2010 Census

I'm a federal employee now working for the 2010 census, which requires me, all by myself, to drive down every road I see in my designated area (the backcountry north of Dover) and knock on every door that "is or could be a residence." I think my attitude about carrying guns might be changing. Between the dogs, the bears, the cougars which do live in these mountains despite what the Game and Fish Commission says, and the mountain men just waiting for someone from the federal government to come knock on their door I'm not sure how smart this is, but for $11.25/hour I might be willing to take the chance of getting mauled by a bear or being shot at by a crazy militia member. I've got nothing good right now, and I know it's been a while since I've posted anything or had the energy to, but I anticipate some pretty good stories-if I make it out alive. If you don't hear anything from me in the next couple of weeks send out a search party. This is so exciting!

Dial-A-Trade

Recently I've been working at the office of my father-in-law. For some reason he keeps a radio going at all times; he has ever since I've known him and it's become one of those things that, like clocks or antique fans or his love of making you feel stupid with all these crazy trivia questions he knows, make me kind of chuckle about knowing him. The radios play in the office, in his warehouse, in the tack room for the horses. He always keeps them on some sort of quiet, droning, comforting type station, something that plays old bluegrass music or talks about things that only get talked about in the background of other conversations. Except on weekdays during the lunch hour, when dial-a-trade is on and I have to suspect that more people are listening to this show than are admitting to it. It's great.
It's a whole show, and I have no idea how long it goes, a couple of hours at least, of people just calling in saying "I've got a box of refrigerator magnets for sale for $5, my number is..." Then on to the next caller. It's like a radio version of a flea market or the classifieds or, I don't know, the internet. There are sometimes some really good things, depending on the types of things you like to buy (like if you like guns and four-wheelers I'd say there are lots of great things). There's always something weird and desperate-seeming that makes you think "how did I end up here, at 27, eating cold leftovers for lunch listening to some guy try to sell his broken down Pontiac GrandAm for $300?" Sometimes people call in looking for things, or they say they saw someone drop a set of keys in a parking lot at Wal Mart and if they're listening they can call 968-5555 to get the keys back. It's a whole networking opprotunity for people who don't read Craigs List.
Are there other places that have dial-a-trade? I'd never heard of such a thing but it seems like such a good idea. If they got some good hosts, some guys like Click and Clack or something this could be a nationally syndicated show, really. It's hilarious what people call in with and always leaves you wondering what these people do when they hang up the phone. Are they calling on their lunch hour or is dial-a-trade part of how they make a living? Why are they selling their Granfather's pocket watch that doesn't run? Do they listen to dial-a-trade all the time? How long did they wait to get on the air?
It's entertaining to listen to and even makes you think about all the things you could be selling through dial-a-trade, if you weren't selling them on eBay, or, in my case, through an auction. It makes you want to buy stuff you would never otherwise think about buying just because you like a person's voice or they really sound like they need the money. It makes you proud to be an Arkansan.

Icy Trees and Electricity

One of the prettiest things in the world is trees covered with ice in the sunshine. One of the scariest things in the world is seeing one of those trees collapse under the weight of that ice. One of the most depressing things in the world is seeing that tree covered in ice fall across a power line in your back yard. This didn't happen to me, not yet. With all the wet weather we had this fall, and all the felling of trees that was done in my yard this fall, one of the pines got a little over-anxious and decided to try to save Justin the hassle of cutting him down and is now leaning, propped up by two other trees, towards the power lines, and I'm waiting, breath bated every time the wind blows for the lights to go out and the TV to go off and the refrigerator to quit refrigerating, allowing all of our condiments that fill it to go bad and force me to start a new condiment collection (who wants to spend four dollars on new salad dressing that you may hate?).

