All of Me

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I was doing some serious moping this morning. And, you’ll never guess who saved me from it all. Superman did.

Actually, if truth be told, we saved each other. I was taken hostage by the couch and Lenny Briscoe. Superman had lost his way to Krypton, taking a left at the bear that looked like a rock and taking a right at the rock that looked like a bear. And, thus, this answers the age-old question, “Does Superman ever screw up?”

It was about noon when I heard Monty barking. Of course, this usually doesn’t cause me any concern, because Monty is always barking when he is not dressing up in my clothes. After 2 minutes of barking, I heard a foreign bark join Monty’s in a chorus of what now sounded like “Who Let the Dogs Out?”

I thought, “Oh, Mrs. Maxant’s dog is on the loose again. I had better go investigate.” This woman has many animals, and the neighborhood has had problems with all of them. (Well, we have problems with her and not the animals.) This is because Mrs. Maxant believes that chickens aren’t the only animals that should be “free range.”

A few years ago, I saw one of her horses tromp through my backyard. Quite tragically, one of her horses got caught up in the brambles in adjoining neighbor’s yard. The poor thing suffered a heart attack and died. Last time, I saw Mrs. Maxant’s dog, a lovely Golden Retriever, it was walking through my backyard dragging a big tether, which she uses to secure her dog and horses, behind it.

When I saw her dog traveling through the yard, I went outside, gathered up the tether, and then I walked over to return her pooch. This was the same pooch that was at the bus stop one morning and climbed onto the bus after Iz. It was a very beautiful and friendly dog, and I felt sorry for it having to be owned by Mrs. Maxant.

Anyway, I envisioned the pooch on the porch with his tether wrapped around my grill 20 times, so I headed down to investigate. When I looked out on the porch all I saw was Monty standing by the stairs barking. The second barker was either on the stairs on somewhere in the grassy knoll next to the porch.

I opened the slider, walked to the stairs, and when I looked down, I saw a big Golden Retriever on the stairs; however, it wasn’t my neighbor’s dog. This dog was very elderly. I could tell, because being the animal expert I am, I counted the rings around its tail. Okay, I didn’t do that, but I did notice his blonde fur was white in many areas.

I grabbed a hold of his collar. He didn’t look familiar, so I thought he was lost. (Isn’t it funny how I have a way of finding lost things? I’m looking forward to the day when I find D.B. Cooper’s stash!) I checked his tag, and it read “Superman 617-555-1212.” And, what were the odds that Superman would end up on my porch of all places?!

I put Monty inside, because he was still barking. I gave Monty a bone, because he found Superman before I did, so a reward was in order. I took another bone, grabbed Monty’s leash, and I went back out on the porch. I gave Superman the bone, he gladly accepted it, and then I hooked him up to Monty’s leash.

I went back inside, grabbed the phone, and when I returned to the porch, I asked Superman if I could see his phone number once more. Given the 617 (Greater Boston) area code, I thought I may have one of those super heroes who wandered a great distance from home. Perhaps he was in Clark Kent mode (I should have flipped his tag to see if that was written on the other side!), and he was out in my neck of the woods doing a story for the Daily Doghouse. Who knows?

When I called the number, it was answered on the second ring by a man who uttered a desperate “Hello!” I said, “Hi. I think I have your super hero.” He laughed and said, “Oh, I was just driving around looking for him. I turned my back for just a minute and off he went!” I gave him my address, and he said he’d be by to rescue Superman (albeit a third time after Monty and me) in about 5 minutes.

I took Superman around to the front of the house, just then realizing what a lovely day it was. I brought super pooch to the end of the driveway, and he sat down, looked up at me and said, “It’s a lovely day outside, too lovely for you to still be in your pajama bottoms! You should get out for a spin like I did.” I said, “Superman, I think you’re right, “ and he smiled.

A black pick-up truck drove up the street. It slowed down and stopped in front of my driveway. A man climbed out and walked toward Superman. I saw a young yellow lab jump up in the backseat and then thrust its head out the window. I should have asked if its name was Lois Lane! He said, “Thanks a lot! I just drove up this street, too.” I said, “Well, he and my dog got involved in a heated conversation on the porch – Which came first? The dog or the cat?”

I took Superman off of the leash. The man took Superman by his collar and brought him over to the truck door. He opened the door and said, “Get up, Superman.” Superman hesitated. Perhaps he should have said, “Fly, Superman, fly!”

Superman jumped up, and the man closed the door behind him. The man thanked me again. Superman then stuck his head out the window. He said, “Thanks. I bet you will write about me in your blog tonight. Go get changed and do something; the world is still waiting for you.” They drove off down the street.

I knew Superman was right. Staying home and lounging in my pajama bottoms was no way to deal with a beautiful Tuesday. The last few weeks, I know I had gotten more disappointed about job opportunities, especially knowing that two didn’t even care about any of my writing that wasn’t technical. I guess it’s understandable, but it had me thinking and feeling.

If I could get a technical writing job, I’d feel fortunate. But did I want to work in any job that didn’t need all of me? Perhaps one day, technical writing would be a hot career again, but, at this point, I knew I had to think of something else to do. It had to be something that required all my parts and pieces.

When I was out running (shout out to Superman if you are reading this now!) , I pondered what I could do besides technical writing. Unfortunately, I felt the economy might make it just as difficult to switch careers as it had to find a job in my field. But, I told myself I wasn’t going to give up thinking about it and trying to do it, whatever IT was.

So, what’s a job that requires an outgoing phenomenal (working on my self-esteem here) writer who imitates great works of art, likes old clothing, shoes, cats, and cycling and makes movies about hanging out on a Sunday afternoon? You give up? You can’t! I was looking to you for the answer here!

Yesterday, a wise man told me, “Never stop writing, being yourself, and doing what you love.....I know that's the key to your future and your happiness!” Some days, like yesterday, it’s hard to keep the faith. But, I, Jean, do solemnly swear to keep believing, even when wearing my pajama bottoms when I shouldn’t!

Someday soon my job will come. There’s got to be a job out there that’s just dying to have me do it. And, today, I do know that I want my next job to want all of me. ♥

“Well some say life will beat you down, break your heart, steal your crown,
So I've started out, for God knows where I guess I'll know when I get there.”

P.S. And a belated welcome to my new follower, the Jewelry Box; thanks for being here. ♥