Monday, December 26, 2022

Let's Talk.

 No, no. I mean, "I'll talk."

It's been awhile, and for that I'm sorry. Not, like, REALLY sorry -- I doubt very much I've been missed -- but a little. But let me tell you a little about my 2022 regardless.

The fun actually began in 2021, as calendar days mean nothing to the universe at large. December 18th, to be exact. That day -- just a bit after noon -- I received a text message from the Tall One.

Had an accident heading to the hospital may need you to find out where ********s dad lives and get my truck

Yeah, not exactly the kind of thing you want to receive. Ever. Ever ever. And particularly not in text form.

Over the next few minutes it became slightly more clear. Bad burns on his legs. Talk of heading to Denver. By the time I'd retrieved said truck and gotten to the hospital, they were packing him up for the flight down.

It had been a bit of a freak accident -- a boiler, a can of primer, a spill, and thirty seconds that changed things drastically. Stop, drop and roll was insufficient but running outside and shedding [what was left of] his pants worked. (Try... not to imagine what that would be like. Seeing an apparent neighbor running out of the house on fire?) He ran back in to make sure the house was okay. The resident and his daughter were both there and she happens to be a nurse; they made sure the ambulance was called. Within five hours of the incident, he was in a room in a proper burn ward in Greeley, a city north of Denver.

Then ... well. Let's just say I don't recommend burns. There was a cleanup that had to have been excruciating. Two separate grafts (one allo-, one auto-). Staple removals. (*Shudder.*) 18 total days in the hospital. And weeks of daily washes to keep the burn and graft sites clean. 

2022 did not start well ... but it was better than the last few days of 2021.

Now, a year later, there are some takeaways:

1. The Tall One recovered -- is still recovering -- very well. It was rough for him to stay still for as long as he did and the road continues on, but he was able to start working bit by bit starting in March.

2. His sister was awesome. She dropped everything for a few days and got to Denver before I could -- which was huge, considering I had also just started a new job (egads). Whether or not he was fully aware of it, she saved me from imploding ... particularly since she is a nurse who Knows Things.

2b. For instance, hospitals often have hospitality houses where families can stay for a very reasonable rate. The one in Greeley is top-notch.

3. You never really know what kinds of things you can handle until they're in front of you. Including wound care in a hotel bathroom in a blizzard like some kind of B-movie.

Here's to 2022. May it stay in 2022.

Thursday, December 22, 2022

Fred

I read A Christmas Carol every year.

"Marley's Ghost", original illustration by John Leech from the 1843 edition
Found on Wikipedia
That's not entirely accurate. The last few years I've listened to it; Audible has a lovely version read by Tim Curry. This means that my brain does it's association thing and I get to picture the story as read by Long John Silver, because why not?

The bottom line is that this year I listened to it over the course of a few commutes (by the by, I have a job in Spearfish these days, and what do you mean I don't write often enough here to keep you up to date? I know, I know...) and this year, for no clear reason, I found myself wondering so much more about Fred.

For those who don't remember the story, Fred is Scrooge's nephew. We only learn a few things about Fred -- he is the son of Scrooge's only sister and his only living kin, he's not particularly rich or well off, and he is unendingly kind. We don't know his age, last name, his past relationship with Scrooge, or really anything else.

When we first meet him, he appears in Scrooge's office to invite him to dinner. Pre-ghost-Scrooge scorns the invitation and calls him a fool and he makes his exit. The end.

Sort of. Later, while Scrooge is hanging out with the Ghost of Christmas Present, they stop in at Fred's place. And this is where my brain took a turn this year.

Fred appears to be well-off, or at least enough that the building isn't remarked upon and there's no word of things being particularly shabby or run down. Dickens is excessively clear about that with the Cratchits, so it's worth mentioning; moreover, Scrooge called him poor in the first encounter but for a man worth millions, anyone middle class looks poor. Fred as a house full of friends over for dinner and when Scrooge and GoCP appear, he's telling the story of how he'd invited his uncle and how said uncle responded.

He's not insulted. He pities the man that kicked him out and says he'll be back every year to give him the chance to join in. It's that simple -- he's going to enjoy himself, and he'll give Scrooge the chance to do so as well.

Later, when the Ghost of Christmas Yet-to-Come is terrorizing Scrooge, we hear from Bob. Tiny Tim has died and he came across Fred somewhere in town, who offered his condolences and assistance despite barely knowing the family.

The movie versions (even my own beloved Muppets) tend to minimize an already minimal character; Fred is portrayed as a bit of a goof-off who makes fun of his uncle but not much more. In the book his kindness is on display and all I can think this year is, "Gosh, I'd love a sequel story about Fred's life."

