Wednesday, April 18, 2007

Regis on the move...again

Regis says he is as predictable in his job movement as Bert is at getting through a fence. Tom says we can count on Regis to give us a reason for a party at least once a month. Ha. Yesterday Regis was offered a job at the Midwest Call Center in Mankato. It's one of Glen Taylor's companies. He says it's a nice building with a pyramid thing on the top and an atrium in the center of the work area. Very nice touch. He took his drug test today and as soon as they get the results, he can start. Benefits, the main reason for the switch, start June 1st. This job has everything we hoped hours, weekends off, benefits, and a reasonable distance from home. He has another four weeks of training...he'll be like a customer service wiz.

I think we foiled Bert with a four-foot fence. To our knowledge he hasn't even tried to scale this one. So far, so good. If we find him in the living room now it will be because he's learned to unlock the back door (which is difficult with no opposable thumb), unlatch the gate, and has gone around to pick the lock on the front door. I wouldn't put any of this past him for a second.

I've tried a couple times to write something about what happened in West Virginia but I can't seem to do it. I haven't watched it on the news, just read some on MSNBC and the Trib. I really haven't watched the news for years (since the OJ Simpson thing) and it's a good thing. Most of the news is getting to be like the National Enquirer anyway....crap that you don't really need to know. We've argued about it at work. Some people are obsessed and want to watch and talk about it all the time. It's a sad and wretched thing to think about so I'd rather not.

Poem: "Nothing is Lost" by Noel Coward, from Collected Verse
Reprinted without permission.

Nothing is Lost

Deep in our sub-conscious, we are told
Lie all our memories, lie all the notes
Of all the music we have ever heard
And all the phrases those we loved have spoken,
Sorrows and losses time has since consoled,
Family jokes, out-moded anecdotes
Each sentimental souvenir and token
Everything seen, experienced, each word
Addressed to us in infancy, before
Before we could even know or understand
The implications of our wonderland.
There they all are, the legendary lies
The birthday treats, the sights, the sounds, the tears
Forgotten debris of forgotten 2007s
Waiting to be recalled, waiting to rise
Before our world dissolves before our eyes
Waiting for some small, intimate reminder,
A word, a tune, a known familiar scent
An echo from the past when, innocent
We looked upon the present with delight
And doubted not the future would be kinder
And never knew the loneliness of night.

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