But I digress. This post is about the immediate aftermath and the need to find a new job. To put it quite simply, job searching sucks. That may seem like an obvious statement, but outside of looking for bar and restaurant jobs in my 20s, I’ve honestly never really had to search for a corporate job that provided benefits and insurance. That’s because about 25 years ago I was fortunate enough to wait on someone who had a connection at a small Denver online education company, and I got the job with a referral and a single interview. From then on (for the most part, but that’s another story) I’ve been essentially employed by the same company for 20 years. I’ve interviewed internally for promotions, but I’ve never really had to submit my resume and hope to get a call back. It’s frustrating, exhausting, disheartening, and just generally sucks. So far I’ve applied for 22 jobs (I seriously thought it was more) which has resulted in 3 phone screens, which netted 1 interview (didn’t get that one), and an upcoming interview on Monday.

In this new world of LinkedIn, Indeed, and customizing your resume to get past the AI bots, it’s a whole new world — at least for me. I’m the first person to embrace the remote workplace — again, I was fortunate to have the opportunity land in my lap 18 years ago — but post-pandemic, it’s made the job market even more competitive. I find it crazy to see every LinkedIn job posting, after 24 hours, state “over 100 applicants.” And that’s not even the most disheartening part. There’s nothing like actually getting through the internet bots and having the HR screening call, only to be ghosted by the recruiter. Seriously! We talked on the phone and had good rapport (I know when it’s going well — I used to be the interviewer) and you can’t send an email? We all know AI is doing the work these days. Even a canned AI email would be better than nothing.

So that’s my rant. I kept it pretty mellow. No sense in burning bridges or going off the deep end. TL;DR — private equity firms suck (Regent, I’m talking about you!); Job searching in the 21st century sucks (LinkedIn I’m talking about you!); I’m looking for a job (people who are hiring, I’m talking to you!). So, if you’re reading this, hire me! I’m pretty kickass at what I do. And I’m fun to hang out with.

Note: This post image was created in Midjourney. My prompt was “a drawing of a 40-year old woman with spiky blonde hair, holding a sign that says ‘hire me'” and I used –stylize 500. I also know how to use modern technology. 😉

Fast forward 30+ years and I still avoid most mysticism, including tarot. But when discussing tattoo ideas to commemorate my mom, for some reason Zachary brought up the idea of tarot cards. And it was the perfect idea — especially considering I had just recently uncovered that Rider-Waite tarot deck, wrapped in a burgundy velvet bag and stuffed inside an old, empty cigar box that was in my mom’s things. As I inspected it, I saw that the deck was printed in 1971 — the year I was born. Cue the mystically eerie music.

If this were the movies, the director would cut to a dramatic but softly filmed scene of the daughter, in a tasteful and eclectic dining room, considering the tarot cards on the table in front of her. On her face is a look of melancholy and skepticism. Lighting a few candles while thoughtfully sipping from a (large) glass of red wine, the woman sits down slowly, never taking her eyes from the deck. A few minutes pass, and the woman’s expression changes from consideration, to interest, to resignation. Setting the glass of wine down, she slowly reaches towards the deck of cards. From memory she starts to turn them over in the classic Celtic Cross. The first card, the “this is you” card, is the Queen of Wands.

Great scene! But this isn’t the movies, and I don’t trust the universe to deliver up the perfect card to have inked into my body until the end of time. So I went through the deck, researched the meaning of all the cards, and found the perfect combination of “forever body art” and mystical meaning: The Queen of Wands.

The image depicted on the Queen of Wands card shows a queen sitting proudly on a throne decorated with lions facing opposing directions, which are symbols of fire and strength. She is holding a sunflower in her left hand, and the image of the sunflowers are also carved on the throne — meaning happiness, satisfaction, and fertility. (Is it coincidence that my favorite flower is, in fact, the sunflower? So much so that I have a sunflower tattoo on my left foot. But I digress…) In the queen’s right hand is her wand, which is starting to blossom and symbolizes life.

In her positive aspects, the Queen of Wands reminds you that you are upbeat, courageous, and determined. You are here to see through your creative visions and life purpose, even in the face of adversity and challenge. Highly self-actualized and self-aware, you know how to best channel your strengths and weaknesses to achieve your goals. She is courageous and individualistic, though at times she may appear self-centered. Her hidden side is hinted at with the placement of the black cat at her feet, a sign that while this Queen is bold and outgoing, she is also in touch with her shadow self — the darker, lesser-known side of her being.

