The Jobless Goddess

            So I’m at a bit of a crossroads. I could take a job for a nickel an hour and redeem my self-esteem in the process, or I could take up the terrifying life of a freelancer.             No self-respecting 54-year-old wants to be on the dole.             That being said, I’m too damn old to bring home $387 a week. I don’t care if I’m stirring oatmeal at the nursing home.             I find my professional life has taken a turn since I moved from Syracuse to Martha’s Vineyard. Granted, it’s a newspaper life and we all know the printed word is about to be dug up by archeologists any time now.             When you do something with your hands or your mind, even if it’s just typing, you tend to wonder all the time if you’re good enough. Isn’t there somebody just over the horizon that’s better, that’s faster than you in every way?             Then there’s the whole thing about making a living for the past 25 years as a writer. There’s still this part of me that

When I was making wedding plans (I mean the most recent wedding), Danny typed to me, “On such an extraordinary occasion I believe I must wear a tuxedo.” That may be my favorite sentence ever.          Therefore, let me say, “Upon the impending celebration of my birth, I am glad to be alive and I shall wear a shade of gray,” at least as far as my hair is concerned.          Let me just throw out that famous question at the same time: At what point shall I wear purple with a red hat that doesn’t go?          I feel like my time is now.          My hairdresser Seniel is a great influence. She waves her scissors about like Johnny Depp and says, “I know what to do. Let’s do a little something…” I told her today that my birthday is tomorrow and if she had a tattoo parlor next door, I would have stopped by there on my way home from getting my haircut. I think a little “JCDC” for James, Cate, Dan, and Chris penned on my wrist or ankle (cankle) is in order on this “extraordinary occa