Eight weeks, Sixteen weeks, Thirty-five years

I give blood every eight weeks whenever possible. Tomorrow I will give blood once again. It's been eight weeks since my last donation, though if I didn't have the evidence to prove that I would swear that my last donation was just three or four weeks ago. Eight weeks ago I broke the news to them that my "employer" data field would need to be revised to reflect my "between jobs" status. I fully expected that eight weeks later I would be several weeks into a new job. So far, no such luck. I've applied to several carefully selected jobs, but as of this writing I haven't heard anything much one way or the other about any of them.

Eight weeks before then I actually could have had them change this data field. I had a blood donation the weekend after our little Reduction In Force. I guess I was still in shock at that point, still saw myself as being on the payroll of that company. It's a funny story: we had a corporate blood drive scheduled for the Wednesday of that week, and as I was actually eligible to give blood the previous weekend, I postponed my donation by a few days so I could be a team player, pitch in, and help with our blood collection total at work. Mysteriously, the blood drive was cancelled without explanation shortly before it was to take place, and I rescheduled my donation to the weekend after. The real bloodletting at work took place that Tuesday. The next day, I doubt many of those who were left would have been in the mood to roll up their sleeves and give a pint. Besides, nobody would have probably passed the blood pressure test.

So it's been sixteen weeks since I lost my job. They haven't been idle weeks, although there was a period of enforced idleness during which I did not know what the terms of my severance would be, and could not take certain actions (or certain jobs) for fear of forfeiting my severance. I have filled up the days with classes and training, home improvement work, time with my family, time with my friends, all the things I never had time for back when I was working. I am looking for new employment, though maybe not as frantically as I should be. Soon that will change.

Tomorrow will also mark the thirty-fifth anniversary of one of the most significant events in this area's history: On June 23, 1972, the Susquehanna River, swollen with rainwater deposited upriver by Hurricane/Tropical Storm Agnes, rose out of its banks and flooded the Wyoming Valley. The amount of damage was remarkable, although it pales in comparison to the flooding in New Orleans or the Great Johnstown Flood - both of which were events in which man-made engineering stupidity played a major role.

My uncle, the one who died on the same day as Haley, was getting married during what has come to be known as The Wrath of Agnes, or simply The Flood. His marriage went through as scheduled, though some arrangements had to be changed drastically - I believe their wedding cake needed to be replaced in a hurry. My mom invited a relative living in the flood zone to come stay with us until the danger passed; the relative turned down the offer, pointing out that there wasn't even water in her basement yet. She left her house several days later, by boat, out a third-story window. My most vivid memory of the flood was standing in her living room a week or two later, after the water had receded and the Susquehanna had returned to its banks and the cleanup began, and looking up at the images of book covers pressed into the plaster ceiling. They had floated out of the bookcases, floated up to the ceiling, and then pressed against it, leaking yellow and blue and red and green and brown dye out of their cloth and leather bindings, as the water continued to rise but the books remained in place.

Today the weather is beautiful as we bask in a high-pressure system that followed on the heels of yesterday's thunderstorms - maybe it's even a little windy, but I'm not complaining. Tomorrow I will give blood. And I will remember events of eight weeks, sixteen weeks, and thirty-five years ago.