The Queen of Wands asks you to be bold in your undertakings and actions. Don’t be afraid to own your real power and put it out into the world. You have so much to offer — so shine your light bright! Believe in yourself and what you stand for, and don’t be afraid to speak up and be heard. 

Biddy Tarot

The Queen of Wands reversed can suggest a more introverted personality than most expect. Instead of being the social butterfly and center of attention, this card reversed can be an indication of someone who prefers to linger on the sidelines and watch what is going on. It’s also a sign of someone who feels called to spend more time alone so they can recharge and connect with their inner self. (So relatable, and results in all those photowalks!)

I found the perfect blend of tarot meaning and tarot art as I reviewed every card. And so I am the Queen of Wands. The universe didn’t choose this card for me in some mystical way. Or did it…

While his album “Songs You Know By Heart” is the go to for so many people (and why wouldn’t it be!), it was released in 1985 — I was listening to “A White Sport Coat and a Pink Crustacean” in 1973. I was only 2, but my mom was a fan, so I heard that album at least once a week, every week (except for maybe the week of Christmas), for at least a decade. Add into rotation the other seven albums he released from 1973 – 1979, and I was indoctrinated as a full-fledged Parrothead from an early age (even though that phrase wasn’t coined until 1985 by Timothy B. Schmidt, coincidentally the same year “Songs You Know By Heart” was released).

I’m listening to my vinyl version of “A White Sport Coat…” right now as I write this, and I’m taken by surprise, song after song. Each song hits me like a wave of nostalgia and I might have ugly-cried during “He Went to Paris.” It was, after all, one of mom’s favorites.

Through 86 years of perpetual motion
If he likes you he’ll smile then he’ll say
Jimmy, some of it’s magic, some of it’s tragic
But I had a good life all the way

He Went to Paris

As I reflect on Jimmy Buffett and what his music has meant to me, I’m struck by so many memories throughout my life that his music and influence have impacted. As a kid I would go with my mom to visit her favorite local musicians and his songs were staples in their repertoire. Of course are the hits, but these guys were singer-songwriters, so while they would toss in a singalong, they would also play the story songs, which was Jimmy’s Buffett’s gift. Songs like “He Went to Paris,” “The Great Filling Station Holdup,” or “West Nashville Grand Ballroom Gown.” He had a gift for storytelling, and telling stories of everyday, seemingly un-extraordinary people. If I ever wanted someone to write a story about my life, it would have been Jimmy Buffett.

I saw my first Buffett concert in my early 20’s, with a group of Hooters co-workers. We stayed up the night before making about 100 jello shots that we snuck into Fiddler’s Green. I am saddened that this was the only time I ever saw him live, even though there were dozens of opportunities. But I remain thankful that I got to see him live, and it was as awesome as you would imagine a Jimmy Buffett concert would be.

When we moved back from seven years in Florida, I always joked that when we moved there, I was moving to the ocean, spring break, and Margaritaville, but that’s not what I got. Which is why we moved back home. Jimmy Buffett sang about a lifestyle that I yearn for, and while I have never lived less than 45 minutes from the ocean (those 7 years in FL), the ocean life is what calls to me. Sometimes it’s hard for me to listen to his songs, thinking about the ocean life I wanted to live.

And there’s that one particular harbour
Sheltered from the wind
Where the children play on the shore each day
And all are safe within

Most mysterious calling harbour
So far but yet so near
I can see the day when my hair’s full gray
And I finally disappear

One Particular Harbour

Every time I go back to Florida to visit, I make an attempt to visit the the Lone Palm Airport bar at Universal Studios. I sit on a bar stool outside, drink a margarita (or two, or three) and enjoy the sun. I don’t ever go inside the Margaritaville restaurant. While I don’t begrudge him getting his and trading in on the success of Margaritaville, I just can’t with corporate chain restaurants. I get what I need outside, sitting at little thatched roof, open air bar, sitting next to the Hemisphere Dancer. (If you don’t know the story, it’s the plane that the Jamaican authorities shot at in the 90s when Buffett was taking Bono and his family to one of his favorite jerk chicken spots.)

