Last time I told you about my new ambition, to become a grocery store cashier. Maybe you want something like that, too, for the health insurance that goes with the position, as well as the wee stipend for stuff like rent, pet food, and gas for the car.

I was surprised to find no line of hopefuls wrapped around the store when I arrived shortly after sunrise, but a steady stream presented itself: men as well as women, some my age, some young enough to be my children.

I found myself hoping that the polite young man who got there just as I did would get the job, or that it might go to the young woman with the beautiful smile who held the heavy door back for us to enter as she exited. These kids need a good job with benefits, I thought. It could be a great start for them.

Maybe that's why I, uh, forgot to mention my previous cashiering experience on the application. Or maybe it was because I really just don't want to be a cashier again.

Imagine.

Never expected to be doing that now, as a 48-year-old divorcée. Never expected to be a 48-year-old divorcée.

Silly me.

The representative said I'd hear from the company in a week if they had a place for me. So if my phone's going to ring, that should happen any time now.

I'd prefer to be waiting for word of my ascension to a full professorship, or that the syndication deal I'd been working on has come through.

Those calls may come, someday. For now, though, I'd relish the safety provided by a little job at the grocery store.

And if I don't get it, I'd be really happy to see the face of that young man, or that young woman, when next I approach the register with my bananas and sparkling juice in hand. 

I think I want to become a cashier. In yesterday's classifieds I found an ad seeking Cashiers — yes, with a capital C. One of the grocery stores I frequent is looking for cashiers (who also will get to stock shelves and clean floors) to start at $10.80 per hour.

That's a lot more than I made last time I was a cashier.

This company appears to treat its workers better than everybody I cashiered for in my misspent youth, too. The people at the registers sit in chairs and customers bag their own purchases.

But, and this is what really got my attention, employees are eligible for insurance covering medical, dental, and vision after 90 days.

Wow. That would've been enough to get me excited, but wait, there's more: The company also offers a retirement income plan and 401(k), paid vacation after six months — and an extra dollar an hour for working on Sundays, when they don't open until noon.

I remember real jobs, the kind that offered such marvelous benefits. And the benefits are what I really need, thank you very much; if I could get an employer to give me decent health insurance, I might be willing to forgo a salary.

Heaven knows I've made do without one for years.

I have a graduate degree and lots of experience in areas other than retail. Before I moved, the Good Doctor instructed me not to sell myself short in my quest for work. She might not exactly approve of my aspiration to ring up roasts, instant coffee, and bags of apples.

On the other hand, I think she'd probably appreciate my desire to keep feeding and housing myself and the animals and to have the medical coverage I so feared losing when I got divorced.

When she got divorced, she was a waitress.

The ad says a representative will be available to meet Cashier hopefuls tomorrow beginning at 7 am. It'll be pretty cold then.

I hope the line won't be too long.

"Going to a junkyard is a sobering experience. There you can see the ultimate destination of almost everything we desired." —Roger Von Oech, A Wack On The Side of the Head

I read this the other day and have since been trying to keep it in mind as Christmas creeps closer and closer and my bank account gets lower and lower. It seems that once you have a child there is so much pressure on you as a parent to perform in many areas, and acquiring "stuff" is a big one.

It was at the mall last night, where I was desperately searching for "stuff" to buy for Adrian, that this quote helped me the most.

Looking at rocket ships, dinosaurs, train sets — all overpriced — and parents stumbling over one another to have them; I thought about all of the toys that Adrian has had since he's been born. Then I thought about where they all ended up: either broken and in the garbage or outdated and donated.

We don't have tons of money, at all. Levi is still not contributing and as Adrian's birthday is so close to Christmas I'm still stuck playing a little bit of catch up from that.

As much as I'd like to, I simply can't afford to have a dozen presents under the tree and besides which, are these monetary, materialistic values the type that I'd like to instill in my son, anyhow? The answer is no.

It took a bit of reasoning with myself but I'm feeling okay with it now. Adrian is getting four presents from me (well, two Santa gets the credit for) and we will spend the rest of the day basking in each other's company — and maybe playing in the snow.

