Well, as anticipated, it was not flawlessly smooth to change jobs.
The emotional turmoil was intense — I just had to tune out. Change gets harder as we age. The brain no longer has as many locations for chemical bonds and instead has to rely on constructing new neurons. That takes time. Thus the older brain takes longer to learn new tasks, but once they are learnt, they are more solid than in youth.
So here I am, learning a new facility, with the inevitable neurological backlash within my own being for change.
Then there were all those shifts.
CNAs get very high on the management’s list of Faves when they pick up a lot of shifts.
Everyone gets sick or has a family emergency. That is how life is. But women bear a disproportionate burden in family responsibilities, hence the last minute call of the woman in her prime, “I can’t make it in,” and my manager is on the phone to the older worker whose nest is empty and whose coffers can use a little boost in the final years of heavy-duty wage earning.
So, as usual, I am staring down the boat.
I took a trip to Port Angeles last week. That drive across the Hood Canal bridge reminds me of why I got this old bucket. The water is smooth as glass.
You got to do something for the boat, so I got a tiny fridge, just enough for coffee fixings and a can of refreshment or two. Now that’s a weekend’s entertainment!
Kingston, while waiting for the ferry. In 1990 my great-aunt Lura Mae and her husband Clifford treated me to fish and chips here at the terminal right before I got on the ferry to Edmonds.
