I can’t think of a time in my life when four months have
taken longer, except maybe for when I was pregnant, or when I was waiting for
my first novel to appear in the bookstores. But aside from those times, the
four months between when I tendered my resignation to the County Judge and now have been endless. First there was the search for my replacement. Then there
was the pleading for me to stay on long enough to train her. Well, I knew there
was no way I could train her in four or five weeks, and sure enough, I have two
more weeks to go, and she’s not trained, and really won’t be trained until she
has a few elections under her belt. Even then there will be more and more for
her to learn. (Are you reading this, Blanca?) It is a challenging job, and I
gave it a lot of sweat and tears and worry and thought, and now I’m almost out
the door, and the days are creeping by.
When I agreed to stay on, I made a deal to work no more than 27 hours a
week, and they are paying me pretty well to do this, but it has only given me a taste of what the days will be like when they belong to me
again. I have to work my hours in and not exceed the magic number, 27, so I
often go in late in the morning. This allows me some serene time in my yard,
drinking coffee, keeping an eye on Sam as he wanders and plays in the gardens,
and to read. Oh wonder of wonders, to actually read again. To have time for
that and a mind that is free enough to enjoy and comprehend the construction
and development involved in writing a good book. I have been devouring books
during this time of training, one after the other. Books I’ve saved up for when
I had time again, and that is soon to be NOW.
And I’m longing to write. I want to dive in and finish the
“Unfinished Novel,” and start on
new projects, too. I want to write articles, I have ideas, so many stories to
explore before my mind gets too feeble to do all of this. Gee, I hope that
doesn’t happen soon, if it has to happen at all.
I’m reading a wonderful, poignant novel right now by
Cathleen Schine, called THEY MAY NOT MEAN TO, BUT THEY DO.
It’s about family dynamics, the aging of one generation, the caretaker guilt of
another, the coming of age of a third. Very well done. I can hardly put it down,
but then, that’s my kind of story, the interaction of people who love one another,
why we do the things we do to and for each other.
However, once this job ends, I am well aware that I will
have a transition time, and I’m preparing myself for that, to be able to let
go. I know my personality, and I’m a control-freak, too detail-oriented,
magnetized by any challenge. My replacement will learn to do the job her way,
and I will be OK with that, I am OK with it already. It has been good for me in
so many ways, this job, and if I had found it at a younger age, before I took the writing leap, I would probably have
made it a career. I know I will miss the bi-weekly paycheck. There is something
to be said for bi-weekly money, even though I always felt I was sorely underpaid. But I will find a way forward. I almost always have. And I’m
confident, and really ready for this long four months to finally end.
