Those sad Statues of Liberty

April 15th and I'm depressed--like half the country, I know. But I'm not depressed for the same reason they're depressed. In fact, I like tax day! My husband and I don't listen to the sage advice of investment experts who tell you that if you do things "the right way", you should end-up not owing the government nor expecting a return at the end of the year.

No, we aren't savers. (Except for all of the crap we've accumulated around our house, but I digress.) We don't "do" money very well. So, we look at taxes as our own little savings plan. With 5 kids, we know we're in pretty good shape in the refund department. Cha-Ching.

Lot's of people would consider our view as unconventional. Others might see it as unconstitutional. Still others probably see it as sheer lunacy. We just like knowing that we'll have a few bucks in the bank come summer.

No, I'm not depressed because it's tax day. Well, that's not exactly true; I guess the date is part of it. I'm depressed because I know the local unemployment rates went up today. In our little neck of the woods there's a tax preparation company that uses the Statue of Liberty in their logo. Every winter, they hire people to work from about mid-February until April 15. Their job consists of standing on busy street corners, dressed in a head-to-toe teal velvet dress and matching spiked foam headpiece and waving their plastic, teal torch at all of the passersby. Some of them smile, but others just wave. I think some don't smile because it's cold in Minnesota at this time of year-- REALLY cold, and REALLY wet. Standing on a busy street corner'll get you pretty darn good and soaked. That can't feel good. It's also got to be very difficult to smile through it all.

I've seen a few of these folks wearing ski masks--like cat burglars wear--on especially cold days. This is scary looking and it's creepy, seeing the Statue of Liberty's face covered in black with only her beady little eyes shifting back and forth as cars whiz past her.

But, heck, let's face it: it's a job, after all! And, at least for a few months, these folks get a steady income. Sadly, I highly doubt they work in the office the other 10 months of the year; I'm quite sure they're temps.

So, today was their last day of work. That's why I'm depressed. And, to make matters worse, we all know Santa won't be hiring his elves for several more months. Maybe there is a line of Statues of Liberty sitting along the bar downtown right about now, drowning their sorrows and wiping their tears away with their long, soft, teal-colored sleeves. I'm so sad for them, maybe I'll go "belly-up" right alongside them all to express my solidarity. I guess I'd feel better if I gave one of them a job. I'd hire one to paint my house, but I can't get that done until I get my tax return.

I'm trying to put my finger on it. The feeling reminds me of a cross between when I was 16 and hearing the phone ring, absolutely knowing, without a doubt that it was him calling for me (!), and the precise moment that followed giving birth; exhilaration and exhaustion and suprise. I'm beyond excited!

Here's the deal: someone I know and love and respect and trust read and commented on my writing today. She didn't have to say anything and I would never have known she read my blog. When I told her about it (NO ONE knew my little blogging secret at that point), I was killing time at the public computer in the coffee shop while I waited for her. I knew deep down that I was playing with fire--and I liked it. I was half - hoping she'd walk in and see what was on the screen and ask about it. "Oh, this?", I'd say, real cool-like, "I wasn't going to tell anybody, but now I guess I have to: I've been writing a blog. I know it's silly". Then, I'd quickly minimize it, playing on her curiosity, and we'd start for the comfy chairs. She wouldn't be able to stand it and the conversation would quickly turn back to my blog. It didnt' really go that way, so I pretty much forced her to read my first entry after I'd reluctently pried my hands away from the computer screen. I did that "read it...no, don't....OK, just please just read it--no wait, let's change the subject, I'm not ready yet....did you read the end? you have to read the end, I think it's really good (don't ask her if she thinks it's good)...." thing. And then I immediately felt like vomitting from nerves . . Writing this right now makes me sound like a game player and I'm absolutely not. I was just embarassed and scared and can't believe how much goes through my head in a split second.

Anyway, she's been my writing mentor, whether she likes it or not. I appologize for it constantly.

Not only did that happen--which would have been enough--but someone else, a stranger whose work I read and commented on myself--sent me an e- mail about my response to her work. And she liked it! I could fly!

I feel as though I've been published and I want to celebrate! Could I use more exclamation points? I don't think so! Disbelief that my words might reach someone who really knows their stuff--that she might not only understand what I wrote, but be moved to comment is pure gift.

I would consider myself a relatively successful vocalist. People have complimented my singing and paid me for it most of my life. That makes me a professional, by literal definition. Some people have even respected my vocal work enough to ask me to teach their child how to do it. In all the years of singing , though, I can't recall feeling like I do this very minute. Isn't that strange? Maybe that birth analogy isn't so cliche' after all. Something so difficult to which I feel absolutely called yet immeasurably inept at all at once is sort of just happening to me, right before my eyes and I have to completely let go of control. The reward, of course, is a new life.

I think that happened to me today. How great is that? I didn't even know I was pregnant!