I had this idea yesterday afternoon, just about the time Anne and Wes would have been having their automobile accident, I guess. I do hope that Anne will be in a position to take part.
I am going to try to recount off the top of my head what I know about my paternal grandfather, also named John Merritt Burt, and ask people who knew him (or who heard stories about him as they grew up) to expand and correct my recollections. I will also later on check available records, but as i said, part of this exercise is to see what I can come up with out of my own unassisted memory.
Have you ever tired to draw a map from memory? That is the sort of experiment I am trying here.
Merritt Burt and his brother Walden Burt were born in the 1880s, named after the two Methodist bishops in their parents' diocese. As a young man, Merritt decided he didn't like having a last name for a first name, and took to calling himself John Merritt Burt.
He joined the Navy in 1906 and left in 1912 with the rank of Boatswain's Mate 3rd Class. While in the Navy he learned to tie knots very well, and in later years was known to show off by tying knots with his toes. He also learned how to whistle the national anthems of all the world's naval powers, since when his ship was in port in Hong Kong he had to stand on deck at dusk while every ship in port lowered its flag in turn, its band playing, a process which could take as long as two hours depending on how many ships were in port.
He acquired a collection of handsome old-fashioned sailor's tattoos, of which there is alas no photographic record.
He was once put on bread and water for two days as punishment for punching out his immediate superior.
In 1917, he joined the Army and went to France as an infantry Lieutenant. He came back with various souvenirs, including his issued Enfield rifle and a plundered German Mauser rifle which remained in the family until they were stolen by a burglar in the 1970s.
After the war, he became a Treasury agent, and was kept busy during Prohibition busting up stills in the legendary fashion. He took a significant amount of copper home with him, and made it into various useful household objects such as the decorative work on a set of fireplace bellows which my parents used for many years. He never did make anything of the long-nosed copper alembic which became a favorite toy of my childhood. He also acquired, possibly also confiscated from a criminal, a long blackjack which he kept aeound the house, though the only use I know he ever made of it was in using its handle to give especially severe spankings .
Other highlights of his career as a "revenoor" included standing guard over the Golden Gate Bridge just after Pearl Harbor and finding a human brain washed up on a San Francisco beach (it proved to have been carelessly discarded after the shipboard autopsy of a sailor who had died of meningitis). He might have lost his job on account of a prank he and three male friends played, driving slowly around the San Francisco Mint as though casing the joint. They circled the building three times before a police car pulled them over and they were told to knock it off.
He worked in copper and in iron, and in wood. Once, while cutting a piece of wood with a table saw, he cut off half of his index finger. The stump of that finger was a memorable feature of his appearance when I was a small child, as was his clouded eye and his emphysemic wheeze.
He smoked for many years, rolling his own cigarettes with tobacco from a small cloth bag. He suffered from emphysema for some years, but it was lung cancer, presumably also from smoking, which finally killed him.
He married relatively late in life, and often regretted not being younger and more vigorous while his children were growing up. He fathered four children, two girls and two boys, one of whom was my father, George S. Burt. He often had a bad temper with his children, and frightened them with harsh criticism and physical punishments such as making them run home within the beams of his car headlights when they stayed out after dark. His favorite pejorative for his son George was "impertinent whelp", but you knew you were really in for it if he said, "I hope you're proud of yourself". His habit of flying into a towering rage with his children was, alas, passed on to his son and to his grandson -- I had to work very hard at unlearning it.
The children had a lively family culture, which manifested itself in various ways, including the invention of an imaginary language and culture. The kids gave themselves "Grorian" names, and may have given them to their parents also, but I do not know John Burt's Grorian name, if he had one. They also at some point gave themselves (or one another) "monster" names like "Thing" and "Creature". They named their father "Fiend With a Fearsome Face", usually shortened to "Fien", and they were still calling him that well after they were grown, and even after he had died.
