Spring has sprung, the grass has riz, and the 10 iridescent grackles that nest annually in my white pine have returned, screeching like an old porch glider, day and night. As the weather warms, I like to sit on the deck with my coffee and Merlin early in the morning. Sometimes I see a hawk or a flicker. Yesterday, a dark-eyed junco turned up dead in the alley. Marty brought it to me on a forked twig to identify; its little beak like baby pink nail polish was a dead giveaway. (“Everything dies, baby, that’s a fact.”)
One hundred daffodils have opened in my yard, and the rocket arugula is ready to pluck for salads. The blueberry bush survived its first winter, though last year’s berries were all eaten by the catbirds, and there’s new growth on the hydrangeas.
It wasn’t so long ago—last spring, in fact—that enjoying these things came without remorse and regret. This spring, though, watching the doves do it in the redbud tree can sometimes make you feel a little guilty for enjoying nature’s spectacle while fascism rises. You can concentrate on lining up the rusty glider’s heaves and hos with the grackles’ squawks for only so long before it hits you that democracy is dying in bright sunshine, too.
I wonder if I will bother with the garden this year, though it seems to be a simple act of rebellion to continue planting seeds of joy.
That same why bother thought occurs to me about writing. I can’t say anything as important as what Jessica Craven, Robert Hubbell, Rebecca Solnit, et al. are saying, nor as poetically as Ren Powell says anything. Writing is not even good therapy anymore.
Two weeks ago, I wrote about my white flag of surrender here and on LinkedIn. I signed up for social security so I could get a check or two before that’s canceled. (It’s less than I’d make with a retail job, but it’s mine.) Every once in a while, I find a job working for a company I already patronize and figure I’ll give it a shot only to learn:
Yesterday, though, I did apply for one one of them. This is what I said:
Dear [redacted] Recruitment Team:
By the time you see this—if you see it—you’ll have more than 2,000 applicants. So I’ll be brief because I respect people’s time, especially my own.
I am a former [redacted] customer who would probably still be one if I had a job. But I’m also 62 years old, and though I’ve been in marketing for most of my life and have kept my skills sharp and adapted quickly and easily to new tech, ageism is rampant. That hardly matters because: 2,000 applicants!
I’ve done every kind of writing you can name, even poetry (and have been widely published); spearheaded and launched a new intranet, maintained it, and trained super-users; drafted all C-suite communications; and written white papers galore. You can see a lot of it at my website, Fuquinay!
I’m also a kind and generous person, a servant leader, and a loyal employee.
If my resume floats your boat, I’d love an interview. I’m not going to pretend I have a shot in hell, though!
At the very least, I hope you laugh.
Warmly,
Leslie F. Miller
That will be my cover letter for every job from now on. I may also change my profile picture to one where I’m making an L on my own forehead.
Hmmm…maybe writing is good therapy.
Life is not without opportunities for creativity. On Saturday, my family took our Musk signs to the weekly Tesla Takedown next to the Owings Mills dealership. There was free Costco pizza (NGL—I had a slice), Dunkin’ Donuts, and, regrettably, Jersey Mike’s subs.1
The crowd is overwhelmingly white ladies of a certain age, though plenty of men and young folks are showing up. And they all love my sign. Two women wanted to buy one, and I offered to send the PDF so they can have it printed at a local copy place. (One of them followed through, and I asked her to Venmo me a two-buck tip for the file, if she felt like it, and she paid me $25, so I told her I’d take her the whole sign next week.)
I’ve been making lots of signs and flyers and even t-shirts for my daily walks around the neighborhood. My first was a test to see how Indivisible Baltimore’s logo would look on apparel.
For me, Indivisible is the point at which creativity meets activism. Here’s another: A Torch for the Long Night: Voices Against Fascism. Poets, please consider contributing to this journal, which I am coediting with the phenomenal Ren Powell.
Finally, this is an excellent time to get a dog. If you’re local, BARCS is your best spot. And if you want the most precious addition to your life, consider Creamsicle. I’d snap him up right away if I didn’t have Ziggy. He says hi, by the way.
Jersey Mike’s sold to/partnered with the private equity firm Blackstone in early 2025, but Peter Cancro remains its CEO.
You rock! Love your cover letter, love your writing about birds and grass and bushes and signs of spring. Love your graphic design work, Love your Indivisible logo, and would love to sit on your deck with you drinking coffee and identifying bird calls.
Love the cover letter as well. Realistic, non-apologetic, interesting enough to stand out!