Oh, city boys

As a small-town girl, I am more than familiar with many things farming, as I grew up down the street from a pasture of cows and several fields of corn and hay.


My knowledge was then increased exponentially by my months of working at Farm World magazine, where I was required to learn about unfamiliar farming concepts to accurately write about them.


So as I often do with my colleagues, who think it's funny, I was recently talking about being a small-town girl. I mentioned the fact that every year while I was growing up - and even on a recent trip home - my family and I would make our way to the small town of Erie, Michigan, to pick apples right off the tree, inevitably after a hay ride (or, as I have since learned, the more appropriate term would be a "straw ride." But that's a whole new blog entry... that I will not write.)


Response from a colleague, who grew up on Staten Island: "Oh, a hay ride! Isn't that fun when you get in that bucket they dump you in a pile of hay?"


What?


He went on to explain that his perception of a hay ride was from a children's book he once read, where there were descriptions of activities, and a corresponding photo of said activities. He said he matched all the descriptions with the photos except this foreign concept of a "hay ride." By process of elimination, he was left with a picture with some kids in a bucket-like contraption with wheels that was riding down a train-like track. So he said since then, his idea of a hay ride is riding in this bucket flanked by bales of hay where at the end you get dumped into a giant pile of the stuff.


After I explained the much-less-interesting fact that a hay ride is where people sit on bales of hay in a flat-bed, and are pulled along by a tractor, his face crumbled, and I almost wish I hadn't set him straight. Who wouldn't want to ride along in this roller-coaster-like contraption only to be chucked into a mound of yellow plant by-product? Sign me up!

"I'm not gonna write you a love song, 'cause you asked for it"

A few days before Valentine's Day, my darling husband looked at me out of the blue and we had a conversation that went something like this:

Brent: "So, um, you know we're not doing anything for Valentine's Day, right?"

Me, dumbfounded: "What?"

Brent: "Yeah. We're going on vacation in two weeks, so that's going to be our Valentine's Day gift to each other."

Me, still dumbfounded: "You mean we aren't even going to go out for dinner?"

Brent, adamant: "No. Maybe we'll get tacos."

Me, even more dumbfounded as to why he would randomly suggest tacos: "You mean you aren't even going to get me flowers?"

Brent: "No! I'm taking you on vacation instead. Doesn't that sound better?"

Me, thinking that while it does sound way better, I'd rather have some fun and act like I'm a girl and deeply care about such things as flowers on Valentine's Day: "I guess. But I DO like flowers."

So this morning, when I wake up at the God-awful time of 4:05 a.m. to get ready to start work at 4:45 a.m., I sleepily reach over for the remote to turn on The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air so I can wake up, and I find a folded, hand-written love note from my husband with the words "Happy Valentine's Day" scrawled on the top.

Of course, being the girl that I am who actually DOES care about love notes on Valentine's Day, I started to cry while reading his heartfelt words about his thoughts regarding our first Valentine's Day as husband and wife.

So ignoring the fact that I try to not wake him up when I have to work early in the morning, I finished reading the note, then re-read it several times before bursting back into the bedroom, jumping on top of him snuggled under the covers in bed, and kissing him between saying, "thank you, thank you, thank you!"

After a few moments, he successfully pushed me away so he could roll over to go back to sleep, I then hear him mumble, "Now isn't that better than flowers?" Comments like those are so typical Brent and why I so desperately love that man!

It was a small bone, but a bone nonetheless

Apparently, the Gods of fate looked down on me after my last post and took pity. Just a short time after writing that post, I got an e-mail from a medical publishing company who wanted to interview me over the phone.

Even though I ended up not getting the editorial assistant position, just knowing that there was that possibility was enough to renew my energy and my spirits about this whole job hunt thing. I mean, I sent out my resume and cover letter, and this time it was enough that someone wanted to talk with me further. And no, it wasn't the perfect job for me, and I wasn't the perfect candidate for it (they preferred someone with an extensive science background) but it would have been a stepping stone and experience for something else.

And this interview was just before I got a call from the founder and CEO of the custom publishing company that I did a bunch of freelance projects for in the middle months of 2008. She was calling me for tax purposes, but then asked how I was, and where I was in my job search/career and mentioned that even though they are struggling with a lack of advertising right now, she still had me in the back of my mind for when times are better. And even though I have no expectations from that whatsoever, it's nice to know that other people recognize that I have skills and talents.

So apparently, the economy is the enemy. As I said in that last post, screw this economy.