Susan Stephens Writes

Cleaning Up the Matanzas River, One Plastic Bottle at a Time

2015-10-04T13:11:00.004-04:00

Woodsy Owl used to tell us, “Give a hoot, don't pollute.” Wish it was as simple in 2015 as it was in 1970. Trash is so much more present and sobering today.

My eyes were opened to the problem on the Matanzas River in St Johns County when I took a boat ride with Captain and Head Trash Picker Adam Morley and a couple of volunteers, Jess Gott and Amber Distefano. Jess has a group of friends with whom she does regular beach cleanups. She encourages everyone to do it. Put on some gloves, grab a bag, and go. It's that simple.

Trash along the Matanzas

Adam is a tour boat captain in St Augustine and has been on the Matanzas River all his life. He is a conscious steward of our planet and takes good care of his portion of the river. When Adam is taking tour groups out on the Matanzas, he frequently stops to pick up trash in the water. He hopes to show people what we can do to make a difference in caring for where we live.

In addition to touring, Adam says he enjoys trips that just focus on trash collection, because he says he understands the impact on tourism, property values, and the environment. “I know the problem seems overwhelming, but when we each lead by example, our combined efforts make a difference.”

We started off about 8:30 am, with cloudy skies and 75 degrees. We went south from the St Augustine Marina, past the 312 bridge and settled upon a stretch of the Intracoastal Waterway, right by the inlet to Moultrie Creek. The incoming tide was about three hours away.

A bird perches on a sunken piece of catamaran

My job on this journey was to record the trash with an app called Clean Swell, created by the folks at Ocean Conservancy. The app lets you record every single piece of trash you pick up, including cans, plastic bottles, foam pieces, toys, fishing gear, etc. At the end of your journey, you receive an inventory that is also sent to Ocean Conservancy, to collect and record problematic areas and types of trash collected.

A laundry detergent bottle is added to the collection

We found a depressing amount of trash in the salt marsh and along the shoreline: 91 pieces of Styrofoam, 70 plastic bottles, 50 aluminum cans, and countless food wrappers, plastic toys, fishing gear, and assorted oddities. We also retrieved a life vest, a Shimano fishing rod, a big piece of AstroTurf, a boogie board, two ice chests, a kayak paddle, a laundry detergent bottle, a big wooden furniture leg, and four different shoes. All this in about two hours.

It's crucial to note here that everything that gets tossed on land may very well end up in the river. That's where things flow. No one threw a laundry detergent bottle in the river. It starts with someone not realizing that a big wind blew it out of the recycle bin. It starts with the sanitation worker who carelessly lets a piece of trash get by. It starts with us. Remember that.

Our volunteers also found three empty cans of chewing tobacco, one of which was grabbed by Amber who fell in the water while retrieving it. She hung on to the boat while Jess pulled her up from the mucky salt marsh.

AstroTurf and a boogie board

Some of the trash was unreachable by boat because it was along the shoreline in front of the homes in the St Augustine Shores. We found a ditch from a culvert with loads of plastic trash. Unfortunately, it will have to wait for another day.

Matanzas Riverkeeper Neil Armingeon has high praise for people like Adam Morley. He doesn't just provide a service as a tour operator. He takes his job as river steward very seriously and helps rid the waterways of everyday trash.

“Cleanups are hard. You get dirty. It's tiring mentally and physically, and it's also discouraging,” Neil says. “It takes a certain type of person to do cleanups. Adam Morley is a good example. He possesses the most important trait of all: commitment. The community owes him a debt of gratitude for his dedication to cleaner waterways.”

The Matanzas Riverkeeper is a member of the international Waterkeeper Alliance, a citizens' organization whose mission is to defend and protect the health of the Matanzas Watershed.

Ocean Conservancy is in its 30^th year of International Coastal Cleanup Day, held every September. However, why isn't this day celebrated every day of the year? One day makes a big difference around the world, but we can make a difference every day if we just stop to pick up one piece of trash in the river, on the beach, in the ocean, or even on the street where you live, like I do.

Kayak paddle and other big items collected

In addition to picking up trash whenever you see it, try asking for paper or foil instead of a foam takeout box. Don't use straws. And carry a reusable bottle for your water. Small things lead to big results.

By the way, according to the journal Science, plastic entering the ocean each year ranges from approximately 5 to 12 million tons. That number could be as high as 250 million tons in 2025. Ocean Conservancy notes that in 10 years, the ocean could hold one pound of plastic for every three pounds of fish.

The US is ranked 20^th in top countries that have the biggest plastic trash problem. We account for just under one percent of the wayward plastic waste. Sadly, those top 20 countries account for 83 percent of the world's plastic waste.

Salt marsh rodent

Adam's employer, St Augustine Eco Tours, provides a unique interpretation of the local waterways. Serving tourists and residents alike, each member of the team has great passion for environmental conservation beyond the job description, says company owner Zach McKenna. “We are devoted to making a positive impact locally and globally when it comes to teaching about and caring for the natural world.”

An osprey

One of the nicer aspects of taking a trash-picking trip on a boat? You get to see a good variety of wildlife. We saw lots of little crabs! In fact, they were practically covering the big items we found and had to shake them off. We also saw several great and little blue heron, osprey, a few sea turtles, a rodent, and even a snowy egret. A great day on the water, making it better for those who come behind us.

Long May You Run, Shecky

2014-06-04T12:18:00.002-04:00

June 4, 2014

Shecky “Muffin Face” “Professor Little Old Man” Stephens left the physical world today after 15 years and 3 months of pure wonderfulness and love. My little alpha male doggie has seen a lot, experienced a lot, and brought much life into my life. He was born February 28, 1999, and he and his two brothers lost their mom at birth. He was hand-raised and I was fortunate enough to meet him at just 4 weeks old, when he fit in my hand. He's been a loving companion, consoler, and friend, when I needed him most, which was most of the time.

He's been camping. He swam in the Paluxy River among the dinosaur tracks (swam=clung to my shoulder). He's seen the bats fly out from the Congress Avenue bridge. He's traveled across the country and throughout the states of Texas and Florida, and barked at people at the beach during a shuttle launch. He even hiked his leg at the site of the Vicksburg Civil War battle, a spot up on a hill overlooking the Mississippi River. Triumphant.

He once left home for 7 days... I found him at the Arlington animal shelter, he thought he was a bad boy... but I was crying because I was so happy to see him. I always wondered what he experienced, who he saw, what he ate... all I can do is imagine that experience for him. I was so glad to have him back.

He's taken good care of his cat, Naomi, and she's taken good care of her Uncle Shecky. He had ducks at one point.. they followed him around the back yard... just as ducks do.

His muffin face and his heart will always be in my heart. He's the best dog I could have ever asked for and today he rests comfortably and with dignity. I am hoping in my mind that Shecky and Jacob find each other. They used to run up and down the hallway together... they were great friends. I don't know that I'm a believer, but I like to think they will find each other and take care of each other.

It's been a good run and I will always cherish my little Shecky monster. Long may you run, my friend. Long may you run.

My Letter to House & Senate Members Urging Passage of an Unemployment Compensation Extension S.2077

2014-03-06T08:48:00.004-05:00

Below is the letter I wrote to Senate and House members regarding S.2077, the unemployment compensation extension. Below my letter is contact information for key players:

I am writing to urge passage of the unemployment compensation extension bill. I am unemployed and have been since October 1, 2013. My unemployment compensation has run out. The only income I receive now is $85 in food assistance each month. Unemployment was paying me $227 per week.

I am not alone. More than two million people are in the same predicament. They live in your neighborhood, your community, and your state. We desperately need your help.

I am 50 years old, I have a bachelor's degree in journalism, and have more than 25 years of experience in the field. I have not been able to find suitable employment. My immediate needs are urgent. Rent, food, gas, electricity... I don't know if you know what it takes to live on such a small income. Further, having gas money to go to job interviews is crucial.

My chronic back problems, as well as injuries from a car accident in December, prevent me from finding a local food or retail position. As for jobs in my field, they are hard to come by in the Jacksonville, Florida, market.

My dad has been helping me out. He's almost 78 years old, works full time, and is going to retire in April. My dad has worked hard all his life and it's not right that he should be spending his retirement income on me. He deserves to retire and be comfortable and not spend his money supporting me.

I am focused on finding suitable employment, but it's a brutal market. I am NOT lazy. I am NOT looking for a handout. I simply urge you to vote for the extension so I can continue to not only find employment, but also contribute to my local economy. Extending benefits allows us to feed the economy, which makes its way back to the federal government.

I appreciate your yea vote on S.2077.