Towards the end of a long day, he was fond of imitating a favorite expression of a neighbor, "Ahm tarred. Ahm tarred and ahm hongrey." His son did the same, and I have been known to say it myself. I have often wondered what other figures of speech and other habits I have acquired from him without knowing it.
He worked for the Treasury Department until he had accumulated just enough seniority, between his Treasury job and his military service, to qualify for a pension, and then retired. His wife was younger than himself, but she died of cancer more than a decade before he did.
After leaving San Francisco, he moved to rural Watsonville, and that is where he lived when I knew him, on a small acreage near what was proclaimed on its side to be "the world's biggest haybarn". I don't know if the land was an actual working farm, although that is how I thought of it as a child. The only thing I know for certain that he raised was bees.
He was a frail old man with a breathless laugh that was both comical and frightening to me as a child. I associated him with Boris Karloff, I think mainly on account of his squarish face, and perhaps also an air of mingled kindliness and menace.
He died when I was nine years old, but I hadn't seen him for some time by then. He was very sick, and I think my parents didn't want to expose me to his frailty, or perhaps to strain his health with my obstreperousness.
His last words were in response to a ringing telephone: "Uh-oh, that's Waldy." he was right: it was a call to let him know his brother had died.
Okay, that is as much as I can come up with right now. I will try to write more later, and I would appreciate any additions and corrections you folks might provide.
//The Magic Eight-Ball says, "Don't delay."\\
Sunday, August 22, 2010
Thursday, August 12, 2010
Dolls on the Walls
Someone I know on Facebook posted a photo of assembled figures from her desk, including a Japanese figure called "Unicorn Girl", with an odd dark-blue thing on her forehead that looked more like a pin stuck there.
This inspired me to make this comment:
On our bedroom wall, we have Rosie the Riveter, Sigmund Freud, Harry Mudd (the lovable crook from OS Star Trek), J. Jonah Jameson (with desk-pounding action!), some guy called Fuzz, a knockoff of Batman called Battle Man, Halloween Witch Barbie, a Sailor Moon knockoff called Meteor Girl, a Barbie knockoff in overalls that we pretend is another Rosie, Tarzan, a Martian Plant Man, a Basilisk, Sally (from The Nightmare before Christmas) and Mandarin Medieval Spawn (which we bought because of its incredibly elaborate costume).
We also have a tiny Superman; even tinier figures of Isis, Thoth, Anubis, Bastet and some royal sarcophaguses (in an "Egypt Toob" from Safari Ltd.), still tinier figures of three Apollo astronauts (and possibly some figures so tiny they escape the naked eye, but those are probably just dust).
We'd love to have a Princess Unicorn, because of a very tasteless inside joke that I won't mention here, except to say that it involves a comedian's misunderstanding of the name UNICEF....
//The Magic Eight-Ball says, "Since you couldn't play billiards with me, I suppose I am a sort of action figure myself."\\
This inspired me to make this comment:
On our bedroom wall, we have Rosie the Riveter, Sigmund Freud, Harry Mudd (the lovable crook from OS Star Trek), J. Jonah Jameson (with desk-pounding action!), some guy called Fuzz, a knockoff of Batman called Battle Man, Halloween Witch Barbie, a Sailor Moon knockoff called Meteor Girl, a Barbie knockoff in overalls that we pretend is another Rosie, Tarzan, a Martian Plant Man, a Basilisk, Sally (from The Nightmare before Christmas) and Mandarin Medieval Spawn (which we bought because of its incredibly elaborate costume).
We also have a tiny Superman; even tinier figures of Isis, Thoth, Anubis, Bastet and some royal sarcophaguses (in an "Egypt Toob" from Safari Ltd.), still tinier figures of three Apollo astronauts (and possibly some figures so tiny they escape the naked eye, but those are probably just dust).
We'd love to have a Princess Unicorn, because of a very tasteless inside joke that I won't mention here, except to say that it involves a comedian's misunderstanding of the name UNICEF....
