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Monday, November 11, 2013

Things I'm doing while I should be working on my resume...

There are probably thousands of reasons why I should be working on my resume right now with the top reason being...my husband said "do it!"...

I had a really nice resume made three years ago that I thought I still had somewhere, with somewhere being the operative word...I have a resume somewhere that really doesn't matter because the skills I have listed on it doesn't apply to any job outside of the radio world...And I know that because I just read a new article off of Monster.com AND LinkedIn (so it's got to be true) that claims that all the Fortune 500 jobs are using robots to read the resumes that are submitted for jobs. Depressing. And all this time I thought it was because my resume sucked. Nope. It was just because I couldn't get past the robots, making my resume sound like the equivalent of a Playstation game. All that is missing are headphones so I can hear all the other resumes screaming as they get shot down by the robots. No wonder I'm sitting here playing mahjong instead of typing up a new resume..."Why bother if I'm just going to get shot down by robots?"
Wearing the Bee head at the Wisconsin State Fair is not a job skill unfortunately, but it should be. I got a real headache from wearing that thing!

On closer read I noticed that this article gave some very good advice about what you should and should not do to get past the robots;
Use keywords, or adjectives that describe your work ethic (conscious, driven, consciously driven), and avoid abbreviations, spelling out manager instead of using mgr. This would be a real problem for me as I have never managed anything (my time, weight, money) so obviously it wasn't that particular word manager that got my resume bounced.

But this article by Eric Larson entitled Meet The Robots Reading Your Resume has given me some food for thought and that is I have a piece of broasted chicken left over from lunch sitting in the fridge that I really should eat before one of my kids get it...
I am a team player, my station needed someone to bounce in the bouncy thing and I jumped right in!

Opps...Team player is not on the list, but the words conscious and consciously driven are two words that I've intersected with especially in my last old job, before this one...
I am conscious of the fact that there is a mat in front of me and these girls are expecting me to perform a summersault.
I am consciously driven to make a fool out of myself.

Wouldn't that be cool if that got my resume past the robots! Especially if it was for a job that required bouncing!

Or wearing a big hat?

Or standing next to someone wearing a weird hat?

Or serving barbecue at a radio appearance at a furniture store?

This last thought has got me thinking...I could get a job where I serve food..."Would you like fries with that?"

Fries...that's right! There are a few fries left with that broasted chicken downstairs in the fridge. Man, I hope the kids haven't found that yet...I really should go down and get it...Oh wait, what about my resume? Forget it, my husband's asleep.

Saturday, November 09, 2013

The Dog is having a bad day, and other adventures....

There is no dog food sale that justifies the constipation the dog is going to suffer when you change his food...this is probably the main reason our dog is having a bad day. Well, that and the fact that my husband banished him in the bedroom with me because he wouldn't leave my stepson's dog alone...our stepson's dog's name is Stella and she is in heat (boom chicka wow wow) for the first time, but it could also be that she has a shiny new raw hide bone...but either way, Mr. Max has been forced into exile upstairs with me because he could not keep his opinions to himself...that he likes the ladies and he likes their treats...

Max is clearly unhappy with this turn of events. In his mind he has been the ruler of the house for the last 10 years and survived the addition of a new dog 3 years ago, making this dog (Brutus) his subordinate.

Now he's "bad dog, bad dog Max!" and is perplexed on how this happened. I'm lying on the bed struggling with the after effects of a flu shot, (They say that getting sick after a flu shot is a myth, but this is the third year in a row this "myth" has happened) and I'm not too sympathetic to his plight, although he doesn't probably realize it as I'm trying to get him to stop whining by feeding him my saltines..."please stop whining Max...please stop...shut up...SHUT UP...dammit dog!...here's a cracker." This sequence of events goes on for several minutes until I've had enough, drag my carcass to the door and let him out. Almost immediately shouting can be heard downstairs and two minutes later the dog is back upstairs, and sitting with his head next to my ear...whining...


Max is a bichon frise which is french for "you paid too much for this dog." He came as a gift from my mother to my daughter years ago, but it was not a love connection. Max simply prefers other males, like my husband, as company.