Contact Your Members of Congress to Voice Your Support

Sen. Harry Reid (Author of S.2077)

My Love-Hate-Love Relationship with My Mom

2013-07-14T22:05:00.003-04:00

My mom had a stroke in January. She had a home health care nurse come in a couple of times a week for physical therapy because her husband, Jerry, was having trouble taking care of her. She was also declining in mental health, having conversations with her parents and others who had passed.

I began calling her every week because she was scared and wanted contact with her family. As I spoke to her often, I realized she was in no way the woman she used to be. She probably didn't even remember the woman she used to be. My calls comforted her and brought her much love. My feelings evolved since January, and all my bad feelings sort of flew out the window. She was scared and needed me to talk to her often. So I did.

Eventually, Jerry could no longer care for her because he's legally blind, and my mom kept falling and he couldn't help her. All he wanted was for her to be safe, so she was put into an excellent nursing facility with a very caring staff who grew to love her. I still called her every week. She had good days and bad days, and even when she was rambling on about things I could not understand, I still reassured her that I loved her. Her mental and physical health were declining rapidly, something we did not expect.

I spoke to her a week before she died. She was in a great mood, laughing, giggling, and telling me how much she loved me. She even told me to be good, and if I can't be good, be careful. It was a great conversation.

The following Thursday, June 13, she thought she could stand up, so she tried, she fell, and fractured her hip. According to her will, and the wishes of her husband... surgery was ruled out because it would not enhance her quality of life at all. That day she was made comfortable with a morphine drip and the best care possible. The nurse told me every detail about what had happened, and said typically, people pass within 5-7 days. The nurse also told me she could hold the phone up to my mom's ear so I could talk to her. Mom was pretty much comatose, but still opened her eyes and looked around when the nurses spoke to her. Not knowing what to say, I decided to wait and form my thoughts to say goodbye.

I called her on Saturday, June 15, and the nurse put the phone up to her ear. I told her how much I love her, how much Neal, Heather, Ben, Debby, and Jerry love her. I told her it was OK to finally give in... it's OK to let go because everything will be all right. The last thing I said was "I love you, mom." She passed away four hours later.

I have no guilt, no remorse... I did not forgive her for the neglect. All I did was love her in her final months and reassure her that everyone is OK. I am very comfortable with my feelings, then and now. Raila Michelson passed away peacefully, which is all we wanted. This has been the most difficult time of my life, mourning that vibrant woman with the loud voice who was my mom.

Mom in a Box, or Embracing Cremation

2013-07-14T21:37:00.000-04:00

I really don't have a problem with cremation. It's practical, efficient, and cost effective. It also allows the deceased to rest anywhere they want without taking up valuable real estate. And it eliminates the agony of picking out a casket, ordering flowers, and having a headstone made. However, in Jewish tradition, we don't do flowers.

My stepdad picked up mom's remains in Bellingham last week. She was cremated near the nursing facility where she had been the past couple of months. I suddenly became upset, thinking about my mom's body reduced to ashes in a small box. My therapist always reminds me to say "her body," and not "her." I still think of it as Mom in a Box. We're scattering them at Puget Sound at the end of July.. me, stepdad, my aunt, and my uncle.

PerfectMemorials.com

As I learned with my best friend's death in 2011, the body is only a physical manifestation of who he is.. or she is, in this case. Sitting at Jacob's grave in Lancaster, Texas, a year and a half ago, I felt a lot of pain thinking he was buried under a pile of dirt. I had to convince myself that it was not him. Just the physical manifestation. Now I'm having the same problem thinking about my mom in that way.

Like my best friend, my mom's memories are in my heart and in my head and no one will ever take it away. I just think it's weird that she's a pile of ashes in a box. It's my mom. Her body doesn't exist anymore. I'll never see her again. I won't have a grave by which to sit and grieve.

It's only been three weeks and I'm still grieving, obviously. It just started hurting more/again when I learned she was cremated and now she's in a box. I hear my therapist in my head, yelling at me that it's only been three weeks and I still have to let it hurt. Dangit.

I have never had a problem with cremation until now. Well, I guess I don't have a problem with it in itself. But now that my mom is in that state, it hurts all over again.

Time lapse - one week

I've decided to embrace the thought of mom's cremains. I've decided to place a small part of Mom in a Box in my own memorial necklace. It's such an odd concept. At first I thought it was really strange.. but with encouragement from my sister-in-law and an old friend from Texas, I realized it was kind of cool. A piece of mom in a pretty stainless steel vial with a leaf etching on it. You glue it shut and it comes with a necklace cord, so I can wear a piece of mom. Still sort of odd, but I like it.

Raila Esta Michelson | Obituary for my Mom

2013-06-17T09:11:00.001-04:00

Raila Esta Michelson (now Watkinson) passed away peacefully on June 15, 2013. She was born in Jacksonville, Florida, on March 22, 1939, to Edith and Leo Michelson. She and her family were avid congregants of the Jacksonville Jewish Center, since her grandparents came to Jacksonville from The Bronx in the 1930s. Her grandfather, Abe Weiss, owned the Star Bakery, which eventually became Worman's.

Raila graduated from Robert E Lee High School in 1956.

Raila was a wonderfully vibrant woman with a voice that could be heard above all others. She had a great sense of humor and loved to laugh.

She died in Bellingham, Washington, near her home in Mount Vernon. She was comfortable and peaceful when she passed.

Raila Michelson is survived by her loving husband, Jerry Watkinson, of Mount Vernon, Washington; her son Neal Attinson of Sonoma, California; her daughter Susan Attinson Stephens of St Augustine, Florida; her sister, Debby Michelson, of Harrisburg, Pennsylvania; her brother, Ben Michelson of Phoenix, Arizona; and granddaughter, Heather Stephens of Amsterdam, Netherlands. She also had several nieces, nephews, and cousins.

Services are at the end of July in Mount Vernon, Washington, to share in her peace.

וְעַל כָּל [עַמּוֹ] יִשְֹרָאֵל וְאִמְרוּ אָמֵן. הוּא [בְּרַחֲמָיו] יַעֲשֶֹה שָׁלוֹם עָלֵינוּ, עוֹשֶֹה שָׁלוֹם בִּמְרוֹמָיו,

Eulogy for My Best Friend

2012-01-08T09:14:00.000-05:00

Eulogy for Jacob Jones
July 8, 1980 - October 23, 2011

Jacob was my best friend. We were soul mates. I've never been so intellectually intimate with anyone as I was with my best friend Jacob. We shared everything.. the wonderful and the wretched.

Jacob was an incredibly beautiful person inside and out. He was very special and very intellectually gifted. His strong political views guided him... he wanted to make a difference that mattered to people. He wanted to fight for what's right.

Being in news together prevented us from having any visible leanings... but regardless, we did what we could on our own to get out the vote. A few days after George Bush beat John Kerry in 2004, we got together and visited a 9/11 exhibit at a museum in Fort Worth. On the drive home, we realized how incredibly moving it was.. then intense sadness set in. Jacob started crying. I started crying. We were devastated by the election results, and seeing what people suffered on 9/11 all came together in one big ball of emotions that day. We went to my house and just sat and held hands. His presence was always comforting, and we shared so many moments like that. Making things hurt less.

His wonderful compassion showed in so many ways.

Earlier that year, 2004, my daughter went off to college in California. As parents, we all prepare for that day, but it doesn't make it any easier. Heather came over, said goodbye, and left. I called Jacob and he was at my house in 10 minutes with a 6-pack of beer and the biggest hugs I've ever felt. He lessened the hurt for me. Something he was so good at. Then the conversation turned and it was my turn to support him... that same night, Jacob told me he was gay. He was scared but incredibly courageous. We held onto each other... it had a deeply profound impact on our relationship. That night we decided to support each other no matter what. He always said we met for a reason.. and it was to be there for each other. I like to think he's there for me now. And there for all of us.

I was so proud of his success through law school and beyond... so proud of the man he had become.. so proud of the self motivation to succeed. He put his love and compassion into everything he touched.

He wrote me this in an email a few years ago... I'd like to share it with you:
"We didn't ask for any of this stuff....but we owe it to ourselves to live the good life...and to give ourselves the freedom and courage to be as happy as possible."

I am so incredibly lucky to have existed in Jacob's world. He will always exist in mine. I love you, Jacob Jones.

Lamb Wreaks Havoc on School*

2011-07-21T16:56:00.003-04:00

JACKSONVILLE, Fla - A small lamb that escaped a nearby farm made its way into a local elementary school on Thursday, injuring 3 children and destroying books and other school supplies in its path. It was eventually shot and killed by JSO officers.

