Mrs. Jogger has had sort of a checkered history of employment. She has foolishly left good jobs to follow me from grad school to a job to another grad school to another job and then finally here to southwestern Wisconsin. She also put her career on hold while the kids were young. She hasn't worked full time since right before the first Little Jogger was born. In the brief time that we have been married, she's been a librarian, a salesperson in a fabric store (actually, two different fabric stores), a direct mail marketer, an office manager in a travel agency, a librarian again, a librarian a third time, a sorter in a thrift shop, a receptionist in an art gallery, and a field worker. I may have forgotten some.
This last year, she's been a writer for the local shopping news. It's not hard-hitting journalism, but it's fun. She covers new businesses and local activities. She does something new every week, and the hours are flexible, so she can deal with sick kids, after school activities, and household chores.
Yesterday, when she opened her e-mail to file this week's stories, she found an e-mail from the receptionist (not even from her boss!) saying, "By the way, the paper just published its last issue." So Mrs. J again joins the ranks of the unemployed.
Of course, this isn't a major disaster, as is facing many families these days. I remain in a well-paying, secure job. We will still be able to make the payments on the yacht, but we may have to sell one of the polo ponies, if the price of feed gets too high.
Still, it's crummy news, and we're a bit bummed about it.
[For the record (I know many of you are trying to keep track at home) I did run 5.3 miles at the gym this morning. I expect to be home tomorrow evening, and I'll be back to pasting my picture into the Montana landscape.]
Service, Summer, Sex, and Shoestrings
9 hours ago