Slow to learn

Back in 1990, when I had been laid off from my job at First Bank (later US Bank) I tried to decide what I wanted to be when I grew up. I was 39, my father was in deteriorating health, and I was (as I had been since 1973) one quarter shy of my graduation from the University of MN as a journalism major.  I had majored in journalism, no doubt, because that's what my father taught at the U, and it felt somewhat like the family business, but I was in the advertising sequence rather than news/editorial because I wanted to be creative.  It didn't take me long to realize that having to sit in a room while someone says "Hormel Vienna Sausage; come up with a clever ad" is harder than it sounds, and yet many, many people were vying for the chance.

To make a long and scattered story somewhat shorter, I'd had a variety of jobs, a few of which involved writing or creativity in a marginal sort of way, and I had done a few brochures for people.  Desktop Publishing was just coming into its own, and I thought about going in that direction with my newly unemployed self.  I realized, though, that I had no idea how to choose and buy a computer, much less use one to great effect.  And I felt that I would start out "behind" as far as the technology went, and would always be running to catch up.

The surest way to find a place where I was useful was to stay home and be my Dad's caregiver. He'd just lost the lower part of his leg to complications from diabetes, and the other foot was deteriorating.  During the next several months, I stayed home and dealt unsuccessfully with his depression and his desire to curl up and die. I had a dream that I was in a sort of post-apocalypse world where there was limited electricity... and in fact, limited everything -- and we were rebuilding a culture.  In the dream I was a nurse, with useful, hands on skills that helped people heal.

I woke up thinking, "I should become a massage therapist. Technology is fine and dandy, but it won't be useful in a world where there is no power."  And while I might never know how to use the current technology, I would always know how to run my own two hands.

So I began a year-long massage program in September.  Dad died a few weeks into the course, having been moved to a nursing home during the summer as I became less able to care for him 24/7 by myself.  I carry the guilt of that decision to this day.  I finished my last quarter at the U while I was in massage school, and felt badly I'd never gotten it done while either of my parents were alive to be pleased.

The irony, of course, is that after a couple of years struggling to push myself to charge money for massage so that I could support myself, I wound up taking a part-time job at First Bank... which led to a different job which led to a different job... all with computers.  Nearly 10 years ago, I moved a bit down the ladder of financial success and into the total immersion "career" of church administrator/office manager/communications person...  where I spend 75% of my time on the computer, desk-top publishing, and I do very little massage.

Which is all a prelude to saying that I question taking up this hobby -- blogging about making things -- when I'd be better off, well, MAKING things.  This frustrated comment is brought to you courtesy of my computer, which has once again decided not to connect to the network or internet.  The scan I made earlier today -- of a graduation card made for Tim's beautiful niece Katie -- is stuck on my computer, while I am blogging on Tim's computer.  I'll show it to you eventually -- when technology decides to be my friend.

Anyone for a massage?