The lamb, described as a small, 4-legged mammal, was covered in snow white fur and wore a collar with a tag that read, "Property of Mary." Wildlife officials said the lamb may have come from Old McDonald's Farm, but those reports have not been confirmed.

JSO police sergeant Mickey Mouse said officers responded to the scene and found the lamb inside one of the classrooms, chewing on some books. A teacher and some students were huddled under desks and were unable to escape. When two officers entered the classroom, Mouse said the lamb acted aggressively and lunged at them. That's when, Mouse said, officers opened fire.

"The lamb was shot several times by both officers," Mouse said. "The lamb was still breathing when Jacksonville Fire Rescue units arrived. He was transported to Shands Jacksonville Medical Center, where he later died."

Mouse said the two officers have been placed on administrative leave, which is standard procedure in an officer-involved shooting. Mouse said the shooting is under investigation.

Family members arrived at the school and were quickly ushered into a private room. A family spokesperson said the lamb's owner, Mary, did not realize the lamb had followed her to school that day.

"Mary is distraught over the incident," the spokesperson said. "She didn't realize anyone would get hurt."

Counselors are being provided at the school for any students that may be having difficulty dealing with the situation. The school principal did not respond to phone calls or emails.

We will update this story as more information becomes available.

*The story you have just read is fictitious. Any similarity to any person, place, or thing is purely coincidental. And ridiculous.

On The Immortality Of Certain Dogs

2011-02-14T12:39:00.000-05:00

Rental the dog is immortal. I'm convinced of that.

We were hiking along a river trail at Suwannee River State Park in Live Oak, Florida, when we came upon a clearing from the river bank back up to the trail. At the top of the hill was a dog. We assumed he belonged to some other campers, but being the devoted dog people that we are, we had to say hello and give him a pat on the head.

Rental was golden and white. He was a mutt, of course, like all of us. He probably weighed about 60 pounds or so. He looked like he had some retriever in him because of his shape and his long, waggy tail. Maybe a little springer spaniel. Maybe a little Lab in there, too. He was quite friendly. We gave him a hearty hello with a good scratching and looked around for campers to whom he may have belonged. There was no one around.

We continued our hike, heading back to the trail head that led to the campground. Rental followed us the whole way, stopping and sniffing things, peeing on some important spots to mark his territory. He walked ahead of us, looking back over his shoulder occasionally to see if we were still there. He was gentle and precious, yet had the scars of a warrior. He had obviously seen some battles. He had some scars on his face, running from the top of his nose down one side to his mouth. One of his ears was torn, but had healed long ago. It looked like a bite was taken out of his right ear, with a couple of little furry skin flaps hanging off. He also had another small bald spot on his ear. All his wounds seemed to be long healed. He was in pretty good shape, except for needing a bath. And he was not neutered, displaying his manhood proudly as he strolled ahead of us.

Rental followed us back to our campsite. We gave him a bowlful of water. He wasn't very skinny, so he must've had a steady diet of something. John lit a fire in the ring and we sat gathering warmth from the flames and the vodka, tonic and cranberry juice. Oh, and a twist of lime.

A few years ago, I came up with a business plan in my head. I had been on vacation in St. Augustine, Florida, before I had moved here, and as I walked along the beach, I saw other people playing with their dogs. I wished I had brought Shecky with me. Shecky was at camp back in Arlington, Texas. I decided that in my future, I was going to have a house full of dogs and live near the beach. I would rent out my dogs to people who went on vacation without their dogs. Dogs could be rented for the day. While I struggled to make a freelance writing career flourish, the dogs would get plenty of attention each day on their adventures. Because of my business plan, we decided to name our Suwannee stray dog Rental.

Rental sat by the fire with us, at times putting his paws up on John's knee, then on mine. We scratched his head. If we stopped, he'd put his paws down on the ground, only to put one back up as if to say, "Hey, I want more."

Rental found his way into our tent and laid down on some blankets and took a nap while we cooked dinner. We shared our steak and veggies with him. Rental was a carnivore. He only ate the steak.

After dinner, we talked about him and what his adventures must have been. I decided that Rental must've been immortal. Or had at least lived there for hundreds of years.

The Timucuan Indians lived on east side of the Suwannee River. The river was the boundary between the Timucuan and the Apalachee Indians, who lived on the west side. They inhabited the area around 1530, when the Spanish made their way into north Florida from the Atlantic Ocean and St. Augustine. The Timucuan praised the river as sacred to their Sun God.(1) Rental may have lived among the tribes. His golden coloring may have made him sacred as a creation of the Sun God.

In the 1700s, Seminole Indians lived in the area. The river was thought to be a healing ground, where Indians would come to seek peace in the mineral waters. The waters were thought to have such healing properties, perhaps as special as the waters at the Fountain of Youth in St. Augustine. Rental bathed in the water, which gave him eternal youth.

The Suwannee became a major route during the Civil War, transporting cargo for Confederate soldiers. It was in 1864 when the Confederate soldiers defended the cargo route against the Union army at the Battle of Olustee.(2) Rental's facial scars and torn ear may have been the result of that historic battle.

Rental did not know Stephen Foster, who penned "Old Folks At Home," also known as "Way Down Upon The Swanee River." Stephen Foster never stepped foot in Florida and never even saw the Suwannee River. He wrote the song in 1851 for Christy's Minstrels and the location was chosen from an atlas to go along with the poetry of the song.(3) I don't know if Stephen Foster even owned a dog in his lifetime (1826-1864).

I like to imagine that Rental started sleeping in tents with the Timucuan in the 1500s. That's how he knew to make himself at home on some nice blankets in our tent. Rental slept with us that night, making those cute dog noises that they make when they're sleeping.

We let Rental out when we woke up and he wandered off, coming back in time to enjoy some eggs and bacon. We took another hike along the river after packing up our stuff and before leaving the park. Rental followed us along the trail again, occasionally stepping into the water and taking a drink. We made it back to the spot where he found us. We thought he'd go off and leave us at that point. He did wander into the woods, but came back as we hiked back to the trail head. As John and I approached our campsite, we noticed that Rental was not following us anymore. There was no sign of him. We packed the rest of our stuff into the truck and left the park.

Rental liked to share some time, eat some food, and sleep. That's his job as a dog. He knew he wasn't going to go home with us. So John decided that Rental didn't like goodbyes. No one likes goodbyes. He knew he'd see us next time upon the Suwannee River.

1 http://fcit.usf.edu/florida/lessons/suwannee/suwannee.htm

2 http://www.floridastateparks.org/history/parkhistory.cfm?parkid=87

3 http://www.pitt.edu/~amerimus/OldFolksatHome.html

Chocolate Chip Cookies that have the allusion of being good for you

2010-12-15T20:45:00.001-05:00

I can't remember where I found this recipe, so forgive me to whomever it belongs to. I absolutely love these cookies. They're made with whole wheat flour, less butter and sugar, so they have the allusion of being better for you. Only 99 calories per cookie. They make great holiday baking gifts. Or just make them for yourself and eat them all. Happy Chanukah, Happy Christmas, Happy Solstice, Happy New Year, Happy Everything!

Chocolate Chip Cookies

3/4 cup rolled oats (grind in a spice mill)
1 cup whole wheat flour
1/2 tsp baking soda
1/2 tsp salt
1/4 cup softened butter
1/4 cup canola oil
1/3 cup white sugar
1/3 cup brown sugar
1 egg
1 tsp vanilla
1 cup chocolate chip cookies
1/2 cup walnuts or pecans, chopped up (optional)

Preheat oven to 350° and spray two cookies sheets with oil.

Stir together oats, flour, baking soda and salt. Beat butter with an electric mixer until fluffy. Add oil, both sugars, egg and vanilla. Beat until smooth and creamy. With mixer running, add dry ingredients, beating on low speed until combined. Fold in chocolate chips and nuts.

Drop by teaspoonfuls on the cookie sheets. Bake for 14 minutes. Cool 2 minutes and transfer to wire rack or paper towels to cool.

Makes about 2 1/2 dozen.

Nearing 47, I'm Searching For A Light Switch

2010-11-22T11:01:00.000-05:00

My neck, shoulders and lower spine are a mass of degenerative tissue. In layman's terms, I have arthritis. Plus, I have signs of menopause. I'm six days away from turning 47. Thanks for the genes, and you know who you are.

I have had a string of unfortunate incidences, some of which are related to the arthritis and others may be related to I-don't-know-what.

I lost my job in June. The stress sent me to the ER with incredible back pain that would not go away. After about two weeks, I was able to get around again.

The job hunt continued, but I took a full-time minimum wage tourism job while I still searched for that perfect opportunity in a journalism-related profession. The job in which I took had me outside in 90 degree heat/90 percent humidity for eight hours a day. I had to resign because I was coming home with heat exhaustion every night. I loved the job but could not withstand the Florida heat and humidity for extended periods without jumping into the ocean or a pool.