It’s so hard to pick a favorite, but if you put a gun to my head, it might be “Trying to Reason with Hurricane Season.”

Squalls out on the gulf stream
Big storm coming soon
Passed out in my hammock
God, I slept till way past noon
Stood up and tried to focus
I hoped I wouldn’t have to look far
Knew I could use a Bloody Mary
So I stumbled next door to the bar

Trying to Reason with Hurricane Season

But luckily, I don’t have to choose. Here’s my list of favorite Jimmy Buffett stories. They don’t include the everyday greats, like “Margaritaville,” “Cheeseburger in Paradise,” or “Come Monday.” You already know those. These are some deep-cut, hidden gems that showcase the storytelling and dream-spinning that made Jimmy Buffett a popular poet, whose songs you (mostly) know by heart.

• The Coast of Marseilles
• Havana Daydreamin’
• Banana Republics
• They Don’t Dance Like Carmen No More
• Grapefruit—Juicy Fruit
• Trying to Reason with Hurricane Season
• Treat Her Like a Lady
• Survive
• One Particular Harbour
• Who’s the Blonde Stranger?
• My African Friend
• Jamaica Mistaica

Spending this afternoon listening to this storyteller weave tales of water, booze, sun, sand, and pirates has reinvigorated my wanderlust for sea and surf. Luckily we go to Florida in three weeks. That will have to do. For now.

I hope you have found your margarita in the sky. Tell my mom I said hello, and I love her.

I’ve given my life for songs that I sing
As a matter of fact, I’ve given everything
But time has come to not make a sound
Time has come to lay my burden down
Ohhh wo, ohhh wo
It’s come from behind,
Now is the time for the last line.

The Last Line

I was content to lie awake and listen sleepily, letting the conversation/music mix wash over me. Since most of what was being played was easy guitar-vocal music, like James Taylor and Gordon Lightfoot, it was easy to simply drift back and forth without paying too much attention to any one one particular thing. That was, until I heard the opening lines of a song I’d never heard before.

There’s a moon, over Bourbon Street, tonight

I see faces as they pass beneath the pale lamplight

I’ve no choice, but to follow that call

The bright lights, the street lights, and the moon and all

Sting

Something about those lyrics was familiar, but I knew I’d never heard that song before. Now I was awake and listening in earnest, trying to separate the conversation from the song. Just barely, I was able to make out words from the next verse.

It was many years ago that I became what I am
I was trapped in this life like an innocent lamb
Now I can never show my face at noon
And you’ll only see me walking by the light of the moon

Sting

And that’s when it hit me. He was singing about Lestat! A character from one of my all time favorite books, “Interview with a Vampire.” I was too excited to worry about the trouble I’d be in for not yet being asleep—I had to know who was singing that song. I was pretty shocked to discover it was Sting. I was disappointed in myself that I hadn’t made the ‘voice’ connection to the lead singer of The Police.

That following week, as soon as I could get a ride to the record store, I bought a cassette of “The Dream of the Blue Turtles.” I had heard two of the other singles, “Love is the Seventh Wave” and “If You Love Somebody” (shit, you couldn’t get away from this song on MTV), but it was a happenstance encounter with “Moon Over Bourbon Street” that made me really fall in love with Sting and his departure from The Police ‘sound’.

This album introduced me to yet another genre I wouldn’t begin to really understand until my adulthood—jazz. While it’s really jazz ‘lite’, this album is solidly played by jazz greats like Branford Marsalis and Omar Hakim.

Sting and his music would continue to be an influence on my musical journey, and would pave the way for several firsts—including my first Red Rocks concert, the Soul Cages tour in 1991, and Zachary’s first Red Rocks concert, the Back to Bass tour in 2013.

I leave you with one of my faves from an album of faves, “Consider me Gone,” which was originally recorded as a demo for The Police album “Zenyatta Mondatta,” but wasn’t Police-y enough.

Juneteenth is the oldest nationally celebrated commemoration of the ending of slavery in the United States. Dating back to 1865, it was on June 19th that the Union soldiers, led by Major General Gordon Granger, landed at Galveston, Texas with news that the war had ended and that the enslaved were now free. Note that this was two and a half years after President Lincoln’s Emancipation Proclamation – which had become official January 1, 1863.