//The Magic Eight-Ball says, "Since you couldn't play billiards with me, I suppose I am a sort of action figure myself."\\
Tuesday, July 27, 2010
Going Back To School
I have been trying, in one way or another, most of my adult life to do this job, failing at this job, or recovering from failed attempts to do this job.
The reasons to stop trying to do this are obvious. But I continue to think that this is where I belong, so I won't quit.
And I am not the 21-year-old who couldn't be a Hospital Corpsman, or the 36-year-old who couldn't look after the residents of an assisted-living facility. Or the 45-year-old who couldn't get through nursing school. I am 49, not quite 50, and I am just going to find out whether I can be an acute-care CNA at Good Samaritan.
//The Magic Eight-Ball says, "Be here now."\\
The reasons to stop trying to do this are obvious. But I continue to think that this is where I belong, so I won't quit.
And I am not the 21-year-old who couldn't be a Hospital Corpsman, or the 36-year-old who couldn't look after the residents of an assisted-living facility. Or the 45-year-old who couldn't get through nursing school. I am 49, not quite 50, and I am just going to find out whether I can be an acute-care CNA at Good Samaritan.
//The Magic Eight-Ball says, "Be here now."\\
Thursday, July 22, 2010
Wish Me Luck, Wish Me Well
Starting my progress toward becoming a CNA2, aka Acute Care Aide, making an early-morning commute to Lebanon and a late-afternoon return to Corvallis.
Persons not resident in the Valley, please note that this means I'm driving into the Sun both ways. "And uphill all the way...."
This morning, I stopped at the light going over the freeway overpass and looked over at another driver, and suddenly wondered what I looked like, hunched over and squinting in my dark glasses, with my moustache waxed. Rather dramatic and/or comical, I should think.
//The Magic Eight Ball says, "Here's the World War One flying ace on dawn patrol...."\\
Persons not resident in the Valley, please note that this means I'm driving into the Sun both ways. "And uphill all the way...."
This morning, I stopped at the light going over the freeway overpass and looked over at another driver, and suddenly wondered what I looked like, hunched over and squinting in my dark glasses, with my moustache waxed. Rather dramatic and/or comical, I should think.
//The Magic Eight Ball says, "Here's the World War One flying ace on dawn patrol...."\\
Monday, July 19, 2010
A Small Rescue
Today I went to my parents' place, where I never know what I am going to do. Whatever they need, basically.
Today that included helping my father take a shower and get dressed, wash out his bladder through his suprapubic catheter, make him his breakfast and give him his pills.
It also included helping my mother put up plastic reflecting film on the east-facing windows to see whether it would keep the heat out while still allowing Dad to survey his domain (and the clouds above it).
And going south toward Eugene but stopping just short of actually entering the city (which sure did feel funny), to make a pickup at Jerry's. Next time, we'll be putting up handrails to make it easier for Dad to practice walking without his walker.
Last of all, I gave direction (not very well, I think) to a dump truck driver as he delivered a load of gravel to replace what washed away in last winter's flooding. Going ahead of the truck as it backed down the hill, I saw a patch of daisies right in the middle of the bridge.
I'd been looking at wildflowers by the roadside all morning, thinking about picking a few to put on the Sputnik's dashboard, and here were flowers which in moments would be buried under a load of gravel. I picked three and tucked them into my hat, and laid them on the dashboard later.
//The Magic Eight-Ball says, "A rescue is a rescue."\\
Today that included helping my father take a shower and get dressed, wash out his bladder through his suprapubic catheter, make him his breakfast and give him his pills.
It also included helping my mother put up plastic reflecting film on the east-facing windows to see whether it would keep the heat out while still allowing Dad to survey his domain (and the clouds above it).
And going south toward Eugene but stopping just short of actually entering the city (which sure did feel funny), to make a pickup at Jerry's. Next time, we'll be putting up handrails to make it easier for Dad to practice walking without his walker.
Last of all, I gave direction (not very well, I think) to a dump truck driver as he delivered a load of gravel to replace what washed away in last winter's flooding. Going ahead of the truck as it backed down the hill, I saw a patch of daisies right in the middle of the bridge.