I've never in my life lived in a place where, when the electricity goes out, there is the possibility of it not coming on again for days. In my experience we just soldier through an hour or two of balancing a flashlight on end to give you enough light to search for more batteries to replace the dying ones and looking for all those half-burnt candles that you may or may not have thrown away, then the lights are back on. Here the hours drag into days and you finally go out and buy batteries and candles and board games and books. At first you wonder how anyone ever survived without light and artificial heat. By the end of the first day you think it might be kind of romantic to read a book in the candlelight. A fire seems like the only way to truly get warm. Your interest in the classics you always knew you should read but never did is awakened. By the end of day two you're a 19th century intellectual. You're an 18th century settler, thinking of creative ways to cook potatoes in the fireplace and wondering how to make cornmeal mush (isn't that what they ate?). By the end of day three you're making deals with God about how you're never going to take electricity for granted again and you're pretty much convinced that it went out in the first place just to teach you a lesson about thankfulness. You promise to read more, to turn out lights when you leave a room, to take showers instead of baths to save the hot water, and to not buy different salad dressing every time you go to the store, it's too risky and why do you have to have so much salad dressing anyway? Who in this house eats salad?

Then the electricity comes back on and you can't wait to see what's happening on American Idol. Ayn Rand gets placed right back on the bedside table where she started, and a hot bath sounds so nice who cares about saving water? Well, I'm writing this to say, preemptively, that I'm so thankful for electricity. I'd love to be the kind of person who never watches TV, who could live in a house where the thermostat stays on 68 degrees, who can cook in actual fire, and who reads by candlelight every night before going to bed, but I'm just not. I do love the way winter looks from inside my warm house, and I do love driving to work in the early morning looking at the trees covered in ice shining in the sun, but I also love leaving a hall light on at night so I don't stub my toes getting something cold to drink in the middle of the night. So, thanks, God for icy trees in sunshine, and the gravity defiance going on in the back yard that is allowing my electricity to stay on.

Well Day

I woke up this morning determined to have a good, productive day.  I wasn't feeling great but I thought that if  I wore my favorite jeans AND my favorite shirt together, which I usually try to space out a little bit so I can enjoy my favorites for more than one day and usually hold off so long that my favorites are my least-worn clothes because I'm always saving them, I could really make myself feel better.  It worked.  

As is the custom now I got sent home from work at 10 am.  Only today I didn't go home, I set out to find another job.  I went to the unemployment office (where two other people who work where I work were doing the same thing, which should say something about our employer) thinking they might give me some direction.  As it turns out there was only one direction, not many as I had hoped, and that direction led me straight to a 2 pm appointment to take a test to be a census taker.  I had a few hours to kill before 2 pm.

I went and saw a friend whom I hadn't seen in a long time.  It was nice to see her a laugh at stupid or sad things for a while.  Then I got a newspaper and looked for other jobs (there are none unless you're a nurse or something that has to do with chickens or machinery, and I want nothing to do with either; nurse wouldn't be so bad...).  I went to lunch by myself and thumbed through the rest of the paper.  It was about 1:00 pm.  As I was thumbing I came across a list of community events for the day.  On that list was an Alzheimer's Family Support Group.  My mother has Alzheimer's, she also lives hundreds of miles away and I have a horrible time being so far from her and Dad.  I thought it would be nice to talk with some other people who are dealing with the same disaster.  Then I thought it would be nice if I could make it to the meeting.  It started at 2:00 pm.  I finished my lunch and hurried out the door.

There were only about four people at the meeting, all women, women much older than me. Most of them were there for their parents but one woman was there for her husband.  He was diagnosed with Alzheimer's when he was 57.  The woman said that that was about seven years ago.  I loved listening to her talk and how she handled her new life with this disease.  It helped me understand not only what is going on with Mom but also what it's like to be Dad.  Dad, I know you're probably reading this so I won't say a whole lot, but she was really great to talk to. She also quit giving him the Alzheimer's medication because it didn't seem to be doing any good, but she gives him Good 'n' Plenty's-the pink ones-in it's place because he liked taking it - they work a lot better.  It was a great group and I hope I get sent home from work next week so that I can go again.  

I left the meeting early so I could go take my census test.  It was fun like in "Alice's Restaurant" when they're all in jail, or were they getting drafted?, I can't remember that but they were playing with the pencils and stuff and having a great time, only in my version it was pens, cheap pens that said "U.S. Government" on the barrel, that I thought I would get to keep but didn't.  Another, different from those mentioned above, guy who works where I work was also there.  We laughed about how crazy the economy is and how we both ended up at an unemployment office in a tiny room with a tiny guy asking for his government pens back after such bright prospects in our younger days.  I ended up getting a 94% on my test, a little pamphlet about why the census is good, and assurance that I would be contacted if I pass the background check (which I will, Mom and Dad) and a census taker is needed in my area.  I'm holding my breath, U.S. Government.