I hope each of you has a wonderful day of health, happiness, and reflection. Stay safe out there!

As a kid under 10, being poor wasn’t something that was even a ‘thing’. I had food, a home, and electricity (most of the time). I also had something else, something I’ve come to understand now in my adult years as white privilege. And while a part of me wants to stand up and shout, “Wait a minute, I’ve worked hard to overcome! I’ve earned everything I have. I was never ‘privileged’,” I’ve been learning over the past month that this is not completely accurate.

It’s true that I’ve worked hard my entire life, starting with my first job at 14. I’ve managed to make a successful career in education, without having a degree. I have an amazing family and am about to become a homeowner for the first time. But with everything going on in America right now, my eyes are open and I have to look back on all that I’ve accomplished and acknowledge that in part, some of it would not have been possible if not for one simple fact—I’m a white woman in America.

White privilege doesn’t mean your life hasn’t been hard. It means that your skin color isn’t one of the things making it harder.

Everything that’s been going on the past month has brought so many things into perspective, including what was, I thought, an innocent childhood memory. Which is the actual point of this post, the story of two girls, looking for a cool summer treat at the local convenience store.

It was 1980. I was 9, and we lived across the alley from 7-Eleven. During the summer, I would scrounge for any change I could. The couch cushions, my mom’s unwashed jeans, the sidewalk, anywhere stray change might be found. All for one goal—that 7-Eleven Slurpee.

It was a typical, hot Colorado day in what is now known as “The Highlands,” and I had scored enough coins for a medium Cherry Coke Slurpee. So off I went, with no shoes on my feet and wearing a dirty and torn sundress, my long blonde hair tangled and wind blown.

I entered the store and made my way to the machine. I spilled quite a lot of Slurpee, as the machine kept stopping and starting. Once I filled my cup to the brim, I made my way to the register to pay. I set the sticky, overflowing cup on the counter and proceeded to count out my riches. And I was short. A nickel short. As I turned to go, leaving my summer prize behind, the man behind the counter waved my money off and pushed my Slurpee towards me. Overjoyed, I gave him my biggest smile, grabbed my cup before he could change his mind, and skipped my bare feet out of the store.

But not before I noticed the black girl who was in line behind me. Like me, she was about 9. Like me, she had a prized cold beverage in her hand. Like me, she was in a dirty and torn sundress (one that I remember commenting on, because hers had Strawberry Shortcake on it). Like me, she was barefoot. But that’s where the similarity ends.

As I stopped to pick up the penny I had dropped because I had eagerly put my loose change back in my hand, I heard the man address the little girl behind me. I don’t know what, exactly, he said. But I do know that his tone and his manner caught me off guard, because he had been so nice to me, and he was being so mean to her. Even with her crisp $1 bill and lovely pink nails (my hands were grubby).

It was only a moment, a quick glimpse, and nothing that I’d thought about in 30+ years. But I’ve been thinking about it a lot lately, and what it means. It’s a simple, yet telling story of the difference between two little girls—one black and the other white. And it’s one of a billion stories of white privilege in America.

As an advocate and an ally to Black Americans, I can’t change past privileges I have been given simply because I’m white. What I can do is listen, and learn, and acknowledge. I can speak up when I see it happening and I can stand up for reform. I can educate those around me who aren’t quite there yet, and I can raise two aware boys.

And to that little black girl in the 7-Eleven at 44th and Tennyson back in 1980, I’m sorry that I didn’t speak up. Of course, at 9, what would I have said? But I’m still sorry, and I promise to speak up now.

Scott Valente worked the take-out window…he was several years older, and always patient. Even to annoying young teenage girls. Scott introduced me to Oingo Boingo and INXS, and I can never thank him enough.

I was 14 and would hang out in the kitchen and Scott’s take-out window when things were slow. (I can still smell the garlic from the pasta sauce, and feel the heat from the pizza oven.) Scott was always great to talk to, and one day we were talking about music—he knew so much about music I’d never heard of.