I have done a series of freelance writing jobs, including re-writing an entire website for a home remodeler. I took great joy at learning all about kitchens and bathrooms and roofing and siding. I wrote a couple of resumes. I wrote a few other articles for publications. I also educated myself in certain areas, such as social media and analytics, so I could add fresh content to my resume. I also have a dog-walking job.

With the holiday season approaching, I realized I could get a temporary retail job. In my overzealousness, I did not realize what standing for eight hours a day would do to my back. It has not been pretty. Lower back spasms leading to headaches and a couple of migraines. My feet and legs were sore, but that was nothing compared to the aggravation of the arthritis in my back.

The full-time job hunt continues. I'm being considered for two at present, hoping for an offer any day now. I had great interviews for the positions and have sent my follow-up letters. As with all other jobs, it's now a waiting game. I am continuing to search for writing-related jobs in which mostly sitting is involved. I can sit for hours and write, as long as I get up once an hour or so and move about the room. But standing for eight hours--out of the question, unfortunately.

Not only has the job hunt and wretched job market beaten me down, now the physicality (is that a word?) has beaten me down. My parents and friends have been extremely supportive, but I cannot help but feel like I'm failing at so many things. I tried to leave the pity party the week after I lost my job. Every now and then I get invited back. I refuse to go, kicking and screaming. Sometimes I lose the battle.

Time to pull myself up again by my bootstraps and continue the search for a position, hopefully in my field, which is mentally fulfilling and physically comfortable. Bored as hell--I try to remain busy as well as distracted. Keeping my mind occupied does well to keep the lights on in my darkness.

This week I'm searching for the light switch as I approach 47 years old. I'll pretend I'm a fine wine. Or at least a pretty good beer.

Always Use Personal Pest Control On Florida Hiking Trails

2010-10-06T20:55:00.000-04:00

I am an outdoors woman. A walk in the woods helps me find peace. Usually.

I like Guana River State Park, one of the non-camping Florida state parks. I was feeling stressed and I needed to get outside. I wanted the serenity of a forest. I needed hiking trails.

Guana Tolomato Matanzas National Estuarine Research Reserve (GTMNERR), as it is also known, is a great choice. It's flat, as is most of Florida, so it's not strenuous.

I was equipped with my phone, water and a notepad and pen. I had been there before, so I didn't grab a trail map. I took the orange trail. It was nearly two miles, winding through the forest and marshes. I pictured myself sitting on a bench taking notes and enjoying the view.

About 10 minutes into the walk, I realized the buzzing bugs weren't letting up. Determined as I was to walk off the stress, I kept on. There were mosquitos, the beloved Florida love bug, gnats, wasps, and whatever else buzzes. I swatted them away here and there. I don't pack bug spray because mosquitos don't make me itch.

You don't encounter thick insect life in your neighborhood because of mosquito control. Big mosquito spraying trucks come through to control the nuisances. I was in a state park. They don't spray for mosquitos.

I kept walking and swatting. I focused on the trees and plants and the rustling of birds and other wildlife. I watched birds and butterflies flitter and flutter. I studied plants and fungus. I even came upon a pile of scat. Apparently, those seeds were not digestible.

The trails at Guana intersect and at each intersection is a wooden post with a primitive map. The constant buzzing was irritating me and perhaps I did not read the map correctly. I followed the orange trail. Or so I thought. I found myself walking in the same direction that I had walked just 20 minutes earlier. I knew this because I found the same pile of scat. I turned around because the day was not turning out the way I imagined.

I wanted stress to disappear for a couple of hours. Instead, I was discontented, hot, sweaty and swatting.

I found a wooden post and studied the map again. I took a different route.

I pride myself on my outdoors skills. Camping, hiking, animal track identification and short-term survival skills among them. When you're in the wild, it's important to remember the wildlife was there long before we were. I was in their home. Also home to the snake in the middle of the trail. He wasn't big, maybe two feet long, gray and blotchy. My contact lenses were fuzzy from sweat, so I tried to get as close as I safely could to see the shape of his head. A diamond-shaped head usually means the snake is venomous. I don't think it was diamond-shaped. I know a few types of snakes in Florida. Sometimes the blotched pattern belongs to a rattler. We stared at each other. I heard no rattle. Good sign. It also helps to remember size ratio. I was a lot bigger. Snakes don't bother me much, but this encounter only added to the incessant buzzing and somewhat lost feeling. I did remember how to scare away a snake. I started stomping my feet! He slithered into the brush. I stomped a few more times to be certain he was gone.

The trail was clear, although I did keep a better eye under foot. Alligators are prevalent at Guana. I did not encounter any, although nothing would've surprised me.

I found my way out. By the time I made it back to my truck, I was dirty with bug squashings, tired, thirsty, disheartened, but relieved. I cranked on the A/C and drove home.

After a cool shower, I looked through my Audubon reptile book. There were a few that resembled the one I encountered. It might have been an Atlantic Salt Marsh snake, although I'm not certain. Could be too far north. They make their habitat in Volusia County (Daytona), about an hour's drive south.

I learned a couple of lessons. Always pack the bug spray. And always grab a paper map no matter how many times you've been to the park.

I did not find tranquility that day. It's not deterring me from going back. I am normally fearless. I am an accomplished outdoors woman, constantly in search of mental and physical survival methods.

Photo notes: Atlantic Salt Marsh Snake courtesy NPS.gov; Me with the ball python courtesy some woman near St. George St. in downtown St. Augustine.

The Unemployment Office Should Hire More People

2010-09-19T22:31:00.000-04:00

"Please don't yell at me, I'm wearing a headset," said the faceless voice on the phone. He had a nice voice, sort of caring and empathetic. I quit yelling.

I had to deal with the unemployment office last week. It's never a good time and it's always time-consuming.

When you call the main number for the Agency for Workforce Innovation in Florida, it's very difficult to get through. There are about 1.08 million unemployed people in Florida. Most of the time I've called, I get a recording that says, "We are experiencing a high call volume. Please try your call again later." Then the system hangs up on you. The other day when I called, I finally got through after three or four tries. Once you're through, you still have to wait. "Estimated wait time is 15 minutes." I'm in.

I put the speaker phone on because it's easier to wait that way. They play music in between announcements. It is THE worst music I've ever heard. Seriously. And it sounded like it was broadcast through a metal tube. Note to self: see if the dollar store has earplugs.

After a few minutes, I was finally connected to the nice gentleman I yelled at. He deals with people like me every day, all day long. My frustration and anger were no different than his call before me or after me. I am one of 1.08 million, or a fraction of 11.7 percent, unemployed in the state of Florida (August 2010). Thankful I don't live in Hendry County in south Florida. That county's rate is 20.6 percent for August 2010, the highest in the state.

My frustration, which I had expressed to the nice gentleman, was that I had an issue I called them about five weeks ago. Four days prior to this conversation, I was told I would get a call within 48 hours. I have no math skills, yet I can figure out that those don't add up. Maybe it wasn't 48 hours in a row? He asked me to stop yelling, he attended to and resolved one aspect of my case, then he referred me to another person for my final issue. I told him he was very good at his job. If the unemployment office ever laid him off, he could probably make good money as a successful crisis counselor. Spending multitudinous years in radio, I know a good voice when I hear one. He did get me to shut up.

On to the next call, the one he referred me to. I was shocked that I got through to a live person on the first try. The woman I spoke to said although I had raised this issue five weeks ago, she only got my case two days ago. She apologized, took all my information, then told me if she didn't call me back by Tuesday, I was to call her back. She said she would take care of it.

These two phone calls eased my mind to a certain degree, although I am still aghast at the time it takes to get your case handled. I'm no Dave Denslow, but I know enough that if there's a huge supply of rutabaga and not enough farmers taking care of them, it makes sense to hire more farmers. Right, Dave?

I'm grateful that unemployment compensation is offered for people like me. When you have such a large contingent of said unemployed, there needs to be a better way to administer need. I have no solution to offer. Economics and logistics are not my strong suits. But certainly the system needs to be thoroughly vetted and perhaps redesigned. Ironically, it could create more jobs. Maybe I do know economics. Perhaps it's a job for Alex Sink when she's elected.

I can't say I won't yell at government agencies on the phone anymore. I'm unemployed, slightly distraught, and very frustrated. I'm human. However, I can apologize to the faceless strangers who care enough about their jobs to make callers feel unlike a number and more like a human.

