Stuff That Happens in a Year

It was early this morning that I uploaded my very first commercial website design. Now it belongs to the Internet and, more important, I can put a link on my portfolio to show it off as practical work in the medium.

As I uploaded the final files, sending them into the cyber-ether, I realized something: A year ago today, my mother died. And I stopped to count back those 365 days and realized how much has happened that I haven't been able to share with her. I miss her every single day, but today it's especially poignant; not because it's the anniversary, but because I've done something really special.

A year ago, I hadn't even gotten approval for my WIA grant to go back to school. I knew what HTML code was, but, like musical notes on a page, I could comprehend it but not make any use of it.

A year ago, I was three months into my current unemployment and realizing that a job in publishing was probably never going to happen again. The grant was a possible route to a new aspect of my design career. It hasn't opened any doors yet, but I have moved forward. And, as Confucius said (no, really, he did say this), "It does not matter how slowly you go as long as you do not stop."

So in November, I start school. By March, I have my own portfolio site online. In May I finish school and start the job search once again, only to find that everyone wants two years of experience in a web design environment. Screw the 20-plus years as a graphic designer, "Have you designed e-mail blasts?"

So in June we take a breather and spend a week in Eureka, looking at houses and checking it out as a retirement location. It was the first vacation we'd taken in four years. Spending a week in a rural setting, walking through old-growth redwood forest, spending time on a beach empty except for us and the shore birds, strolling the boardwalk along the bay, it was very healing. I mean, this is a picture of one of their city parks; how cool is that?

In July, I find out that Pearce Plastics, where Steve works, is looking to rebuild their 10-year-old, embarrassingly designed website. I take on the task so that I will have a finished website to show prospective employers.

In August, Steve and I celebrate our second wedding anniversary, and neither of us remember about it until the day after. The rest of the month is filled with tenting and fumigation (see "Nazi Bunker Weekend") and installing flooring on the main level of the house.

September we spend recovering from August. I join back in with workshops and such at the Foothill Employment and Training Center, doubling my efforts to network and get a damn job.

The summer has been wonderfully mild until this week, when it hit 113 degrees and literally fried one of the plants on the patio. To be fair, the thing always been touchy, but the heat alone killed this plant. It had just been watered the evening before. This brings to mind again why we want to retire in Eureka: average temperature (pretty much year-round) is between 58 and 68. It rains a lot, is lush and green, and is right near the beauty of the Pacific shore; expansive beaches as well as stunning rocky coastline.

Today, it rained. About 10:30 this morning big thunderclouds roll over the city, thunder claps and a heavy rain descends, if for only 10 or 15 minutes. I sit out on the patio under the umbrella to feel and listen to the rain. Some idiot with a leaf blower powers it up next door, ruining the moment. Only when the rains is pounding down does he give up and wait out the storm. There's another reason I want to retire someplace else: This is the first rain in months and people just view it as a nuisance instead of a miracle.

My soul needs more than this.