Right now the dog doesn't realize it but I'm the best friend he's got...because no one in the house is going to put up with his crap...literally...I'm the chief dog walker at this establishment...I'm also the person who begs my husband for a few more bucks when Max ends up at the Vet;


Me: The vet says the dog needs 10 teeth pulled, and he has heart problems, but he thinks he can save him for 700 bucks...

Husband: What can he do with 200?

Me: We can get a group cremation and possibly a nice urn...

Husband: What does the urn look like?

The last time Max was at the Vet, we truly thought it was the last time...but it wasn't, Max went home with a prescription for laxatives, and we ended up with a bill for 170 bucks and for a while there was peace in the household...

Right now the dog is miserable but the tone of his whining has changed, and I realize that he's trying to communicate a new message with me...(What's that Lassie? Timmy's in the well? Whose Timmy? It was a TV show that was decades before you were born...) Nope, this whine is definately not for another cracker. I hook Max up and out into the neighborhood we roll, armed with a poo bag for Max, and a (vomit) bag for me...it takes a few minute but the job eventually gets done, but, they say no good deed ever goes unrewarded and this time the dog has poo stuck on his butt and is going to need a bath and apparently there's no one else in the house whose going to do it...when I came back after walking the dog and yelled, "can somebody help me, he's got pooo..." the house went strangely quiet...so now it's me and the dog, in the tub, and the dog is squealing and shaking water all over me...and I'm swearing...when suddenly my husband shows up at the door with a glass of wine...

Me: For me?

Husband: No, for the dog...where's your Xanax?

Me: Why, do you think I need it?

Husband: No, everyone in the house that can hear you needs it...

Max eventually calms down, and I make my way back to bed for a long winters nap when it suddenly occurs to me...I left the box of crackers on the bed...and the subordinate was left alone in the bedroom...this is going to be a long, "crappy" night.

NaBloPoMo November 2013

Monday, November 04, 2013

Nothing to say...

I have been sitting in front of this computer now for almost an hour with nothing to say...which is simply incredible if you know me, but explainable if you realize that 3 days ago I decided to sign up for NaBloPoMo on Blogher and almost immediately ran out of ideas...I'm not sure that counts as a coincidence or not. Deciding to write a blog a day for NaBloPoMo gives November a sense of purpose for me...it means that it's not just a cold, dark month with nothing to do but go to work or nap...Now it's a cold, dark month where I blog about going to work and napping!

But I skipped the nap today because I promised my girlfriend last week I'd watch her kid for her today. I picked this little cherub up from school and promised her all the things you promise a kid when you know you have to watch them for two hours but then get to give them back...it's kind of like being a grandmother...consider it a form of friends with benefits if by benefits you get to enjoy being in the presence of a child, but you don't have to buy health insurance for them...Oh! And did I mention you get to give them back...I took this kid to Barnes and Noble because I still have a membership card with them until November 18th, which means today I still get the 10 percent discount on the Hershey chocolate cheesecake! About 10 minutes later I noticed she had barely touched her cheesecake which prompted me to utter something I thought I'd never say in a million years to anyone..."Eat your chocolate kid!"

It turns out this little girl hates cheesecake, too bad for her but hey, hey, it was my lucky day because I'm not signing up for Weight Watchers until tomorrow, or next week, or maybe even next year...hard to say. I got her a consolation hot chocolate and then started to help her with her homework. We started with math. It was something to do with graphs. Graphs. She's an eight year old. That's when I decided it was probably time to take her to my house so I could search for one of my adult children...one of them just graduated from college this year, and the other one took math last semester. Thank God. My daughter offered to help...I kid...she did help...but that was after I begged her...I promised to let her use this computer right after I wrote my NaBloPoMo blog for today...

That was two hours ago...my friend came and got her kid, and one hour ago I sat down in front of this computer and started playing Mahjong while I waited for lightning to strike me with an idea...my daughter has been in twice asking when I'm getting off this computer but seriously I have nothing to say...

Cindy Huber

NaBloPoMo November 2013

Saturday, November 02, 2013

Emails from Heaven...