How I Kicked Cymbalta's Ass - My Withdrawal Experience

2010-08-26T23:04:00.000-04:00

Caveat: I'm not a doctor. Nor do I play one on TV. This is simply my personal experience trying to wean off an antidepressant. I will not make any suggestions or implications, nor will I make any negative remarks about the manufacturer, Lilly USA.

I have kicked Cymbalta's ass. Mostly. I had been on the medication for about two years. At the time my doctor and I agreed to wean me off it, I was in a good place. I take two other medications which help to control a chemical imbalance (neurotransmitters) in my brain. I was diagnosed with depression in 1993; some years later I was diagnosed with bipolar II, meaning I had more lows than mania. It's a technical term. I'm no maniac.

My doctor wrote specific instructions on how to taper off Cymbalta. He indicated that I halve the dose (I had been on 60 mg), take the 30 mg capsules for a period of time, then take every other day. He indicated that after a period of six weeks, I will be done with it. I love my doctor; I have been seeing him for 4.5 years. He knows me well, yet he did not tell me anything about withdrawal symptoms. Usually a doctor will say, "You might feel some mild discomfort." He didn't even allude to that.

Instead of weaning off it for a period of six weeks, it took me twice as long. As of this writing, I have been completely Cymbalta-free for one week. The past three weeks have been extremely difficult, i.e. living hell.

I lost my job two months ago, but still decided to eliminate Cymbalta from my diet. I pride myself on my ability (most of the time) to intellectually pull myself out of a temporary depressed state. So I thought I'd be fine.

When the six weeks of weaning were up, I stopped Cymbalta completely, as directed by my doctor. Two days later I started getting that "tingling" feeling you get when you stop an antidepressant. I figured it would go away. I started feeding my withdrawals by taking 30 mg every three days, instead of every other day. I stopped completely again. After about five days, I got the tingling again, along with dizziness and irritability. I was jumping out of my skin. I felt horrible and nauseous and just plain ill. I was difficult to be around, according to a certain loved one. I couldn't even stand to be with myself. It was in a word -- horrific.

I could not continue functioning in the state I was in. I started Googling "Cymbalta withdrawal" and came across several depression forums. I'd read several depression forums before, and the majority seemed to be a bunch of people complaining about their situation, rather than offering solutions or coping mechanisms. The same tone came up when I searched for information on withdrawal symptoms and solutions. One person did say she had some success by drinking tons of Gatorade. I was skeptical and quit reading the forums. I found no other site which had suggestions for relief, no matter how many key words I searched.

I still had a few Cymbalta left. I recall my doctor saying at one point that when you open the capsule, the drug is in tiny beads, rather than a powder. So I started opening capsules and pouring the beads into a Tupperware mini midget thing. Every day I would take a few beads and it would help the withdrawal symptoms. I did that for about two weeks. I am now Cymbalta-free and have been for one week.

I'm still tingling occasionally. I still have a few moments of dizziness and nausea. And I'm still a little edgy. For the most part, I'm done.

What I find unbelievable is the power of the drug. Even when I took tiny doses and tapered from there, I still felt the withdrawal symptoms. And being Cymbalta-free for a week and still tingling and dizzy, I am in awe of its effects on my system.

I won't offer my method as a solution. Every person is different. My reactions could be the opposite of anyone else's. I'm simply a writer with a chemical imbalance in my brain. I pride myself on intellectually controlling my state a good chunk of the time. I will never be off pharmaceuticals completely, but I will always be my doctor's science experiment. It helps his profession to determine which drugs work better than others. Most of the time I'm happy to participate; other times I curse it. After 17 years on antidepressants, I'm hoping to advance the intelligence by being a lab mouse.

Again, I present a disclaimer. I'm only speaking from experience. I do not offer any solution or make any recommendations. We are all individuals with different engineering.

My Tour de Elvis Bathroom

2010-08-17T00:39:00.000-04:00

I have an Elvis bathroom.

Over the years, I have collected a great amount of Elvis stuff, for no reason other than to have it. My Elvis stuff used to be tucked away in boxes, but when I moved into my townhome two and a half years ago, I went through every single item I own. That's when I realized just how much Elvis stuff I have.

Dedicating a room in my house to Elvis was without question. The bathroom is so obvious! The King died on throne in the wee hours of the morning on August 16, 1977. He was found hunched over and blue, after an alleged night of tennis. Putting all my Elvis stuff in the bathroom is appropriate and honorable.

My downstairs half bath is the Elvis Bathroom. Among the decorations: postage stamp earrings, an Elvis flyswatter, a phone that plays Jailhouse Rock instead of ringing, the King of Rock game, a pop-up birthday card, a shot glass, a drink stirrer, a discography, TV Guide, "Are You Hungry Tonight?" cookbook, a purse, several postcards and photos, books and pictures. And one VHS tape of "Elvis Dead or Alive?"

I'm also including a picture of me from 1993, standing next to the famous gates at Graceland. On that trip, I visited the gift shop and bought an Elvis pill box for my friend Don. Still looking for another one. The pill bottles on my sink in the Elvis bathroom have only been placed for effect.

Instead of boring you with catchy captions, I simply present these pictures. I hope you enjoy them. (Keep in mind, I got a C in photojournalism).

Twitter Hashtags For Jobseekers

2010-08-13T11:37:00.000-04:00

I have compiled a rough list of Twitter hashtags for jobseekers and have included a few for my field of journalism. I hope these help in your job search. Please comment, message me, or tweet me @sastephens if you want to add some. I'm so happy to try to make a difference for my jobhunting brothers and sisters. When you get knocked down, the only thing to do is get up. Don't ever hide your greatness. My resume can be found on LinkedIn: http://bit.ly/a5OeTi

#branding
#business
#candidate
#career_change
#careerchange
#careerchat (Tuesdays 1pm eastern)
#corporate
#creative
#dreamjob
#employee
#employment
#FLjobs
#floridajobs
#greenjobs
#HFchat (Hire Friday chat Fridays 12pm eastern)
#hirefriday
#hireme
#hiring
#hotjobs
#hr
#humanresources
#interview
#jobhunt
#jobless
#jobs
#jobsearch
#jobseeker
#journalismjobs
#linkedin
#management
#marketing
#marketingjobs
#needajob
#personalbranding
#PR
#prjobs
#resume
#resumes
#tweetmyjobs
#tweetmyresume
#unemployed
#unemployment
#work
#media
#mediajobs
#workwednesday
#writingjobs

My Power Of Learning Social Media

2010-08-12T01:00:00.001-04:00

One of the wonders of the internet is that you can self-educate yourself on virtually anything. Twenty years ago I used to think how cool it would be to log onto a computer, ask it a question, and get an answer. I could've invented Google. Dangit.

When I finally went back to college at 31 years old to get a piece of paper that says I know stuff about communications and journalism, I was there because I wanted to be there. I wanted to learn, not just more about writing, but about everything. On a limited budget, however, I had to stick to the plan.

Being unemployed, I'm finding myself with lots of time on my hands. Duh. I'm productive, I'm sending out resumes, I'm soliciting freelance writing work, yet still have spare time. Aside from making my house spotless and becoming at one with my crockpot, I'm educating myself. I'm immersing myself in the world of social media.

I'm reading a lot about personal branding and networking and I've learned the power of a blog and a tweet. Social media has become such a powerful tool, far beyond anything I had ever imagined. I'm now adding that experience to my resume. I can rewrite my knowledge, skills, and abilities 20 more times using thesaurus.com, but being unemployed and capable of adding new information is extraordinary.

I did a favor for an associate recently and used social media to try to save 40 employees at his company. My blogging and tweeting reached several levels of government and media, but more importantly, it reached the executive board of the company that could put him out of business. My persistent use of social media as a tool in this case made a difference. Regardless of the situation's outcome, I reached a lot of relevant and influential people.

I'm learning how to get my point across using social media. And I am truly enhancing my resume by capitalizing on my unexpected free time. I research, I read a LOT, I study, I ponder, I experiment; embracing the educational experience is keeping my brain moving and spirits lifted. I'm also learning that scheduled tweets are really not a bad tool. Just a little impersonal.

Unemployment is a terribly demeaning situation. My self-esteem plummets, my self-confidence is on a rollercoaster, yet I find these bursts of power all from learning something new.

I'm not only learning about social media. I'm taking the time to learn the history of the city in which I live, I'm educating myself on Florida primary issues, and I bought a domain name (iliveinstaugustine.com). I allow myself down time when I know I've done some good self-marketing work. Job hunting is exhausting but I remind myself that I'm making major improvements to my marketing tools.

I'm Sick As A Dog, Or, I'm Blue Collar And Proud

2010-08-01T15:21:00.000-04:00

I couldn't decide upon a title for this blog, so I wrote two. The former is simply because that's how I'm feeling right now.