I'd been looking at wildflowers by the roadside all morning, thinking about picking a few to put on the Sputnik's dashboard, and here were flowers which in moments would be buried under a load of gravel. I picked three and tucked them into my hat, and laid them on the dashboard later.
//The Magic Eight-Ball says, "A rescue is a rescue."\\
Sunday, July 18, 2010
Flowers in the Car
Some chapter in some Kurt Vonnegut novel is titled something like "When Cars Had Cut Glass Flower Vases".
When the so-called New Beetle (which like all true Bug lovers I despise almost as much as I do the post-1967 Super Beetle) came out, one of the few things I liked about it was that it had a bud vase.
The other day, Kathe spotted some interesting flowers growing by the roadside and wanted to take it home to show to me. She picked a sprig and laid it on the dashboard. She did show it to me, and the flowers sat on the dashboard for several days more, gradually drying out into a rather pretty image. The car smelled nicer, too.
Does anybody else do this? Or are we just being weird again?
//The Magic Eight-ball says, "Don't worry so much about what other people do."\\
When the so-called New Beetle (which like all true Bug lovers I despise almost as much as I do the post-1967 Super Beetle) came out, one of the few things I liked about it was that it had a bud vase.
The other day, Kathe spotted some interesting flowers growing by the roadside and wanted to take it home to show to me. She picked a sprig and laid it on the dashboard. She did show it to me, and the flowers sat on the dashboard for several days more, gradually drying out into a rather pretty image. The car smelled nicer, too.
Does anybody else do this? Or are we just being weird again?
//The Magic Eight-ball says, "Don't worry so much about what other people do."\\
Thursday, July 15, 2010
The Salmon Cage
My latest story, The Salmon Cage, has now been printed and mailed.
I hope my stomach will forgive me for doing this soon.
Hold me in the Light, folks.
//The Magic Eight-Ball says, "Ars gratia artis."\\
I hope my stomach will forgive me for doing this soon.
Hold me in the Light, folks.
//The Magic Eight-Ball says, "Ars gratia artis."\\
Saturday, June 26, 2010
Walking Around With Jim
Two years ago Jim, Kathe's ex, moved to Corvallis. I've been making friends with him lately: playing Xiangqi, studying Mars and taking an interest in other interests of his.
The other day, I absentmindedly drove over to visit Jim (although my habit has been to bike over), and Jim suggested that we drive to a park that was further than the ones within walking distance of his home, and walk around there.
Just before we were to leave, I finally remembered to check the oil in the car when the engine was cool. I found to my alarm that there was no oil appearing on the dipstick at all.
Now, I don't know a lot about cars, but I know enough to be aware that no oil on the dipstick didn't mean there was no oil in the crankcase at all, so I wasn't too alarmed, but I did know that I needed to get the oil restored right away. So Jim and I wound up driving to the Jiffy Lube at Ninth and Circle for our outing.
It turned out quite well, actually. Jim and I walked over to the far side of Highway 99W, to where it ran parallel with a bike path and with railroad tracks, and where a narrow strip of trees and grass bounded the western edge of the KMart's parking lot.
we walked along that strip of greenery, noting how effective it actually was at shielding the parking lot from the noise of the highway. We went along that strip, noticing things like store furnishings stowed in remote parking spaces, and a beaten path which had been "paved" with planks and sheets of plywood (and even a tabletop) which ran from the back corner of the parking lot to the railroad tracks and across to the highway. Jim and I were wondering who had created it and for what sort of traffic, and then two bicyclists politely called out and passed us. I watched them go over the path, portage over the tracks and then continue across the highway and into the parking strip behind the Plaza Nine shopping center.
Jim and I looked through the overgrown back fence of the KMart, which separated it from the front parking lot of the Home Depot, then turned around and returned to the oil change place (and yes, the Sputnik did run better after a change of oil and steering fluid, and looked better after a car wash), still contemplating the significance of the thin veneer of uncivilization that had made for such an enjoyable, if unplanned, expedition.