Then I picked up Story and came home.  It was a pretty night, my favorite kind actually.  It was really nice out today, nearly 70 degrees, so it was warm.  There were storm clouds on one side of the sky and the setting sun on the other which made the light really soft and pretty and I opened the windows so the rainy air could blow in.  We ate some supper, he shoved some trains down his shirt for a while, as he likes to do these days, we went to church, came home and now he's in bed and I'm sitting in my bed listening to the thunder and wind outside, which is my favorite thing to do at night. 

 This is not much of a story, and probably not very interesting to read, but I wrote it because I started off this morning with no plan other than to have a good, productive day. Usually I try to plan everything out and make it all fit like a Tetris game, I know some of you know what I'm talking about.  My Mom would say that it was a good day because I "set my intention" on a good day.  My church friends would say that it was a good day because I allowed God to be in control.  I think that it's both, or maybe they're the same thing. Whatever it is I'm going to sleep thankful tonight, after being sent home from work after only two hours, sitting for hours at an unemployment office, eating lunch by myself, and going to a support group for family members dealing with a dread disease, and I just wanted to share that with all of you.  Life is amazing, so are my favorite jeans and favorite shirt, I feel like, in wearing them both on the same day, I've found some sort of formula for greatness.  I'm still probably going to space them out though.

Sick Day

I don't get really sick very often, for which I'm so thankful.  Right now is one of those rare times though and I'm going to try to remember now that I should be much more thankful when I'm well.  I'm not sure if  I was poisoned by something that I ate or if I caught some killer bug, or maybe my humors just got unbalanced somehow; I know I'm definitely feeling phlegmatic and a bit melancholy. Normally I wouldn't be here typing but my job, at which I raise money for various charities, has been sending us home two hours after we arrive if we don't "sell" $25 worth of clear consciouses per hour. Which means I went home at 10 am.  Normally this would make me panic about money and job security but today I thought it was a gift from God and welcomed it simply as that.   When I got home I crawled back in bed and slept for about four hours and now am facing picking Story up in two, which means I feel like I've wasted a whole Story-free day to get things done (the panic is setting in).  Not that there's anything to do, I just feel that if Story isn't here I should be taking advantage of things like having an open container sitting on the edge of the side table and getting on the computer without being mauled by little hands, both of which I'm doing right now so the day is not a total loss.  I feel a little better.  I think I'll go eat some Tums without hiding in a closet (Story's all-time favorite thing to eat is Tums, over candy and potato chips and everything) and maybe put a puzzle together on the floor, I never do puzzles but it's nice to have that option, or I could set the sugar bowl back on the counter for a few hours where it looks so nice but is filled with sugar and thus cannot be easily accessible.  I love Story like the sky is blue but a more active kid was never born.  Here's to sick days and daycare! 

 

The Hangover

I spend most of my free time, those precious hours between 8 PM and about 10 PM, watching movies. It's usually just the first part of them because, truth be told, I'm usually sound asleep by about 9 PM, and usually I'm disappointed because Justin's come home with some made-in-a-dorm-room slasher movie with lots of what looks like ketchup and no actual movie. I was looking forward to "The Hangover" because I'd seen the ads on TV and because it was actually released in theaters by a major motion picture company, but I figured I'd still fall asleep about half way through.  Not only did I make it through the whole thing, I've watched it about three times since that first viewing.

I'm not crazy about writing movie reviews or using this blog as a place to air my commentary about pop culture, but something has got to be said for "The Hangover."  It's hilarious.  I rarely see a movie that makes me laugh out loud, but I was nearly in tears watching this one, happy, funny tears.  I used to think many things were funny, and I laughed a lot.  The "Ernest" movies always made me laugh, but now I'm just irritated by them.  "Pure Luck" was hilarious when I was ten but now only makes me laugh when Martin Short gets bitten by the bee in the airplane.  I guess my sense of humor has changed.  Lots of things are humorous, but laugh-out-loud funny, no.  "The Hangover" was funny from beginning to end and not only that but it made me want to make three friends, get one of them engaged, go to Las Vegas, get slipped some roofies in my drink, and wake up with a tiger, a chicken, and a baby in my hotel room, and I've never had any desire to visit Las Vegas.