Christmas will be about more than gifts. It will also be about appreciating each other and strengthening the bond of our family.

I wish you all a very happy holiday.

Faith

Thanksgiving week has all the wind knocked out of me. Could just be my reaction to going down, down, down the rabbit hole. The Holidays are here.

Only thing I know is the only thing I want to do is curl up under my big old comforter and sleep. It’s the lack of time that has me feeling so defeated. My kids don’t have school all week and we don’t have childcare, don’t have the money for the extra child care, I should say, so what happens? I don’t have time to work.

We are caught right smack in the center exactly what I feared getting back into this. I have no time to work because we can’t afford to cover the business hours I need so jobs are left unfinished leaving me feeling further defeated and my pay further behind, which adds up to less childcare that we can afford and fewer things completed. It goes on like this until I’m right where I am now.

One big miserable puddle of blah. And I blame it on the marriage, when actually I should blame it on me.

My reasoning, skewed as it may be, is that when we were apart a couple things were absolute: I had several days every week to work because the kids were with Sam and I had to make it work because the alternatives were homelessness and starvatation.

This week, I’m giving thanks for my two beautiful, healthy girls, and the ability I have to back up, reconsider, and try it again. But I'm also questioning how much of my current situation is a self-fulfilling prophecy and why I can't have the structure to make room for work in the same way I did when I was separated.

"Sometimes I fantasize about getting married again," I said to my friend Rachel. We both looked at each other stunned — even I couldn't believe the words that had just come out of my mouth.

"But," I continued, "I don't really see the point."

Both statements are true.

There is a part of me that dreams of sharing that bond with someone again. This is the more emotional part. But the other part — the more cynical part — says, why even bother?

Consider the cost of marriage (which can really be anywhere from fifty bucks to fifty thousand bucks — and even more if you're totally insane), factor in  the sky-high rate of divorce, then throw in the cost of getting a divorce. Truthfully, marriage can seem like nothing but a bad investment. And that does even cover the emotional energy that you'll spend, the heartbreak that you'll endure, or the cost of your therapist.

It's 2008, and the rules have changed. People live together for years without being married — something that once upon a time was frowned upon. Now, single women give birth to babies every day. Quite simply, times have changed and sometimes it seems that marriage is becoming more and more outdated.

But then why does that other piece of me yearn for it?

What is it about marriage that despite the obvious pain in the ass that it can be, that keeps up coming back for more? 

There's nothing like posting your procrastination on a blog to give you that needed nudge. Today, I sold what I referred to recenly as my post-divorce jewelry — the gifts that Jake gave me over the course of our marriage.

The thing about the Internet, it really leaves us no excuses. There's no use pleading, "But I don't know where to go!" Logging on to yelp.com makes it difficult to get away with that kind of thing.

I dumped my wares before the jeweler: a necklace, earrings, and anklet set in amethyst and gold. The giant gold pendant that won the My Husband Gives Me Uglier Gifts Than Your Husband contests for years. A dozen pearls I never got around to stringing. And my wedding ring.

Much of it the jeweler didn't want. Pearls, he said, he's seeing "by the buckets." No one wants pearls these days, he said. The amethyst set he didn't want either, but gave me the card of a place that might. The pendant he took. And the ring he took.

I hadn't initially thought to bring the wedding ring. All that other jewelry, I never wore. I had never liked any of it. I kept it all in a box and never thought about it. Strangely, I had never thrown the ring into that box. I grabbed it last minute, an afterthought, as I left the apartment.

Seeing it there on the counter, waiting to be weighed — it was a strange feeling. As the jeweler and I filled out the surprising amount of paperwork involved in the transition, it just sat there, looking at me. And I had a pang. I'm not sure why. I've hardly looked at it since the day I put it away. That whole last year, I found excuses not to wear it. I'd been glad to take it off permanently.

One thing I can say about my divorce is that it was surprisingly civil. We worked with a mediator and our accountant to work out the financial details, kids visitation issues and the nitty gritty of who got what. Then our individual lawyers looked over the paperwork, blessed our disunion, and we signed on the dotted line. A year later, we were divorced and the whole business cost about $5,000.

