to me. My son is coming home now from six years in the military. My youngest daughter is graduating from DePaul in two weeks. My oldest girl, 28, is going back now for her masters degree, full ride. My three step-children are happy and healthy and well. Even my two fine hunting dogs are having a good life.
Even if the next round gets me, how the hell can I complain?
I don't smoke my pipe to handle stress. I smoke it when I'm happy, when I'm comfortable, and to reflect. And today's reflection was ... awesome.
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