After spending five weeks unemployed, I found a full-time job at just above minimum wage to make me happy, keep me busy, and so I didn't have to collect unemployment compensation from the government. My job is historical interpreter at the Fountain of Youth Archaeological Park in St. Augustine, Florida, where I live. I absolutely love the job as well as the environment. Who wouldn't want to work in a 15-acre park on the intra-coastal, rich with history (Ponce de Leon landed there in 1513; it's the oldest continuously occupied European settlement in North America), artifacts, peacocks, and some pretty awesome people? To say I love it is an understatement. I feel quite lucky to have found a gem of a job with a six-mile commute to boot. I'm hoping to combine it with freelance writing and a roommate, so I have enough to survive. I don't want to lose a wonderful job so I'm determined to make it all work.

I just finished my first week at the Fountain of Youth, working four full days. I was supposed to work five. However, my tolerance for heat is a notch below what I need it to be. It's all a matter of building up to a higher tolerance and stamina to withstand being outside in Florida's heat and humidity for eight hours a day. Two days in a row of heat advisories didn't really help. I was confident in my abilities, having lived in Texas for 12 years and withstanding 100+ degree days. I wasn't outside for eight hours a day, but I can still withstand a lot. I do spend a lot of time at the beach, but there's also an ocean in which to cool off.

Last night when I got home after my fourth day, I peeled off my sweaty clothes, as I've done every evening, and hopped into a nice, cool shower. I ate a little bit of dinner, but then started feeling worse as the evening progressed. I had been pretty much fine the rest of the week. I felt progressively worse and ended up praying to the porcelain goddess. I finally passed out last night, but the illness picked up again this morning.

Every day at the park, I would drink a lot of water, vitamin water with electrolytes, eat a healthy lunch, and I also took fruit breaks; I loaded up on oranges and other fruits. I did everything I was supposed to do. Yesterday afternoon, when I started feeling the effects, Heidi said everyone went through the same thing the first week. Nausea, weakness, dizziness, and headaches were normal. I wasn't really concerned about it. However, now I understand why John, the one who hired me, asked me if I wanted to dive in the first week with five full days. I was so ready.

I learned I do have a pretty good amount of stamina for this heat. I just have to up the strength a notch or two. We did have two days in a row of heat advisories. Temps were in the upper 90s with a heat index up to 110°. Temps are normally in the low 90s and the humidity percentage in northeast Florida can hover around the 60s and 70s during the day and higher overnight. Right now, at 3pm, it's 95 degrees with 56 percent humidity.

Hence, I was sick as a dog last night and this morning. By the way, I just tried to find the origin of that saying. Why would I be "sick as a dog?" There doesn't seem to be a definite answer, but from what I gathered, it originated in the 17th century when dogs were not fed complete and balanced Purina One or Kibbles-n-Bits dog food. So they got sick a lot. Other dog sayings may come from their way of life: dog-tired probaby relates to the amount of sleep they get. My dog sleeps about 20 hours a day.

Despite being ill on day five of my new work week, I am proud to be working. I'm making approximately half my last average newsroom salary and I'm proud. I'm not collecting unemployment compensation from the government. No one else is supporting me but me. I have to make up the difference with freelance writing. I also have to sacrifice some privacy by taking on a roommate. I am fully prepared for all of it. I think sometimes, even if we have a university degree, we take that lifestyle for granted. We're making enough money to survive with the skills we chose to learn and use. When I lost that and was forced to make the lifestyle change to a "blue collar" job, I suddenly became quite proud. I'm working hard and I'm lucky to have found a job I really enjoy. I didn't like the feeling of living off the government. They need all the money they can get right now without me having to sit around and hunt for a higher salary position while collecting their money. I can now say I'm proud to be contributing to society without the help of the US government. I'm very thankful such a system is in place for people who lose their jobs. What I don't understand is how and why some people would try to take advantage of that system.

Makes me feel a little patriotic. I'm waving my American flag in my corner of the country. I'm blue collar and proud, and won't be sick as a dog for very long.

I'm now praying to the freelance writing gods to allow me to keep this wonderful job. As a journalist, I feel like I have an education in everything. I've learned so much over the years by covering such a wide variety of topics and issues. I can write about anything, and not just heat-related illness or pride.

And if you've read this and have a need for some content for your website, or need a press release written, or even a dissertation on how early explorers used the stars to navigate, I can write it. Or if you know someone who needs content, please share this blog and/or my LinkedIn profile.

Proud to be American, I'm Susan Stephens.

Clock On Wrist For The 1st Time In 9 Years

2010-07-27T22:28:00.001-04:00

I have to wear a watch on the first day of my new job tomorrow. I haven't worn a watch since 2001.

Newsrooms have giant clocks that scream "THIS IS WHAT TIME IT IS!" There's a clock on the computer, there are clocks on the TVs, there are clocks hanging from the ceiling and there are big clocks on the walls. I always knew what time it was so I didn't have to wear a watch. Plus there's military time on my phone -- why -- I don't know. Just something different.

My new job is historical interpreter for the Fountain of Youth Archaeological Park in St. Augustine, Florida. It's a 15-acre attraction on tree-and-Spanish-moss lined Magnolia Street, just south of the Vilano Bridge, east of San Marco Avenue. It meets the intracoastal at Hospital Creek, a great kayak float, and is filled with history, archaeological finds, beautiful trees, statues and exhibits. And peacocks!

It's the spot explorer Ponce de Leon landed in April of 1513, claiming the land for the Spanish and naming it La Florida.

Fast forward to 1934, while planting citrus trees on the property, farmers discovered human skeletons. They dated to the time Ponce de Leon took power in the early 16th century. The remains were that of the Timucuan Indians (I learned it's pronounced Tim-oh'-kwin). Pottery and other remains were also found. After the find, the Smithsonian, the state of Florida, Flagler College and the Fountain of Youth moved in to fund and begin the dig. It's known as one of the most important archaeological finds in the southeast.

What does all this have to do with wearing a watch? I will be a (an) historical interpreter for the park. I'm going to educate visitors on the land's history. It's an outdoors job. I won't be sitting at the damn computer all day. No clocks. I'm not sure if I'll be allowed my phone. So today I went and purchased a watch at Target, which incidentally, was on clearance. Faux silver with faux blue beads. It's perfect.

I haven't worn a watch in nine years. I have to try not to be obsessed with time since it will be right there on my left wrist -- enjoying the environment will be the priority. Timeless but still knowing what time it is.

I don't think the job will have much stress. I'm not even there yet and it's reminding me of the River Legacy Living Science Center, where I spent many years working and volunteering. It's a nature center set on a 1,000-acre park in Arlington, Texas. The environment in which we worked was glorious. We educated visitors on nature -- the riparian habitat along the Trinity River, the forest floor and ceiling and everything in between, including our animal friends. I miss working in that type of blissful environment. I imagine it will be similar at the Fountain of Youth Archaeological Park.

I'm excited. A new adventure to embrace.

What Is Wealth To The Unemployed

2010-07-22T01:40:00.000-04:00

I have been unemployed for one month today. Well, yesterday, since it's after midnight. Jared says it's a budget vacation. Whatever it is, I really don't like it.

Words are said about my type. Collecting unemployment compensation. Living off the government. Lazy. Dependent. Unmotivated.

I'm not. I send out huge numbers of resumes daily. I aggressively hunt down freelance writing opportunities that will pay me small amounts of money. My craigslist ad lists several jobs I am capable of doing. And more than willing! It also says I will do anything for money except dance. Which is true.

It's an extremely difficult time. I need a backhoe to find my self-esteem. I have ups and downs and downs and downs. I'm driving my boyfriend crazy because I've become a needy attention whore. I know way too much about what my dog and cat do all day. I've become addicted to Twitter. I stay up til 2am and sleep til 7am. Sometimes til 10am, but it varies, depending on who texts me early in the morning. My arthritis has attacked me. I'm posting odd pictures on Facebook. The latest is the "do not iron" graphic on the back of my lottery ticket. Speaking of which, I have never played the lottery until now. Someone has to win. I've fallen in love with Craig Ferguson. And I'm extremely tan.

The benefits I have reaped are educational. Ways I have learned to save money, curb costs and keep myself from going insane are endless. I am enlightened by the little joys that used to pass me by.

The state of Florida made the numbers go up slightly in my bank account today. The first thing I did was pay my Internet bill and send a check to my parents. The second thing I did was fill up the gas tank in my Ford Ranger. Looking at the little red needle move just to the right of the F made me extremely giddy. I'm wealthy!