Or maybe I just want to know more Freds in my own life. I suppose the real moral here is to be more like Fred so that you can have more Freds around you.

Friday, April 24, 2020

What's Keeping Me Awake Tonight

or "Why my birthday actually scares me"

Okay, so the alternate title doesn't really apply. My birthday doesn't scare me. As of now, I don't really fear aging and this year in particular it doesn't seem to mean much. (I was supposed to be going to space camp. Sigh. The full disappointment hasn't hit yet.)

However, the sudden realization that my birthday is only a couple weeks away scares me, and it does this every year.

Allow me to explain. I made you a chart.

See, it has everything to do with the eventfulness of it all...


Mind you, this only includes immediate family members -- no aunts or cousins -- and I only threw in the holidays where family gathering would normally occur (so Mother's Day is in there but I didn't count Halloween).

The real catch? Those April and May events happen almost entirely in a 21-day period. In that single three week chunk, there are four birthdays, an anniversary, and a holiday. Then, just for fun, we get June -- which is another 21-day chunk for three birthdays, two anniversaries, and a holiday. Oh, and Memorial Day is between those two as a little break.

And so tonight I found myself freaking out because this time of year is once again upon us, and once again I forgot until about 5 days before. Perhaps it's time for me to do some kind of shopping, or at least find some gift certificates to send... Self-quarantine takes a big chunk of the fun out of birthday presents.

Saturday, April 11, 2020

AiE: Summer Camp, Part 1

It was April and my sophomore year was wrapping up. I was in a relationship that was on the rocks, although he wasn’t yet aware of that little fact. I had applied – and been rejected – for an undergraduate research position. I had no idea where I was going to land for the summer; all I knew for sure was that I needed a job and I was not interested in staying in Sioux Falls.

Remembering a conversation I’d had with an acquaintance earlier that year, I found myself searching for an email address. “Mr. Jensen: Hi, I’m a friend of Nate…”

It would be the first of approximately four times I was that formal. Scott admitted to having a couple more spaces open for summer staff and agreed to meet me – after he got back from an Easter trip. A couple weeks passed before we met for a burger at Hardee’s; I brought my resume like I’d been taught. He didn’t so much as glance at it while we talked but gave me an application to fill out.

Two days later, he was back in town to collect my application and offered me the job right then. Just like that, I was lined up to spend my summer at Storm Mountain Center.

Sixteen years later, it’s amazing the things that stand out. I still remember how relieved I was to have something lined up (and just in the nick of time). I remember how excited I was to be going back to a place that had been central to my summers in middle school. And oh, I was so happy to be staying in the Hills.

The job? The job was unlike anything I had pictured myself doing.

To start with, there was our cabin, housing 11 of us in about 1,200 (old and broken down) square feet with two bathrooms. It was a lot to ask -- packing us in there, then expecting us to live, work, and play together for three months. Friendships and romantic relationships bloomed, forged by the kind of togetherness not even found in our college dorms.

Mysteriously, we mostly got along. I didn't realize at the time how rare we were; later years would tell me it was insane that we all still liked each other by August, and even stranger that we stayed in touch for years afterwards. 

The summer itself was... I won't say life-changing. I was at an age where most big things were life-changing (as opposed to now?) and that summer was no exception. We worked hard, sometimes with slightly insane hours. Then, we packed as much fun into our off hours as we could manage -- we hit every tourist attractions that was even mildly interesting, went to every single play at the Black Hills Playhouse, and had so many late night hikes that I lost track inside two weeks.

Those three months would eventually lead to two more summers and a full-time job, but as that summer ended I had no idea. I left instead with an entirely new outlook as I headed into my third year at Mines.

Wednesday, April 8, 2020

Maintaining Sanity

I don't know about you guys, but I'm learning a lot about myself these days.

For instance, I'm perfectly happy to be alone ... for about nine hours after I wake up in the morning. Right about then I start getting twitchy, which makes for a lovely mood come supper time. I'm not sure what would cure this. Sleeping till noon? Nah, that causes too many other issues. Maybe an afternoon nap?

Landscape aside from my first trip to Moab in 2013.
I've learned that if I'm a millennial, I haven't completely committed. Case in point: twice this week I've tired of texting and just called the person I was chatting with. It was easier.

I've learned that in the current climate, true crime podcasts are actually a better distraction than they are depressing.

I've also learned that it's still nice to break things up with something completely different. (Need something short and sweet? Check out The Anthropocene Reviewed.)

I've learned that I enjoy the National Park Service Instagram page an awful lot.

And I've learned that instead of reading to avoid cleaning, I will clean to avoid writing. That was an interesting twist.

Speaking of which, there are things to get done and the day's still young(ish). Stay safe, all.