//The Magic Eight-Ball says, "Enjoy what you get."\\
The other day, I absentmindedly drove over to visit Jim (although my habit has been to bike over), and Jim suggested that we drive to a park that was further than the ones within walking distance of his home, and walk around there.
Just before we were to leave, I finally remembered to check the oil in the car when the engine was cool. I found to my alarm that there was no oil appearing on the dipstick at all.
Now, I don't know a lot about cars, but I know enough to be aware that no oil on the dipstick didn't mean there was no oil in the crankcase at all, so I wasn't too alarmed, but I did know that I needed to get the oil restored right away. So Jim and I wound up driving to the Jiffy Lube at Ninth and Circle for our outing.
It turned out quite well, actually. Jim and I walked over to the far side of Highway 99W, to where it ran parallel with a bike path and with railroad tracks, and where a narrow strip of trees and grass bounded the western edge of the KMart's parking lot.
we walked along that strip of greenery, noting how effective it actually was at shielding the parking lot from the noise of the highway. We went along that strip, noticing things like store furnishings stowed in remote parking spaces, and a beaten path which had been "paved" with planks and sheets of plywood (and even a tabletop) which ran from the back corner of the parking lot to the railroad tracks and across to the highway. Jim and I were wondering who had created it and for what sort of traffic, and then two bicyclists politely called out and passed us. I watched them go over the path, portage over the tracks and then continue across the highway and into the parking strip behind the Plaza Nine shopping center.
Jim and I looked through the overgrown back fence of the KMart, which separated it from the front parking lot of the Home Depot, then turned around and returned to the oil change place (and yes, the Sputnik did run better after a change of oil and steering fluid, and looked better after a car wash), still contemplating the significance of the thin veneer of uncivilization that had made for such an enjoyable, if unplanned, expedition.
//The Magic Eight-Ball says, "Enjoy what you get."\\
Saturday, June 19, 2010
Juneteenth
Not a holiday that has been widely observed around here in previous years, but it sure was tonight.
Fireworks were more or less continuous for a good fifteen minutes, finishing with four really impressive BOOMs which could only have been improved if they'd been used to launch garbage cans.
Good. It is our second Independence Day, and deserves proper recognition.
//The Magic Eight Ball says, "Yee-ha."\\
Saturday, June 05, 2010
A Moderately Disappointing Evening
But hey, not a total disaster, and it's good to vary your routine.
We went to Cloud 9 to see a performance by Allure, a group which advertised "modern belly dance", starting at 10:00 PM. We're not normally out at that hour, but we took a nap and went down there at 10:00.
At nearly 11:00, one dancer came out and performed, then vanished. When it got to be 11:40 and no second dancer was in sight, we left.
Oh, well. The apricot-habanero chicken wings were interesting, anyway.
//The Magic Eight-Ball says, "Seek not, find not."\\
We went to Cloud 9 to see a performance by Allure, a group which advertised "modern belly dance", starting at 10:00 PM. We're not normally out at that hour, but we took a nap and went down there at 10:00.
At nearly 11:00, one dancer came out and performed, then vanished. When it got to be 11:40 and no second dancer was in sight, we left.
Oh, well. The apricot-habanero chicken wings were interesting, anyway.
//The Magic Eight-Ball says, "Seek not, find not."\\
Friday, June 04, 2010
Now They Match
One of the less enjoyable aspects of my recent short stint as a Census worker was getting rear-ended and having to get the repairs done, collect from the other driver, filing paperwork since it was job-related, &c.
Fortunately, it wasn't hard to find a replacement bumper for the Sputnik, and we didn't much care that the gold bumper didn't match the dark-blue car.
Apparently we did care a little, since we bought a can of gold paint, and I masked off the new bumper and sprayed it down.
It came out fairly well, if I do say so myself.
Only problem is, it's obscurely embarrassing how it looks like a Subaru Outback. Not sure why we should care one way or the other, but there it is.