I really don't know how to start this other then to say losing my mom has been a lot like I would imagine falling off a cliff would feel. I recently checked my facebook posts from last year, and just about every post started out "please pray for my mom"--OR--"My mom is in ICU again..." And then there were all the emergency trips to Iowa.

Then my mom died. And you would think that in a small way, I would feel some peace of not having to worry about her; from wondering if she's taking her heart medications, to whether she left the water running in the kitchen faucet and is it flooding the basement again...but seriously, I don't. What I feel now is what I imagine hitting the ground would feel like, pain followed by numbness. Even in my dreams she's ill. My mom was so sick, for so long, I can't even remember what she was like when she was healthy.


Recently I got a call that required a resume, and as queen of the "put off today what you should be doing, and tomorrow you'll still have that problem." That's me, I invented that saying! But I was excited none the less, because I knew I had a copy of my resume somewhere in my old email folders...You know, the archives...where you're suppose to stick all your crap so it doesn't clog up your INBOX, or my INBOX, which, the last time I counted (a couple of minutes ago)had 125 emails, 80 of them unread. My email box is like that TV show Hoarders, except much less exciting.

But back to my resume, I knew I had done one 3 years ago when I last lost my job (before this), but it wasn't in there...not in any of the 3 archive folders I have, which, as you might suspect...are jammed.

But what I found in one of my folders was far more precious then any old resume I might have found...I found several of my mom's old emails to me, back before she got so ill, back before she got so cloudy she couldn't remember how to dial a phone, or turn on the computer. The first email she ever sent me is dated February 13, 2008 and is labeled Love you...other subjects included How much do I love you, only a mother would know, Thinking of you, I bet your asleep, To my sweetheart, Praying for you, Have not forgotten you...with the very last email she sent me, February 2, 2010, Missing you;

Dear Cindy,
It is about 11:00 p.m. Have been on the phone for 1 and 1/2 hours to a lady named Sonja that I met at the animal shelter quite a few years ago. She called to let me know that a young man that worked there probably about 35 years old died today with pancreatic cancer and wondered if I remembered him. I just don't. Maybe if I saw a picture of him I might remember him. But here again is a young man or young person with pancreatic cancer. I sometimes think that a lot of this cancer is caused by a poor immune system. The younger generation has been raised on McDonalds, Burger Kings and wouldn't know a cabbage from a cauliflower. Also we have a lot more additives in everything. I agree with you also that food kept in plastic containers or water is a cause of cancer. Years ago most things were kept in glass containers. Well your dad is waiting for me. I love him so must call it a night.
Missing you with all my heart but so thank-full for the time we had. My how it flew.
Love and kisses,
Mom

If I had won the Powerball I wouldn't have been more excited. I didn't know I had saved these, it's like the back of my closet, I don't even remember the last time I checked there. It was like getting my mom back again, even if it was only in a few emails. It was like getting an email from Heaven.



But the best part came last night, I had that dream about my mom again...She is lying in bed, hooked up to a million and one cords, but this time I wasn't sad, I reached over and said "Mom! I'm so glad to see you again, I love you!" As I was giving her a hug, I woke up. And I now have some peace.

NaBloPoMo November 2013

Tuesday, October 29, 2013

If you are easily offended by everything, do not read this...

Recently I've noticed that there are a certain amount of people who are easily offended by just about everything. These people offend me.

This week's chief offender is former Dancing with the Star Julianne Hough who dressed up for Halloween as some character I've never heard of, from some reality or TV show I couldn't care less about...but from what I've read, this character is apparently black.

This came as some kind of shock to me, because when I saw the picture of Julianne in her costume...I thought she was trying to be Miley Cyrus! Speaking of Miley, didn't she offend some "Asian Pacific Americans" a few years ago by pulling her eyes in a slanted position while the paparazzi were near by? Much like Julianne Hough, she was accused of being racist, and just like Julianne recently did, apologized.

I can assure you I would never intentially insult you, unless of course it's too late and you're already insulted...in that case...screw you.