Monday, April 6, 2020

Adventures In Employment: In The Beginning


You know, I've had a lot of jobs. Boxer, mascot, astronaut, imitation Krusty, baby proofer, trucker, hippie, plow driver, food critic, conceptual artist, grease salesman, carnie, mayor, grifter, bodyguard for the mayor, garbage commissioner...


If someone asks, how do you describe your first job?

Not shockingly (if you’ve known me at all in the last three or four years decade) I’ve been thinking rather hard about the road to my current point, as far as the professional (or at least employed) realm goes. And I don’t know how to describe my first job.

Well, okay. I suppose what I don’t know is what to consider my first job.

There’s the first non-chore thing I did to earn money, which involved putting together bridge reports for the family company. They’d give me an envelope of photos and a photo log from the day’s inspections and I’d sit on the floor in my mom’s office, gluing photos onto sheets of paper and carefully writing out the descriptions. My penmanship was impeccable and it kept me occupied; as a result, I was pretty young when I learned to identify bridge sections and differentiate the damage.

And then, of course, there was the babysitting. I was the oldest kid in the neighborhood and the only willing babysitter-aged teen within walking distance. It was good, steady income for a middle schooler.

But as for real jobs – ones that required tax forms and everything – there was a summer at Subway.

This wasn't ours, but ... yep, there it is.
Quite frankly, I don’t have much of anything to say about that. Those memories are two decades old and it was a three-month span of my life. It was fine. I didn’t much care for it at the time, but it probably had as much to do with the job as it did with the grey Aerostar I had to drive to get there.

It didn’t last. I didn’t like it, they didn’t like my schedule, and the after-school commute would have been too far to be economical or reasonable. One and done with Subway.

With that first out of the way, high school continued. The following summer I got to go out on real bridge inspections as they converted the old paper files to spreadsheets. (Guess who was recruited because she liked Excel and could type at a reasonable rate?) Just a handful of outings for each of three summers around soccer tournaments and band camp, but enough to keep me in gas money.

Then, that first summer after high school, there was the daycare.

Oh, the daycare.

As jobs go, it wasn’t too bad, and I appreciated the hours – a 7AM shift would give me a mostly-free afternoon to be a somewhat normal-ish 18-year-old. I would return there the summer after my freshman year at Mines – which, as it happens, is also when I started this blog. Longtime readers (reeeeally longtime readers – so, you know, hi Mom) might remember the gerbil story.

Note: I wonder how she’s doing now. I mean, it’s been almost 17 years. She could very easily have kids of her own.

College was, of course, the turning point, just as all those nineties movies promised...



...mountain climber, farmer, inventor, Smithers, Poochie, celebrity assistant, power plant worker, fortune cookie writer, beer baron, Kwik-E Mart clerk, homophobe and missionary. But protecting Springfield, that gives me the best feeling of all.
- Homer Simpson

Sunday, April 5, 2020

---

Check it out. Report findings back here. (It's been out for a few days, but... whoa.)


Saturday, April 4, 2020

Best Laid Plans

So, um...

Here we are?

I guess?

...
...
...

I think we can all agree that this was not what anyone expected out of 2020. At no point in time were we expecting weeks of schools closing, businesses shutting down, stay-at-home-orders, and a shortage of toilet paper. Planes grounded. Borders closed. Social distancing, but on purpose.

That being said, I highly doubt there's a single thing of value that I could add to the coronavirus conversation.

I'm not sure where that leaves me. This poor thing has been languishing here for the last year, unwritten, unread, and irrelevant. Skipping out on the only real topic of the day doesn't exactly help with any of that.

But then again, neither does adding one more voice saying, "Stay home, and for the love of Pete, wash your hands!"

Instead, now that I'm finding myself home with an excess of time, perhaps I can finally buckle down and write all of those other things I've been thinking about. Nothing like a little insanity to give you time for reflection and maybe even the ability to find the right words.

No promises, of course (not that anyone will notice for awhile...). But hey, if I can add at least a minor distraction, I may as well, right?

Tuesday, December 31, 2019

2019 Year In Review

It was awful.

Fine. It wasn’t all bad. I have a niece now. My job is pretty awesome. I like my residence fine. I … avoided all parking tickets? But wow, was there a lot of garbage in the meantime.

An unexpected funeral for a friend who died decidedly too young. Family members in and out of (and back into) the hospital. And throughout the last third, the specter of cancer hanging over everything.

While a part of me keeps saying, “There is no need to dwell on all the crap, Ashley,” the rest of me is almost too exhausted for optimism. 2020 has potential, yes. Buckets of potential. Oodles of it. 2020 is chaotic neutral staring us in the face. Switzerland with anger issues. Taunting us with its possibilities.

RIP 2019.

2020... Please don't be a jerk.