in another lifetime.......

Looking into the past always brings on a feeling that we all arrive at our given path due to the directions we took along the way. How can it be any other way? Roads diverted, hurdles jumped and decisions handled, all make up who we are, and how we manage the changes.... how we arrive at today; this very time and place of who we are now.

We are always making choices, whether they were pre-planned or pre-destined (if you believe in that sort of thing). And then there are those pesky curve-balls that seem to divert your attention and circumvent even the best laid plans. It's what we call life.... and it's what we live and deal with on a daily basis, if not momentary sometimes. John Lennon said it best: "Life is what happens when we're busy making other plans."

What should be a time for me to look forward, I've been looking back, and taking stock in all I have learned along the way. Were they the right choices? Were they the wisest paths? Were it not for me, would I have done something different with the advise I learned from the "sages" I have become accostumed to glorifying? Well...... maybe, maybe and maybe. Who knows, and really all that matters is that I am comfortable in my surroundings of where I'm at now, because in the grand scheme of life, I've only myself to please at the end of the day. It's not like we all get out of this one alive anyway.

In my humble assessment, it makes me feel grateful to know that I worked through the ranks the hard way. Struggles had to be overcome, tasks had to have my hands all over it to know that I played a role, and small sacrifices had to be filed away to be filled another day. It's the daily grudge.... it's what life is all about.

Part of that was finding the "right" job. Because I only went to the school of hard knocks, not having any formal education (except for a class I took in Interior Design), it always meant that I had to start at the bottom and work my way up the ranks. At the time of my graduation from high school, it wasn't really necessary for girls to go to college.... not that we didn't, it just wasn't necessary. Those were different times then.... and not like anything today. Girls didn't have the same pressures, because most of us just thought we'd get married and settle down with our 2.5 children and white picket fences. Yeah, yeah, silly thinking I know.... but this was the late 70's and we were kids born in the late 50's with June Cleaver moms and Eddie Haskill friends. If it wasn't for my Dad having a nice chat with me about the facts of life, love and marriage, I probably would have ended up a statistic with no idea how to support myself. He was instrumental in making sure that I had saleable skills, just in case "my husband" decided to leave me for his secretary... or worse, died and left me with a "passle of kids". Ouch... that little chat stung, and I sat there crying about a bleak future well before I had any idea what a future was.... or even how to map one.

I started working in a small local grocery store where I learned how to stock shelves, order food, cashier out customers and help in the deli. A customer came in one day and asked if I 'd like to come work for him in a wholesale optical company he ran in the next town over. Why not, the pay was a bit better and I could learn something new.... after all, I was 19 and it was time to start moving on to the "big time". Years went by, and my feet became itchy again. I was working as a customer service rep and had to deal with some of the nastiest people on the phone. (This probably was a good thing, as I have a habit of making faces.... and it was easier to do via phone where they couldn't see me.) After a break-up with a cheating skunk of a boyfriend, I packed my bags in my little Toyota and moved to Atlanta, only to start anew again.

My first endeavor was to wait tables. How hard could that be? Always having disposable income at my fingertips, free meals.... woohoo, I thought I'd hit the jackpot with that decision. Ha! Waiting tables is not for the weak of mind, weak of stomach, or weak of arms and legs.... nor could I make faces at the nasty people who demanded unreasonable things. My faces had to wait till I was safely in the kitchen to curse their food, carefully replacing the self induced semi-botox smile as the doors swung back out into the diningroom. Having already worked for a caterer part-time in New Hampshire, I already knew a few of the basic skills.... and having worked customer service at the optical plant, my "nice" skills were in order. If an outlet was needed to vent, there was always the cooler in back where it was easy to slip in to, and scream your head off.... just to let the steam out. I became a frequent visitor on the really busy nights, and found that the cool-down restored my sense of humor instantly. Nothing is more unpleasant than a public tantrum; besides, I always had that little angel on my shoulder that told me: Never let 'em see you cry... suck it in, then blow it out in a cool-down area. Peace will be restored, and the night will end. And it always did.

I went on to wait tables for many years, because there were as many nice people out there as there were idiots.... perhaps many more, and I became very good at my profession. My skin grew an extra layer, and trips to the walk-in became less frequent. It's what is commonly known as "taking it all in stride". At least I didn't have to bring any work home, and the income was still good. But then I had an epiphany. I was easily reaching an age where I thought I didn't want to be a waitress all my life; surely I had skills that went beyond carrying trays and fetching drinks. I wasn't a young chick anymore; at 34 these thoughts go through your head like lightening to a rod. I quit my waitressing career and went back into the grocery business, where I worked with chefs in the food court of our local Kroger store.... which really resembled a mini warehouse of one stop shopping for every task known to man. Besides doing your regular grocery shopping, you could do banking, photo stop, dry cleaning, pharmacutical refills, and rent movies. In the grand scheme of their plans, you also didn't have to cook because we provided meals on the go as well... nicely prepared by novice chefs working their way through the Culinary Institute of Atlanta as part of a work program. It was nice, and I did enjoy my time there until they transferred me to another store 30 more minutes away from where I lived and put me on nights. I lasted one month on the transfer, and took a job as catering coordinator back at an old restaurant that was 5 minutes from my home. To suppliment my income, I also waited tables on the weekends. But still I was not happy... and there is no future of ever retiring because disposable income is just that: disposable. I needed to start thinking about the bigger picture... beyond the box I put myself in.

As luck would have it, or divine Providence (who knows), I was in the right place at the right time.... or so I thought. My boss became tired of having the restaurant/ catering business and offered it up to two other managers as well as myself. We scrambled at the chance to purchase it for pennies on the dollar thinking our ship had come in. Boy were we ever delusional to think we could do a better job. There was a good reason why this place was headed to the porcelain waste basket, and all it needed was someone to flush the handle. It came in the form of an abundance of restaurants and bars opening in our area that had deeper pockets and corporate financing. We cut our losses, dropped the overhead and went strickly to catering. Our business grew, and suddenly the light at the end of the tunnel was not another on-coming train, but daylight and sunshine. The best part was that I could move my office to my home, and tend to it without always having to get dressed up everyday. I remember my first day on the "new" job. I picked up my purse and walked downstairs.... how convenient was that for a commute?

But all good things do have a way of unraveling themselves, as the craze caught on that catering was an easy and profitable business. Every Mom who thinks she has the best recipe for lasagna, every restaurant with or without the deep pockets and have back doors, and everybody who knows how to tend a stove caught onto the act. So the pie pieces have shrunk once more. Once more, we need to re-tool. This time, I'm not overly worried, as our reputation stands by itself.... heck, I still have people who call me wanting to make reservations at the restaurant, which closed in '98. We also have regular customers who wouldn't dare use anybody else. They are less frequent than we'd like them to be, but we haven't sunk the ship yet. It's something I learned along the way that keeps me from running to the cooler.... take it all in stride, because, after all, tomorrow is another day, and yesterday is a lifetime ago. I make it my new mantra to remember when the phone does not ring off the hook as it once did.