Pondering my new riches, I drove into town to run a few errands, and wrote this blog in my head. Wealth is relative. I started defining what wealth is to the unemployed. The list is in no particular order.

Wealth is a full tank of gas. Wealth is two pairs of new-to-me shorts from Goodwill. Wealth is a new reporter-like notebook and a bar of Pear's soap from Dollar Tree. Wealth is picking up your contact lens prescription and asking for and receiving another trial pair. Wealth is a cherry limeade from Sonic at happy hour. Wealth is a retweet of your blog from a kind fellow journalist you have never met. Wealth is a coupon for five free chicken fingers at Zaxby's. Wealth is free admission to a tourist attraction in your own back yard merely because you reside in the county. Wealth is a box of matzos for a quarter at the Discount Grocery. Wealth is knowing your dog is the only one who loves that you're unemployed. Wealth is the love and emotional support from your family and friends and strangers. Wealth is a simple "hang in there" post from a Facebook friend.

Breaking up the list simply to start a new paragraph because it's easier to read that way. Wealth is having the time to realize just what your dog and cat do all day. They sleep. Wealth is when the free samples you signed up for start arriving in the mail. Wealth is a free sample of new laundry detergent, good for two loads. Wealth is having the time to research and learn about new things. Wealth is allowing yourself to frivolously spend $10 and coming home with a new bikini. Wealth is a call from your therapist saying she has an opening and doesn't mind if you can't pay the full fee. Wealth is a 39-cent bag of cinnamon sticks that you boil in water to make your house smell nice. Wealth is a byline in a real printed paper of a major publication in your market. Wealth is a friend taking you for fresh croissants in an out-of-the-way bakery that's been there for decades and you didn't even know it. Wealth is a chicken caesar salad from dad when your arthritis prevents you from cooking. Wealth is your cat not ignoring you. Wealth is 2 1/2 hours of The Office on Tuesday nights. Wealth is laughing out loud at Rainn Wilson's tweets. Wealth is laughing out loud at the tweet exchanges between Bob Saget and Dave Coulier, joking about the Olsen twins. Wealth is Keith Olbermann and Chris Brogan tweeting you back.

I've learned that wealth is relative. I am extremely rich. And slightly hopeful.

Dogs Have Big Tongues

2010-07-18T19:48:00.000-04:00

I was having some trouble uploading photos to go along with my Shecky the Freeloader blog, so I thought I'd upload them into a separate post.

I love my dog and cat. Unconditional love and affection is all we need to survive. That and a job.

My Dog Is An Unemployed Freeloader

2010-07-18T16:13:00.000-04:00

My dog, Shecky, has been unemployed for 11 and a half years. I’ve only been unemployed for about a month. I’m trying to compare the two, but not finding a lot of commonalities.

Shecky is half Shih-Tzu and half Chihuahua and an alpha male. His mommy died at birth, so he and his two brothers were hand-raised and bottle-fed by a friend I met when I was working at a nature center.

Shecky’s surrogate mommy, also named Susan, brought a bucket into the River Legacy Living Science Center. It was March 1999 in Arlington, Texas. I thought she had some abandoned wildlife. People would bring in animals all the time. I looked in the bucket and saw three tiny puppies, not more than four weeks old, each one able to fit in the palm of my hand. I had already been dog-hunting, so Susan’s appearance with the bucket o’ pups came along at a perfect time.

My coworkers and volunteers and I squeaked at the utter cuteness of the pups. I picked one out. He was little and black and furry and extremely adorable. I must stop here -- is there a baby animal that’s not cute? Susan the surrogate mommy continued to bottle-feed and raise the puppies for another 3-4 weeks until Shecky was big enough to come home with me.

He did not yet have his name when he came home. For that honor, I credit my brother Neal. Our grandmother, Shirley, had just passed away, and being Jewish, it’s custom to take the first letter of the name and use that for your new child’s first name. My brother suggested Shecky. And so his named life began.

He’s had a pretty easy life, I must say. He is shamelessly spoiled, but has not turned brattish until the past year or so. He turned 11 years old on February 28 of this year. I’m not sure I believe in that “dog years” silliness, but he is an older dog now.

When I brought him home, I gave him his own “apartment,” in the form of a huge crate with a carpet, blanket, and pillow. He did well with crate training and eventually gave himself his own bedtime. When he was sleepy, off he’d go. He still does that 11 years later.

He has never worked a minute for his keep. I have supported him his entire life. I feed him brand name food. I buy him toys. I wash them when they’re dirty and toss them when they’re shredded. I bathe him when he’s dirty. Like most dogs, he hates the bath. I’ve even sat in the tub with him to ease his anxiety. I take him on endless walks, except in the rain. Shecky doesn’t like the rain. I don’t know how he holds his tiny bladder, but he does when water falls from the sky. He’s been on several vacations, never once offering to pay his share or even buy me dinner. He’s an avid camper. He’s good at alerting me to nocturnal wildlife.

It was on one camping trip that I learned he does not like swimming. We were at Dinosaur Valley State Park in Glen Rose, Texas, and went for a walk among the footprints in the Paluxy River. Parts of the river are quite shallow, so it’s fun to walk through and look for dino prints. Feeling a bit playful, I tossed Shecky into the water. It was hot and I thought he could use the cool-down! I snatched him up a few seconds later. He climbed up onto my shoulder like a parrot and sat there through the whole trek. Again, not working a day in his life, he was hitching a ride when he didn’t want to swim or walk. I had a shoulder ornament as I enjoyed the cool river walk.

Feeling guilty about my freeloader when I’m at work, I brought home a girlfriend for him. Daisy was a springer spaniel mix and a free spirit. He loved her. So I supported my dog and his girlfriend. When I moved into a house, I had a fence built so they could freely play outside off the leash. My little freeloader was so loving and loyal, but his girlfriend, the free spirit that she was, took off and didn’t come back. I was Shecky’s sole means of love and entertainment and I felt incredibly guilty when I could not find Daisy.

So again, I shelled out money and found another companion. This time I brought home two ducks. Ducks are incredibly adorable. They waddle. And they have bills, unlike mammals. Hard to cuddle a duck and kiss them on the nose. Shecky loved the ducks. And the ducks did as ducks do -- they followed Shecky around everywhere. What a joy to watch. Two big ducks following a little dog. As fate would have it, the ducks disappeared. I lived in a rural area and I suspected that coyotes had something to do with their disappearance, although I never found any leftover feathers. They were gone. Shecky was alone again. I had a ton of leftover duck feed. The store won’t take back used feed. Lost money on the deal. Again, he’s costing me money.

Interjection -- I did have Frankie the cat. I can’t believe I forgot to mention her. I had her long before Shecky. She hated everyone, including me. So it was like she wasn’t there. She eventually took off too. I loved her in spite of herself.

About a year ago, I brought home a kitten that I named Naomi. She was rescued by Jacksonville Fire Rescue and I rescued her from them. No adoption fee, so I saved money there. After a few weeks of slow introductions, Shecky and Naomi are at peace with each other. Never mind it’s an extra mouth to feed. All that counts is that Shecky is happy.

Eleven and a half years later, Shecky is still unemployed and freeloading. And living a damn good life. I’ve been unemployed about a month. I hate it. My parents have been buying me groceries and paying the mortgage on their townhome in which I live. I’m job hunting, obviously. I’m frustrated, mad, sad and feeling like a failure. Once, just once, I would love it if Shecky would bring in some money. Why can’t he get a job? He could get a paper route. I could teach him to say “would you like fries with that?” I’d even drive him to and from work. But no. He’s upstairs asleep. All he does is sleep, eat and play. Sleep, eat and play. Sleep, eat and play. Mostly sleep though. He’s an old man. He needs his rest. I guess I’ll keep sending out resumes. One of us has to get a job, and I have a feeling it’s going to be me again.

Local Frog Squashing Investigated

2010-07-18T08:25:00.000-04:00

07302009

Someone's foot claimed the life of a baby frog early Thursday morning, according to local wildlife experts.

The frog was last seen by the back door of a TV station, when it was discovered. The only thing that remained was the flattened body with its two legs still intact.

A necropsy will be performed, but the cause of death is tentatively ruled as a squashing.

Wildlife officials were on scene dusting for footprints, but a positive identification of the squasher may not be known for weeks.

The frog's parents could not be reached for comment, although subtle, mournful ribbits could be heard coming from a nearby pond.

The squashing is under investigation. The identity of the baby frog was not released, but friends said he was affectionately known as Tad.