It's sort of a flashback for me because I can still remember former Cheers TV star Ted Danson getting in trouble for wearing "blackface" at a Friar's Roast and also being accused of being racist. He was sort of forgiven only after it was revealed his girlfriend at the time, Whoopi Goldberg, had put him up to it. Speaking of which, I am a huge fan of Whoopi Goldberg and I would love to dress up like her for Halloween some day but that would present several problems for me; First and foremost, Whoopi's actually much skinnier then me, prettier, but the biggest problem and fear for me is I'd probably be accused of being racist, which I'm not.

Honestly, racism is an ugly word that involves the idea that one's race is superior to another...but we've been throwing the word racist around for just about every stupid thing lately, that I believe we've totally diluted the meaning. We may have to invent a totally new word that means racist.

And if you don't agree with me, you're probably a racist. Whoa, wait a minute...you are not a racist!

(See how stupid that sounds?)

Sunday, September 29, 2013

Morphine and Cable...Spending a week with my mom in hospice


Well, this is going to be a weird post.

My mom passed away Thursday morning, July 25th at 5 minutes to 9...In hospice, and shortly before Kelly Ripa and whoever her latest co-host came on...I was briefly aware of the tube being on at the time my mom stopped breathing, as I had turned the tube over to the Weather Channel at 3 AM after HGTV turned into paid commercial infomercials, but after spending almost a week of no sleep while waiting for the "end"...the irony of some mindless hosts giggling in the back round was lost on me in the darkness of the moment. The only thing I can recall now is that at the moment my mom stopped breathing, someone on the tube was talking about some tropical storm out in the ocean. And giggling.

It had been a brutal and devastating weekend, one filled with moments of hope, and then dashed by the brutal truth of reality. And yet, God showered me with His love, and at the weirdest moments, joy. Still, I'd rather been at Taco Bell...but they weren't open yet. Not that it wouldn't have mattered. I had decided that I wasn't going to leave my mom's bedside that week, although it wasn't because I wasn't a martyr or super daughter. I was simply terrified she was going to leave without saying goodbye, and there was no way I was going to let that happen. Especially since three weeks before that when visiting her at home (for what turned out to be the last time) I snuck out that Sunday morning basically without saying goodbye. Because my mom hated goodbyes. And the last few months every time I visited her in Iowa, she made leaving her hell.

"This could be the last time honey, I will probably never see you again, at least not on this side of heaven, I don't have very long honey, don't you think you could possibly spend one more day with me, call your boss, listen, I'll pay you for your day off."

Paybacks are a bitch aren't they? So is karma I'm sure, so there was no way I was leaving her side now. Well, that and the fact that I had spent about 15 minutes at her house when I first got into town after getting the call that this time in the hospital was going to be far more serious then all the other times she had spent in the hospital this past year. She had been so close to death several times this year, that I have to tell you, I didn't know it was possible that someone could be so ill and still survive...and I kinda got use to it.

I even stopped making plans this past year, I simply couldn't, because I never knew if I was going to get a call saying "mom's in the hospital and it's serious." And I would immediately hop in the car and drive the 6 and a half hours to the hospital to see her. People gave up asking me to come to their parties, and seriously, I stopped caring because I knew, that at any moment that phone could ring, and this would be the last time I would see my mom. And of course, that's eventually what happened. Oh, but I did briefly stop at my mom's house in that last week, for about 15 minutes, I was going to stay longer but it was simply too painful. This was shortly after my family was told there was "no hope." I was going to take a brief nap and a brutally needed shower but there were reminders of my mother everywhere, from the slippers she was wearing and had just taken off and left next to her shower, to her face cream she had sitting out just before her massive heart attack...not that my mom or dad knew it was a heart attack at the time, she started having problems breathing and my dad called 911 like he always did. Nothing out of the ordinary for my family, except this was going to be the last time. My dad told me later that they explained the "living will" to her (like they had countless times) and she had smiled at them and said "we had this exact conversation three weeks ago when I was here last," which was almost exactly three weeks to the day. My mom had just gotten out of the hospital that past Monday after spending almost three weeks in ICU and their hospital rehab. And here it was Thursday, and she was back in the ER, again. (I still have the last living will she signed, my husband says it's creepy, but it's the last time she signed anything in her life, and I am unable to part with it, at least for now.)

