This is my first big recession. Well, the first that directly affected me. When I was a kid, there were those long lines at the gas pumps, but the worst trauma that came out of that was I had to roll around in the Way Back of my Mom’s Ford LTD station wagon and angst over whether or not I would make it back home in time for Kroft Superstars. Then, in 2001, there was a recession, but I didn’t feel that one, either. I was in health care, so there were just as many patients before as after, and my benevolent employer had already told me I wouldn’t be earning any more money with him (yeah, and I stayed two more years), so clearly there was no dent in my raises/bonuses. Since its inception, the Architect’s then business was a constant struggle to keep afloat, making the crunch of hard times feel no different than what he and I had been struggling with for years. But this one–ah, this one–I’m feeling every single second of it. And, yeah, I’m more than a little scared. It goes to figure when we finally decide to be grownups and buy a house and gut the entire thing, everything goes in the shitter two months later. Sometimes when I think of it, I even feel a little sorry for myself. Then, I think of Nana.
Nana was my great-grandmother. When I was old enough to appreciate her, she was already pushing ninety, and was a self-proclaimed, “Wheezy, woozy, wobbly old bitch.” Nana was born before the turn of the century–not this past one, but the one that used to sound so impressive to young ears. Nana survived two world wars, a depression, the early death of her husband, and rebounded from loss of a breast to cancer in a time when the odds of surviving were clearly out of her favor (and reconstructive surgery was a laughable proposition). She watched one son go to war, and a son-in-law follow. She worked as a telephone operator, and still managed to bake two pies and a cake every week for her family. She saw it all, from the highest of highs, to the lowest of lows. And when my thoughts turn to Nana, I think to myself that if that old bitch could weather rough seas, then so can this young one.
Every generation has its tale of woe. From World War II, to Vietnam, to right now. It’s only natural that if one lives long enough, one will see hard times, along with the good. So, instead of wishing it wouldn’t happen, I will instead wish that we each live long enough to see the bad, and then live long enough to watch our country climb back to the top.
On a related topic (and the tinfoil-hat-type living inside me is shouting that it’s still too early to celebrate), tomorrow is the day when change comes. If I were to allocate my excitement, it would be 35% for the new guy, and 65% for the fact the other one will be gone for good. I’d post this tomorrow (when the inner foil-head girl will finally be silenced–about this topic, anyway), but I’m planning on parking my ass on the sofa and watching the changing of the guards in real-time. It’s the first time I’ll have ever bothered to watch the festivities, so you can guess just how excited I really am for the changeover to occur.
Below is my celebration song (no actual video content, sorry). I have waited a long, long time to play it. If you’re less than enthused about the coming changeover (or offended by Bad Words), skip it.
The lyrics (for those of you that don’t understand metal-speak):