So, I've been thinking all week about something to write and I've not come up with anything.  This week, instead of just complaining about my life I thought, since I've got nothing new to complain about, I'd offer this public service: go see "The Hangover."  It will make you laugh, it will also make you want the soundtrack.  I think a lot of the songs are not actually on the soundtrack because there must be some law about putting the Baha Men and Danzig on one CD, but that will just make you want to go out and get an iTunes card and make your own soundtrack in honor of the movie.  It's awesome.  Go see it and let me know what you think. Watch the end credits too, tell me I'm not the only one who likes Flo Rida now.  

The Purpose of Trucks

It's hard to believe now that I lived 22 years of my life without a truck.  In the past I always thought that the decision to buy a truck was determined by over-inflated ego or an under-inflated sense of self-worth (you thought I was going to say something else didn't you?). Either of the personality extremes could justify one of those giant, gas guzzling, possibly camouflaged, definitely Rhino-lined monstrosities, but certainly necessity could not.  Looking back I think I assumed that anything with a motor could pull anything else with a motor.  I had never seen a Honda Accord pulling a John Deere tractor, but that was only because anyone with a John Deere tractor would never condescend to drive a Honda Accord.  And, again, I was completely wrong and I apologize belatedly and silently for all those negative attitudes and dirty looks one of these drivers may have received from me.  

Justin drives a truck, always has, and that was something I had to overcome when I first met him.  It took a while to realize that it wasn't just a style choice or masculinity choice on his part.  He truly needed a truck, not just for pulling things but for all kinds of various functions. I began to think, what did Mom and Dad do when they bought a piece of furniture?  What if something didn't fit in the trunk?  I always wondered why I never got one of those awesome Fisher-Price play kitchens when I was little.  It wasn't because my parents were cruel and wanted to deprive me of an outlet for my domestic tendencies as a five-year-old girl, it was because how on Earth would they have gotten the thing home?

Since I've known Justin we've moved about four times, first down here from Chicago, then to Dover, then to Russellville, then back here to Dover and never once was a moving van required. We just attached the trailer to the truck and moved on down the road.  

Of course, I still can't say that every family needs a truck for buying their kids awesome toys and moving about once a year.  It turns out that trucks are actually needed to pull equipment, you can't do it with a Honda.  First Justin had a Toyota truck that was cute and I liked it because it was kind of old and small and simple, like something that you'd use to drive through the forest, nothing fancy, just a truck.  When he bought the stump grinder he had to buy a bigger truck to pull it.  I know this because I've been in the Toyota when it was trying to pull something heavy and, you know, you could really tell there was something back there weighing it down.  The truck we have now is a good truck, it's a three-quarter ton and has all kinds of places on the dash that I think have something to do with trailer brakes or lights or both.  I've driven it without the trailer on the back and it's a tank. It's really fun to drive, when you're not running it out of gas on a huge hill, which I've also done.  When there is a trailer on the back you can tell a difference.  I watch Justin lower that trailer onto the hitch and it sets that truck down about half a foot, and I see now that a trailer with a stump grinder and a tractor would probably rip the engine, not to mention the entire back end, out of my Honda.  I see also that Justin has a point when he says he really needs an even larger truck.  

I like the truck we've got now, it's big and it is single-handedly destroying the environment but, like the Toyota, it's simple and functional.  Everything on there has a purpose.  The toolbox in the back is even full of tools, I thought those were probably for show too. Those brush guard things on the front of trucks?  You know, those big chrome casings that go over the lights? Those are actually for driving your truck though brush, and they do protect the lights from getting broken.  Justin actually needs one of those.  The lights that go over the cab of the truck? Those are so you can work even when it starts getting dark.  For those out there who are worried about their egos or self-worth there are all kinds of accessories you can get to make your truck look like a serious son-of-a-bitch (sorry Mom, I had to use that phrase, nothing else would sound as good, I tried), but there are also just simple guys trying to make a living who really do need tools and headlights that aren't broken and floodlights so they can fix their stump grinder in the dark.  Let that be a lesson to you, all you who are judgemental like me. Sometimes fashion is functional, and what is fashionable can also be functional, as I think of my wardrobe, so some men think of their trucks.