Shecky and Naomi Find Love

2010-07-18T08:21:00.000-04:00

How I successfully introduced a new kitten to my dog:

You want to make sure you have a separate area for the kitten so her litter box, food and water are out of reach of the dog. You should also have a towel or kitty bed nearby. She will feel comfortable, especially if the towel, or even your shirt, has your scent. I have a spare room in my house with a full bathroom, so it worked perfectly in my situation.

Keep the dog and the kitten in separate rooms for at least two weeks. The dog will sniff under the door, realize there's another animal in there, and will get used to her smell gradually. The dog may scratch at the door, but that's OK. And the kitten will meow.

During the entire introduction period, give the dog lots of loving, so he doesn't think he's being replaced. He will be jealous, and this will probably continue throughout their lives, but it's normal. Everyone wants attention.

After the two week "quarantine," bring the kitten to the dog, but hold the kitten the entire time. Let them smell each other. Most animals have an acute sense of smell and it's how they test the waters. You've seen many dogs in a car hanging their faces out the window. They are taking great joy at smelling the world.

Hold the kitten while letting them get to know each other for about four or five days, several times a day, or as often as you can. I emphasize here: keep holding the kitten while you do this.

During the next few days, put the kitten down on the rug or floor, again letting the dog and kitten smell each other. The dog, as usual, will smell the other animal's tushy. You must constantly supervise this interaction. Keep doing this, but keep the kitten on the floor for longer periods of time for each interaction. As long as the dog is wagging his tail, you're good. Again, when they're not interacting, keep the kitten in her "room," so the dog cannot wander in there. Also, you don't want the dog eating her food or snacking on the litter box.

The next step is to let them run around together for perhaps an hour or two, lengthening the time together each time. Also, make sure the dog is still wagging his tail at her. After a few days of this, they, especially the dog, will be good with this. During this time, I have always let the cat stay in her room overnight. She may meow, but you can visit her often, bringing cuddles and hugs, so she knows she is loved. You don't have to do the cuddles overnight.

After this period of constant supervision of them playing together, you can eventually rest easy if they are getting along well. You can let the cat run around the house by herself and even let her sleep with you and the dog. I still kept them apart while I was at work, but now they are free to run around together. They will play-fight, but it's normal.

You might want to always continue to keep the kitten's litter box and food out of reach of the dog. I have those in the spare bathroom. I use a baby gate, and cut out a "doggie door" hole so the dog cannot enter the bathroom. The kitten needs her food, so you have to keep the dog from eating it and not let the cat go hungry. The poopy snacks are also not good for the dog.

I now have a happy home and sometimes catch them sleeping together with backs touching. It's great to see them get along and it's highly entertaining. I'm considering dumping the TV in favor of dog and cat entertainment.

Swimming in Unemployment, Arthritis and Freebies

2010-07-18T08:18:00.000-04:00

07092010

I'm trying to find a full-time job as soon as possible. I have a bachelor's degree in Communications and Journalism and I want to write. I'm sending out tons of resumes for anything and everything I am qualified to do in northeast Florida. In the meantime, I'm looking for at least a part-time job in lovely St. Augustine, I'm doing some freelance writing for the Biz Journal and I'm editing a Christian fiction book. So unlike me, the atheist. It's paid work! And I'm finding great coupons online to save me some money.

I finally got out of the news business in April and I was thrilled. No more police reports, no more details of heinous crimes, no more stress of constantly breaking news. I got to the point where I could relax.

I went to work for a couple of young guys with a dot-com and a staff of six, including me. Mistake? Probably. The Xomba CEO was 31 years old and his VP of Ops was 26. They admitted at the interview that they knew nothing about marketing and public relations. I told them I could do the job and they hired me at a much higher salary than when I worked in news. Big surprise there. Two and a half months later and they let me go, saying it's "not working out." I got us press. I upped our Facebook friends and Twitter followers. I wrote a bunch of press releases and sent them out to a lot of relevant people. I made phone calls. I was making headway. Once I got the company in a third-page location in the local Biz Journal, the CEO said he was done with local news and wanted national recognition. OK. Fine. Never mind that they weren't quite ready for prime time and needed to build a base first. They would have none of that. They wanted national. So I put a lot of effort in. I was the first person in the Branding Manager position, so I had databases to build in addition to everything else.

I submitted press releases to relevant national people. Some of them I knew, some I was acquainted with via Facebook, some I found online from some major publications. I wrote personal emails to a lot of them, in addition to sending out the releases. I made phone calls. I was getting no bites. Two and a half months later, they said it wasn't working out. Never mind that a good marketing effort takes a helluva lot longer than two and a half months. Never mind that the site wasn't ready and/or "good enough" for national press. I tolerated their inexperience and did what they asked. I put forth a huge effort, even when I advised them we still needed local press to show the national press that we were worthy. Two and a half months. I feel bad calling them inexperienced, but maybe they will learn from it. I did my best and feel great about it.

The part-time job hunt while looking for a full-time job has been interesting, demeaning, frustrating and difficult. The hiring people think I'm over qualified and I'll quit as soon as I find full-time work. I won't! I'll keep the part-time job! I live in America's Oldest City, St. Augustine, Florida. It's a wonderful place and surprisingly busy this tourist season. I interviewed for a job at a wine shop on St. George Street, which would be a great place to be. I filled out a few other applications downtown. I played tourist when I couldn't find any more "help wanted" signs. Even learned more about my awesome town. The woman at the wine shop seemed to really like me and was giving me the thumbs-up for the owner. He hasn't called yet. It's demeaning to look for an $8 an hour job, but it's better than nothing. Might even be better than the $1100 a month as a "consultant" for the state -- read: unemployment compensation. I still don't know if the state government pays you when you're seriously under-employed. I will find out.

A week or so after being fired, my arthritis in my shoulders, back, and neck seemed to attack me with a vengeance. I turned into a big mangled blob of stress. It's been extremely painful. But I still sit here writing stuff, writing cover letters, sending out my resumé, posting ads for freelance work on craigslist and I even posted an ad to be a dog-walker. I'll do anything legal for money at this point. My back hurts and I still have the need to write. It's all I have right now.

Early yesterday morning (2am) the pain was so great that I had to go to the ER. I had been trying heat, ice, hot bath, swimming, walking, stretching, mentholatum, naproxen, ibuprofen, muscle relaxers, Hydrocodone, and staying flat on my back for hours at a time. Nothing worked. I called the ER ahead of time to see if they would still take me without insurance. They said yes! So I went. Driving and crying because the pain was so incredible. Four hours later I was finally seen by a doctor. Why does it take four hours? What the hell do they do that takes so long to get to me? The doctor examined me after I told him everything I had tried to relieve the pain. He wrote more prescriptions. A combination of a shot of steroids, Oxycodone, Flexeril and ibuprofen worked to a certain extent. They make it tolerable, but it won't stop hurting completely. Spent most of the last two days flat on my back in a drug-induced haze. I really don't like being in that state, but I had to. I don't ever remember having pain so bad that it made me cry.

At this point in my story, I have to give a shout out to my parents. I live in a townhome they own. I have no chance of being evicted. Yet. They still have to pay the mortgage and I feel awful for not being able to help that much. Still, dad has brought me hugs, food and prescriptions. I'm eternally grateful to my parents. I cannot thank them enough. I love them.

I should also add here that being flat on my back on the pool lounger does constitute resting. At least I look good with a nice tan.

With time on my hands, I have taken to scouring the Internet for freebies and discounts. I'm printing coupons online and finding free food. Coupons.com is fabulous. Joining certain Facebook groups gets you free coupons. I am getting free queso and chips at Chili's. I'm getting a free meal at Panda Express. And the neighbor who works at Chick-Fil-A gave me some free food coupons. I had a $1 off coupon for Betty Crocker brownie mix. They were on bogo at Publix, so it was a great deal. There are lots of great coupons online to print. You can Google the product name and "online coupon" and they will usually pop up. I never had a lot of time for scouring the Internet for stuff like that, but now I do. Even when I start working again, I will take the time to find the savings. So worth the effort. Oh, and I'm getting my hair done for free on Monday. Big name hair stylist and product line people need models. So I'll be a hair model. Hopefully they won't chop too much off, but a new look could be a good boost, if not as a professional appearance, but as just a feel-good thing. Found it on craigslist local events.

I'm up to more than 1,300 words now and the back and neck are telling me to go to bed, or at least go lay down. I've been staying up until all hours of the morning because I've got nothing better to do.

I want to end with some serious thanks to friends and family across the country. They have sent well wishes as well as job leads. I'm trying to socially network my way to a new job. And writing lots of sincere cover letters. I'm extremely grateful to my family, my friends, and my boyfriend for the leads, food, wine, and affection.

Highlight of my day today, July 9, 2010: Keith Olbermann tweeted me back. He knows I exist. I love him madly.