//The Magic Eight-Ball says, "Put not your trust in appearances."\\
Fortunately, it wasn't hard to find a replacement bumper for the Sputnik, and we didn't much care that the gold bumper didn't match the dark-blue car.
Apparently we did care a little, since we bought a can of gold paint, and I masked off the new bumper and sprayed it down.
It came out fairly well, if I do say so myself.
Only problem is, it's obscurely embarrassing how it looks like a Subaru Outback. Not sure why we should care one way or the other, but there it is.
//The Magic Eight-Ball says, "Put not your trust in appearances."\\
Saturday, May 22, 2010
Coversation After Visiting the Farmers' Market
...and before looking at Sadly, No!
"Did you feed the cat?"
"No! I suppose she told you so?"
"Yes, but I wasn't sure whether to believe it."
[And then later, while looking]
"So, I fed her. I gave her some wet, since even if she got some yesterday, she deserved some compensation for having to wait. Also, her water dish was dry, so I gave her some. But weren't you keeping a jug of water in the shed for watering her? I didn't find that."
"Yes, but lately I've been keeping it in the back hall."
"Oh, I saw that, yes."
//The Magic Eight-Ball says, "Value the small things."\\
"Did you feed the cat?"
"No! I suppose she told you so?"
"Yes, but I wasn't sure whether to believe it."
[And then later, while looking]
"So, I fed her. I gave her some wet, since even if she got some yesterday, she deserved some compensation for having to wait. Also, her water dish was dry, so I gave her some. But weren't you keeping a jug of water in the shed for watering her? I didn't find that."
"Yes, but lately I've been keeping it in the back hall."
"Oh, I saw that, yes."
//The Magic Eight-Ball says, "Value the small things."\\
Thursday, May 20, 2010
So Many Ways
There are so many ways for a human brain to go wrong. It's actually kind of remarkable that most of us are more or less fully functional.
My father has suffered a stroke which impairs his memory. Not sure if it's authentic anterograde amnesia, but something close. Also, he tends to lose track of where in his lifetime he is, constantly worrying about high school or graduate school issues, or about finishing his doctoral dissertation.
Constantly worrying -- he seems to have a positive need to worry about something.
One of my children is schizophrenic. He hears voices. He doesn't obey them, but some of the things he does to silence them get him into trouble.
I'm suffering from symptoms of stress, myself. So is my wife. Funniest thing. But I am trying to assess it as just one more psychological issue to address, rather than wallow in it.
Just got to hang in there, keep on trucking, never give up.
I don't see any other option available, anyway.
//The Magic Eight-Ball says, "Life Goes On."\\
My father has suffered a stroke which impairs his memory. Not sure if it's authentic anterograde amnesia, but something close. Also, he tends to lose track of where in his lifetime he is, constantly worrying about high school or graduate school issues, or about finishing his doctoral dissertation.
Constantly worrying -- he seems to have a positive need to worry about something.
One of my children is schizophrenic. He hears voices. He doesn't obey them, but some of the things he does to silence them get him into trouble.
I'm suffering from symptoms of stress, myself. So is my wife. Funniest thing. But I am trying to assess it as just one more psychological issue to address, rather than wallow in it.
Just got to hang in there, keep on trucking, never give up.
I don't see any other option available, anyway.
//The Magic Eight-Ball says, "Life Goes On."\\
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
Someone At The Door
Kathe and I saw someone on our porch the other day. We were pleased, because although the "front porch book sale" has never been a hot performer, it's been extrememly inactive lately.
The person turned out to have lived in Corvallis years ago, to have passed our house often though she'd never met the people who lived there. This is fairly common, actually -- in fact, when Kathe's daughter Becca first invited me over, one of the first things I said was, "Oh, you live here!"
In fact, this person had once spent a rainy homeless night dozing under our cedar tree where it overhung the sidewalk.
She'd gotten into town the night before and been obliged to walk the streets all night.
Naturally, we offered to let her sleep here.