My mom had COPD which stands for Chronic obstructive pulmonary (lung) disease, which in plain English means "your life is going to suck very, very slowly." I can remember flying to Tucson with her 7 years ago and she was healthy, energetic, and in good spirits, everything felt normal. But when she came to visit me just a few months later, she would be walking and then suddenly stop, and catch her breath. At first I discounted it as mom being out of shape perhaps...but nothing more serious then that. Then the hospitalizations started, at first, just a couple of days here or there and maybe only a couple of times a year. Then the stays got a little more serious, and I noticed my mom's legs seemed swollen and discolored...almost blue, but my mom would shrug it off saying she had just been to the doctor, and I, in spite of being a former nurse aide and medical assistant knew better, but desperately wanted to believe her. I started begging her to move to Milwaukee but because my dad refused to move (he was in more denial then I was) and because she didn't have the energy to even travel, I spent more and more time driving to Mason City, Iowa. And I became well versed on the various hospital menu items and on what night was rotisserie chicken. And where the best pizza was on the road (TJ's in Monona, Iowa, off Highway 18 a few miles east of the Mississippi) and the best rest stops and gas stations...but what I didn't know was how to best help my mom her last year of life. Oh, I had great intentions, I would come and spend the weekend cleaning her house, and washing her clothes, and nagging her on taking her meds. She in turn would alternately beg me to move to Iowa or ask me to stop nagging her on her meds. You can't argue with a nurse and my mom was a former hospice RN...no one was going to tell her how to do it, and I suppose, that's the way it should be. I'm thankful that the last couple of times I was there I gave up trying to "help her" and spent the time "enjoying her."

"So you're hungry for a chili cheese burrito from Taco Bell, alright, I'll drive you there. Need a nap, move over, I'll take one with you."

When I got the call the last time, something in side me said "this is it." And I don't know how I knew, but I knew it. Especially when I got to her room and she was calling out to her mother and brother, both who had passed away 7 years before. When I came into her room she grabbed me by my arm and pulling her face up to mine, looked into my eyes and said "I'm dying aren't I." And I'll just stop right here and give you the best answer to this question ever, an answer that was most certainly given to me by God because I wasn't smart enough to come up with it. "Mom, if you were going to die, you would've died yesterday." Honestly, that seemed to calm her down, at least before the doctor came in and told her "Sandra, you have a serious situation, and I need to have your entire family here for a consultation." Then she knew. And she handled it like a real pro, she honestly did. When the entire family got there, she took turns talking to us separately telling us that she loved us and where she thought our strengths and weaknesses were. No kidding, she wasn't brutal, but she was direct, like knowing that the end was coming freed her from having to worry who was going to be insulted and skip Christmas dinner this year.

For me it was "Cindy, you're a sweetheart but you're a bit of a hard ass, mellow out." I was like "Thanks mom, and mellowing out will be no problem if you're willing to share some of that morphine they're handing out like snicker bars around here." She was like "ha ha, now send your brother in here..." I could only guess what she said to him since he's a bit of an ass-hole...Opps, I'm sorry, I probably need to mellow out...a lot more.

The next few days were a blur. They discussed dialysis and then almost immediately ruled it out. There were just too many organs failing on my mom. When we got her death certificate a month ago I almost passed out, she had three immediate causes of death and three underlying causes...Ready for this? The main three causes were heart, kidney and liver failure, and the underlying causes were diabetes, COPD, and pulmonary hypertension. I never knew she was that ill. She never told anyone everything that was going on. I felt like such a moron. And a loser too. How the hell did I not know how bad it was, geez Louise, and I called myself a nurse aide???

