Go Get Your Mother

An Amish boy and his father were visiting a mall. They were amazed by almost everything they saw, but especially by two shiny, silver walls that could move apart and back together again. The boy asked his father, "What is this father?" The father (never having seen an elevator) responded, "Son, I have never seen anything like this in my life, I don't know what it is." While the boy and his father were watching wide-eyed, an old lady limping slightly with a cane slowly walks up to the moving walls and pressed a button. The walls opened and the lady walks between them and into a small room. The walls closed and the boy and his father watched small circles of light with numbers above the wall light up. They continued to watch the circles light up in the reverse direction. The walls opened up again and a beautiful 24-year-old woman stepped out. The father said to his son, "Go get your Mother.

Unaware that Labor Day weekend was so close and in desperate need of a day off, I took last Friday off from work. This was not just any day off, but the first paid day off of my life. The day itself felt like any other day off, but it was sure nice to get the same size paycheck deposited into my bank account last night.

So to celebrate the occasion, Jen and I spent our three day weekend in Pennsylvania at our friends’ new home. There house sits right on the Susquehanna River in a very rural part of York. The river forms the border between York and Lancaster counties so, being so close to Dutch country, we spent some time visiting authentic Amish markets and shops.

We began passing traditional horse-drawn black buggies almost as soon as we crossed the bridge to Lancaster. I would smile as we passed, admiring their simplicity and the patience they have to slowly travel down the highway. I would love to know what they thought of the crew cab Dodge Ram (with a Hemi) that we rumbled by them in. But I didn’t just want to pass Amish people in traffic. I wanted to actually interact with some - to hear their accents and taste their food and buy Amish things.

Our first stop was a gift shop, where we got the scoop on the day’s Amish activities from a very effeminate, but kind older gentlemen. He daintily pointed out every authentic Amish knickknack we eyeballed, gave us directions to and an unnecessary explanation of the “standing market,” and went on and on about how much he loved his job because it allows him to talk to “lovely people” like us. He also told our friend Chelsea that, “with a figure like hers,” she should feel free to eat all the treats the Amish have to offer. After grabbing a Christmas gift for my Mennonite-admiring Grandmother and an Amish made candle for our apartment, we got the hell out of there and headed to the big Saturday Amish Market.

After taking advantage of a photo op in front of the antique covered wagon, we entered the indoor Bird In Hand Farmers Market. I was happy to see so many young Amish people behind the counters.  Girls wear their hair pulled back tight (so tight some were already balding) under a bonnet and guys don a weird bowl cut.  All have bad teeth (I guess dental work is frowned upon).  I was even happier when I realized there were more samples than at Costco on a Sunday. Everything we tried was pretty awesome but the pecan sticky buns stick out. We ended up buying sausage and cheese, cider, and some chocolates.  I had so many shoe-fly pie samples that I decided against buying my own to take home. Everyone who helped us in the market, mostly young Amish girls, was kind and truly happy to help.

Their main values, which I recently looked up, are humility, family, and community. They celebrate mild and modest personalities and believe yielding and patience for others is a sign of maturity. As odd as their culture may seem, I really had a sense of admiration for their grateful attitudes and humble, simple lives. I don’t see Jen or myself deciding to give that lifestyle a go, especially not in NYC (ha, can you imagine!?), but all those happy Amish people in Lancaster, PA at least made me think.

Moving On Up

Just days after signing a lease here in Brooklyn, Jen was told that she would be moved from the Downtown Fed building to an offsite Barclays Bank location in Midtown. This is not ideal for many reasons, mostly because we moved to Brooklyn to be closer to both our workplaces and the location Jen was transferred to is just fifteen minutes from our old apartment in LIC. Jen’s been busy getting her new team organized, making friends, and trying to make the best of the situation but really misses working Downtown.

So when my boss called me into his office and told me that I would be leaving the first floor rehab gym my mouth fell open and I asked, “Am I at least staying in the building?” He laughed and said, “Um, yes.” It turned out that a few doctors were in need of an office so they took over a small gym on our first floor and moved a couple of people around. For whatever reason, it was decided that a PT, an OT, and I would be given a brand new gym on the 3^rd floor to make room for the therapists that were being kicked out by the doctors.  As with most things, there are pros and cons to moving floors, but as long as I was to stay in the building I was open to the change. It was a challenge last week while we waited for the computer, printer, and phone to be installed, with online paperwork piling up in the meantime.  Although much less drastic than Jen’s I, too, am trying to make the best of my move. At least we’ve got a brand new PT gym with a fresh coat of paint and a view of the Statue of Liberty from our big windows.

The question that I’m most frequently asked these days is how the new job is going. It’s going well I answer. When Jen’s asked how I’m doing she usually responds with, “He’s good, just having a hard time adapting to the 9 to 5 work schedule.” This is a true statement. I worry, though, that people will assume I don’t like what I do or that I just haven’t found the right job yet.  That’s not the case. What I always try to convey is that there’s nothing I would like to do for eight hours a day. Playing with Pup, making art from random things, going out with Jen, practicing yoga, or whatever else I like to do would all get old after a while… yes, even hanging out with Jen. 

After a quick Google search on work-life balance, I quickly found I’m not the only one with “itchy feet.” There are entire websites, personal blogs, and researchers devoted to the people who, like me, get antsy after working in one place for a short while. Not to worry, I’m not looking for another job or anything. I think I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be right now, which is one of the best centers for sub-acute rehab in NYC.  Not a bad place to be. I know there’s a compromise out there; I just don’t know what that is yet. After getting some experience under my belt, I’d like to explore more flexible jobs within physical therapy, like part-time coverage or homecare. I hear the increased pay rate offsets the decreased hours. But hey, if Jen continues to be promoted at her current break-neck speed, I’ll be back to my stay-at-home, trophy husband status in no time!

Saturday

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