I don’t know why, but one day Scott came in and handed me two cassette tapes: INXS’s The Swing, and Oingo Boingo’s Dead Man’s Party. While both were awesome and have stayed with me, I found Dead Man’s Party to be fucking amazing. And while Weird Science is everyone’s sweetheart, it’s actually my least favorite song on the album.

It’s really hard to pick a favorite from this album, but if pressed, I’d say No One Lives Forever. Dark, yet joyful. It’s a clever ditty that I <3.

The Blue Hawaiians are a surf rock group from L.A, formed in 1994. I came across them in 1998 while downloading music from a little site called Napster, where I was looking for music to download and listen to on my computer while I worked.

Napster was a treasure trove of hard-to-find music, as well as regional music you’d never hear of otherwise. I have no idea what I was originally surfing for (pun absolutely intended) but I was intrigued by the name, so I downloaded the two songs that were listed, “Highlife” and “Flesh and Soul.” And I was hooked.

Eve said to God “why don’t you leave me alone,

I’ve been east of Eden and west of Rome.

Strange things can happen and so often they will.

The beauty of temptation’s only part of the thrill.”

Ahhhh, the Chris Isaak-esque vocals and smooth and tropical instrumentals meld together to evoke images and memories of places I’d never been, but surely dreamed about. While The Blue Hawaiians hail from L.A., their music is channeled directly from the Hawaiian Islands.

Savage Night introduced me to a completely new genre of music. They only made five albums, but you don’t have to be prolific to be amazing. Their music is in consistent rotation in my music and I give them full credit for helping me get to the top of the Makapu?u Point Lighthouse Trail this past March (30 minutes to complete, my ass!).

It’s so hard to pick just one track. There aren’t any videos except a few live, but while great, are mostly instrumentals of other people’s surf tunes. here’s one that’s just audio. I hope you enjoy.

I can’t remember her name. Lori, maybe? My mom wasn’t home a lot, but Lori certainly was, along with groups of 2–3 people on any given day. They would sit around, smoking pot and drinking beer, and listen to music. All kinds of music. My mom had a pretty nice turntable for a single parent, and Lori took advantage when mom was working. Not that I minded—it was nice hearing something other than Neil Diamond or Barry Manilow.

Before anyone gets their britches in a twist, I love these old guys as well, but a tween girl needs some other form of musical inspiration, not two sappy leftover dudes from the 70s—and Lori sure provided that, in the form of an amazing record I’d never heard before. Entering the house after school to the strains of Alison Moyet belting out the lyrics to “Don’t Go” was a turning point in my musical life.

Baby make your mind up give me what you got
Fix me with your lovin’ shut the door and turn the lock
Hey go get the doctor, doctor came too late
Another night I feel alright my love for you can’t wait

This album shook my musical foundation, and there was no going back—paving the way for musical influences that would come later (I was a late bloomer in many ways), Yaz’s “Upstairs at Eric’s” was the first step in breaking away from the music that I grew up with. And what a step it was!

It was also, apparently, my first step into larceny. Lori’s stay with us was short lived. Shocking, I know. She moved out a few short months after she moved in, and while I don’t think of her (I don’t even know if her name is really Lori), I do think of those few months fondly. She was a cool chick who was friendly and had an extensive music collection that she shared freely.

When she unpacked at her next rest stop, I wonder if she even noticed that “Upstair’s at Eric’s” was missing? I’d like to think that she did, and that she smiles fondly, knowing it was me and how much nerve it had to take to sneak into the basement on her last day with us and pinch that vinyl.

Originally it’s supposed to be just the album cover with no explanation, and I’m to nominate a person each day to do the same. I’m changing it up a bit, because I like the backstory, and you might too. I’m also not going to nominate anyone, because so many I know are already doing this.?

Album 1, fitting after I just watched the Grammy salute to Prince. I first heard this album when I was in 6th grade, while at a slumber party. The host (I don’t remember her name now) had us break into her big sister’s room and listen to this record while sneaking sips out of a 10-year old bottle of peach schnapps. I don’t know which scandalized me more, the schnapps, or the not-so-subtle racy album that mesmerized me, and made me feel something that I wouldn’t be able to describe until I was easily 20.

Little darlin’, if you’re free for a couple of hours
And ain’t busy for the next seven years
Let’s pretend we’re married and go all night

Iconic, dirty, and danceable as fuck. I give you 1999.