Hospice was the best thing that could of happened for mom, and I'm sure if you ever had a relative in hospice you know how awesome it can be. Yes, it's where your loved one is going to die, but for the most part, it's going to be as gentle and painless as they can possibly make it for family member and all I can say is God bless you North Iowa Hospice in Mason City, Iowa. They kept the morphine drip going, they kept my mom turned every two hours, and they explained everything in more detail (then I at times wanted to know) how death was going to happen. And yet I appreciated it. And the drugs were better then anything I could've ever imagined in the 20 years before when I had been an aide...but what scared me the most about my mother dying was the fear of hearing cheyne-stokes...it's a labored breathing...well let's just say it's horrible to hear that from anyone and the fact that my mom would even...I seriously didn't know how I was going to handle that, yet God heard my prayer;

(Dear God, Hi, it's me Cindy, CINDY...Yes, I know it's been awhile and I know I only seem to remember to pray when things really suck, and today, yeah, it really sucks...Can I use the word sucks?...Seriously, of all the words I could use...wait, I'm sorry, I'm getting side tracked here. Dear God, I'm not even going to try to ask you to heal my mom, not that you couldn't, but I'm...well, I know my dad is praying for a miracle but I'm a realist God, I know she's ready to go, and even though I'm not OK with it, I'm OK with it...IF...I know, I know...Now I'm asking you for a favor but you don't have to grant it if you don't want to...although I don't know why you wouldn't grant it, but it won't change my faith if you don't because I love you and I...hold it...before I forget what I'm asking here it is...Lord, I'm afraid of hearing my mom with cheyne-stokes, I just don't think I can handle it, is there anyway she doesn't have to go through that?)

She never did the cheyne-stokes. Nope....and when death came, it gave about an hour warning. My dad managed to make it in on time. He held her hand and told her he loved her. She opened her eyes, looked at him and then looked up at me, and then shut her eyes and stopped breathing. Death couldn't have been any easier on her, or us. I just wished I had turned off the cable earlier.

Cindy Huber

Tuesday, April 16, 2013

To Fear, or Not to Fear

So the other day one of my co-workers, Dave, stuck his head in my studio, "They think maybe a couple of bombs went off at the Boston Marathon...It's all over the news channels. Or maybe it was something else..."


"What else would it be?" I asked him. "Of course it was bombs. We've been hit again." After 2001, anything is possible, including terrorists, school shootings, and massacre's at Batman movies. Every day that my children--I say children, all of my kids are adults, but honestly, when my kids walk out the door, I find myself fighting the urge to cover them in bubble wrap, and that's not a joke.

I'm frightened, BUT, not for me. I'm terrified for my children...opps, my kids, their friends, my neighbors kids...and every time they walk out the front door I fight the urge to grab them and hold on to them...seriously, they're starting to think I'm some kind of nut case. My mom use to have a saying, "nothing good happens after midnight" every time she set a curfew, but honestly, I've changed it to "nothing good happens anywhere, at anytime, anymore." I find myself fighting a panic attack every time one of my kids say they're going to the mall. They-my kids-are getting to the point where they don't even want to tell me they're heading to McDonald's...just in case I freak out. They just sneak out the front door. And suddenly, the house goes silent. Which sets off an even bigger panic for me. The house is too quiet. What if something happens to them? What if some nut is at wherever they are going, and they never come back. Is this what the house would sound like? Quiet? Too quiet?

I can honestly tell you that when I first heard about this this afternoon, my first thought was, well, I'm never going out again...or forget Milwaukee's big music festival Summerfest, I'm not going out in crowds, ever again...But then, you know what? I got this thought that that's exactly what the terrorist's want. Think about it...what's really more scary, never leaving the house again except for work or beer? Boston's bombing was just as much about hitting this country with FEAR then it was about the actual destruction or death. And I can cower in the house, which is quite honestly what I've been doing for the past few months, OR, I can determine to live my life. Really live my life. Which means getting off my couch, turning off the news channels, and going outside, to the store, to a movie, to the lake, or better yet; the next time my kids try to sneak out of the house because they're afraid I'll panic because they're leaving the safety of the house, I'll simply tell them to have a good time...or better yet, ask them if I can go with them. Trust me, the thought of me tagging along with my kids scares them more then any fear of being a potential target.

Ultimately, a terrorist can only kill me, but they can't take my soul. Not if I don't let them.

I have a choice. I can live in fear, or, I can...live.

So what's my choice? I haven't decided yet. Maybe when the news channel goes to commercial...or I run out of beer.