Compare that with S, now into year two of his nasty divorce and endless depositions, attorney meetings, court dates. His ex has been playing the delaying game because he is paying all her bills until they reach an agreement. They get close to a settlement, she decides to switch lawyers. Another retainer check (ka-ching), another delay. I can't even begin to imagine the final tab on this divorce.

But then a funny thing happened in the Ex Wars.

After a long term relationship ended, S's ex went back trolling on the Internet where she soon netted a number of potential catches.

One, she decides to meet at a local restaurant. He joins her, they engage in small talk. "I'm a matrimonial lawyer," he said.

"That's funny, I'm going through a divorce right now," she responded.

"What did you say your last name was?" he asked.

When she told him, he abruptly rose and "recused himself" from the date. Seems he was on S's legal team.

Her lawyer immediately made a motion to force S to hire yet another lawyer, which was — thankfully — denied. But the incident did open an interesting can of worms.

One of the sticking factors in coming to an agreement has been her aversion to work. She is much too ill from various ailments, she maintains, to ever again hold even a part time job.

I've changed a lot in the past few years. When my husband stopped paying attention to me I started writing professionally and the next thing I knew I was busy with a freelance writing career that became surprisingly profitable. At first I was making enough money to occasionally take the family out to dinner, but now I make almost as much as my husband does.

It's an interesting transition to go from stay-at-home mom to nearly-equal breadwinner, especially when it annoys my husband to no end. In the beginning he would tolerate my deadlines but roll his eyes and sigh about how I should really work more on keeping the house clean. For a while I managed to do both — I kept the house clean and met all my deadlines — but I got very little sleep and was really exhausted all the time.

Funny...he could have stepped up and helped me with the house and taken some of the burden off me, but he didn't. In fact, one time he blew up at me and said how unfair it was that I had agreed to be a stay-at-home mom but then went out and got myself a career. Damn that ambition of mine.

Fast forward to present day, with the economy going crazy and our money just not stretching like it once did. It's my income that allows us to meet our bills every month and for him to still have the niceties he craves. It's my income that pays for car repairs. My income pays for the preschool tuition for the kids and paid for our road trip to see my husband's parents last month. In other words, without my income we'd be in bad shape.

This doesn't change a thing. I'm still expected to do everything around the house. No matter how much money I bring in he still sees me as the same stay-at-home mom I was years ago. I guess it's what he wanted, and still wants to this day, so that's what I'm always going to be in his mind.

Okay, I've got a new house for the animal family and me. Now: What to do with the old one? The plan is to ready it for sale or rent. I've talked with a couple of friends to see if they might want to buy it or maybe even rent it at a reduced rate just to keep it from standing empty.

And, my soon-to-be-ex Edgar has volunteered to rent it.

Edgar tells me I have to hang onto it. "That house is the only thing you have." Well, sort of.

I like to think of things like friends and family, years of experience in the kind of work I love, even my books and music as things I "have." But he's right. The old homestead is certainly my biggest material asset, even though its value has been dropping like a stone.

"This isn't the time to be selling your house," he told me.

I didn't buy the house as an investment, per se. I bought it 11 years ago because I'd always wanted a house, and needed a nice, quiet place to keep myself and my stuff. I kept it even when strangers approached me in the yard during the real estate boom and offered me several times what I paid. 

But they were offering only money. This is my home.

And though it is worth much, much less than it has been, I should still make a profit if I'm able to sell the place.

But that's a big If. I'd love to be able to rent it to Edgar and keep it. He does have a stable job, he knows the house's idiosyncrasies and might take better care of it than I have.

However, I also remember worrying, when he lived here, that he might set the place on fire during a drunken episode.

Typically, Ed is presenting himself as the solution to my problems, even though he says he can't afford the full mortgage payment. I'd have to pick up the shortfall. "But if you'd be willing to lose your house over a couple of hundred dollars a month," he said, "that's just stupid."