I've been tagged by Kate at Innisfree. The idea is to give a little snapshot of where I was 10 years ago, 5 years ago, etc. There's more to the survey than that, but I'm not doing it all, because I don't play by anybody's rules, Jack.
10 years ago: It’s safe to say that by September 1997, I’ve settled comfortably into domesticity. My wife and I have long since moved from the fantastic apartment we lived in for our first few years in Cincinnati, and into our money pit. September '97 is after the furnace died in the dead of winter (which happened a few days after we closed on the house) but before a water main buried four feet below our front lawn breaks, resulting in a geyser of Old Faithful-like proportions. On the upside, we’ve had our first child, who by this point in ’97 is nearing two years old and beginning the talking storm that continues to the present. I work in the legal department of an HMO/health insurance company. I’ve been there for about a year and it’s still a pretty good job, albeit in a soul-sucking suburb. I’m two months away from running my fourth NYC Marathon.
5 years ago: Two new children, one new job. By September 2002, my kids are 6, 4 and 1, and the money pit is vastly improved, the result of a kitchen remodeling and the addition of a bathroom on the first floor. It looks great, mainly due to my wife’s eye for color and design. No reason for us ever to leave, right? Meanwhile, I’m about two-and-a-half years into a different job, in the law department of a manufacturing company. Good place, good boss, and a legal group respected throughout the company (corporate legal departments are often loathed by the businesses they support, so this is a good thing). No reason for me ever to leave, right?
10 years ago: It’s safe to say that by September 1997, I’ve settled comfortably into domesticity. My wife and I have long since moved from the fantastic apartment we lived in for our first few years in Cincinnati, and into our money pit. September '97 is after the furnace died in the dead of winter (which happened a few days after we closed on the house) but before a water main buried four feet below our front lawn breaks, resulting in a geyser of Old Faithful-like proportions. On the upside, we’ve had our first child, who by this point in ’97 is nearing two years old and beginning the talking storm that continues to the present. I work in the legal department of an HMO/health insurance company. I’ve been there for about a year and it’s still a pretty good job, albeit in a soul-sucking suburb. I’m two months away from running my fourth NYC Marathon.
5 years ago: Two new children, one new job. By September 2002, my kids are 6, 4 and 1, and the money pit is vastly improved, the result of a kitchen remodeling and the addition of a bathroom on the first floor. It looks great, mainly due to my wife’s eye for color and design. No reason for us ever to leave, right? Meanwhile, I’m about two-and-a-half years into a different job, in the law department of a manufacturing company. Good place, good boss, and a legal group respected throughout the company (corporate legal departments are often loathed by the businesses they support, so this is a good thing). No reason for me ever to leave, right?
1 year ago: It’s September 2006, and we’re comfortably ensconced in our new, bigger, money-pittier house. Say, does that gigantic tree in the front yard look . . . unhealthy to you? My two older children, now in fifth and third grades, are in the midst of their school magazine drive. Somehow they con me into buying about 20 subscriptions. (Us Magazine, by the way, is for readers who find People too wordy and challenging.) At the office, my boss has handed in his resignation. I feel pretty hopeful as a result, and why not? I’ve been there for six-and-a-half years, I know the organization, my performance evaluations have been excellent, I’m next in line for the job according the company’s succession planning, and my boss is recommending me for the position. In my head, I plot the details of my post-promotion regime.
Yesterday: I wake up at 5:15 a.m. to meet a couple of friends for a 4-mile run. I have a few minutes before I leave the house, so I check my blog for the anticipated flood of comments and offers from publishing houses. (What the hell, people?) I go out for my run, it’s a beautiful, cool morning, and I regret not having trained for a fall marathon. I get back, shower, shave my entire body, and dress for work. Then I wake the kids and they tumble down for breakfast: Pop Tarts and Lucky Charms. My wife follows and is, let’s say, distressed by this meal. She’s not a morning person. I enjoy a little bit more time with my family, then haul myself to work. My boss leaves early to attend an out-of-town conference; the mood lightens considerably. That evening, we meet friends for a quick dinner, and I take my 11-year-old son to his guitar lesson, where he’s learning to play the Beatles’ “Birthday.” Later that night I fall asleep in front of the tv as I watch the Reds’ post-game show. I wake up at about 1:00 in the morning to the sounds of some atrocious sports program, with three former athletes and a third-rate, smarmy, Letterman-imitating host, all yelling at one another. Off to bed.
Today: I miss my run as a result of my poor sleeping habits. My 9-year-old daughter wakes up first, goes downstairs and voluntarily practices her piano. She sounds good on “Fur Elise,” and the music makes me think about Schroeder playing for Lucy. I go downstairs and the two boys come next. We all discuss the school lunch menu for today – rotini with tomato sauce – then off to work. Shortly after I get there, my wife phones to tell me the guys have come to do some repair work on our roof, and they’re also going to give us an estimate on replacing the front porch, which needs to be done before we have the house painted. Thinking about this, I wonder how much longer I need to work before I can retire. I pull a file and look at the numbers, and then I vomit.
Tomorrow: The eagle flies on Friday, baby. Time to get my drink on.