It's good to have someone else in the house, even for a little while. This place is obviously made for more than just two people.
//The Magic Eight-Ball Says, "When opportunity knocks, invite it in."\\
The person turned out to have lived in Corvallis years ago, to have passed our house often though she'd never met the people who lived there. This is fairly common, actually -- in fact, when Kathe's daughter Becca first invited me over, one of the first things I said was, "Oh, you live here!"
In fact, this person had once spent a rainy homeless night dozing under our cedar tree where it overhung the sidewalk.
She'd gotten into town the night before and been obliged to walk the streets all night.
Naturally, we offered to let her sleep here.
It's good to have someone else in the house, even for a little while. This place is obviously made for more than just two people.
//The Magic Eight-Ball Says, "When opportunity knocks, invite it in."\\
Monday, May 17, 2010
Somewhat Like Old Times
We met someone the other day. She had arrived in town the night before and had no place to stay, so we invited her to sleep in the upstairs room where various kids had lived over the years (although we most often call it "the boys' room").
It felt good to offer space in the house to someone. It's a big house, and clearly its proper nature is to be home to more than just two people.
It felt good to offer space in the house to someone. It's a big house, and clearly its proper nature is to be home to more than just two people.
Saturday, May 08, 2010
Blue Shirt
I bought some new shirts so that I would look more respectable while working for the Census.
I especially like the bright blue one.
A brilliant sky blue, like Superman's. And I always need a little Superman in me, and especially just now.
Having an excuse to buy that shirt is worth the hassle I have gone through to get a Census job, and lose it, and wind up with a different one.
The money is nice, too.
//The Magic Eight-Ball says, "Enjoy what you find, even if it isn't what you sought."\\
I especially like the bright blue one.
A brilliant sky blue, like Superman's. And I always need a little Superman in me, and especially just now.
Having an excuse to buy that shirt is worth the hassle I have gone through to get a Census job, and lose it, and wind up with a different one.
The money is nice, too.
//The Magic Eight-Ball says, "Enjoy what you find, even if it isn't what you sought."\\
Tuesday, May 04, 2010
I Liked Doing Census Work
It was interesting, challenging, an opportunity to try new things.
I knew it wouldn't last very long, but I have just learned that in my case, it is already time to end it.
Oh, well.
//The Magic Eight-Ball says, "Forward."\\
I knew it wouldn't last very long, but I have just learned that in my case, it is already time to end it.
Oh, well.
//The Magic Eight-Ball says, "Forward."\\
Sunday, May 02, 2010
Dances With Wolves
I took a break from running my Census crew (and I was really, really worn out) to finally* watch Dances With Wolves with Kathe.
Did me a world of good, I'll tell you.
Yes, after a day that really wore me down, I felt a lot better after watching a powerful, beautiful, uplifting film. And eating good food. And rubbing Kathe's feet.
Shortly, when Kathe gets out of the tub, I will go have a soak and go to bed.
Bet that will do me some good, too.
* Yes, "finally", as in, "I never did it before".
//The Magic Eight-Ball says, "Love yourself; get outside yourself and take action. Focus on the solution; be at peace."\\
Did me a world of good, I'll tell you.
Yes, after a day that really wore me down, I felt a lot better after watching a powerful, beautiful, uplifting film. And eating good food. And rubbing Kathe's feet.
Shortly, when Kathe gets out of the tub, I will go have a soak and go to bed.
Bet that will do me some good, too.
* Yes, "finally", as in, "I never did it before".
//The Magic Eight-Ball says, "Love yourself; get outside yourself and take action. Focus on the solution; be at peace."\\
Thursday, April 22, 2010
D-591
That's the form you fill out when you are involved in an automobile accident while on Census Bureau business -- like when I was rear-ended on Highway 99E in Albany yesterday, on my way to Salem for training as a fingerprinter.
I don't blame the other driver -- the car in front of me made a sudden stop, so I made a sudden slow-down, and so did she, only not quite enough.
The Sputnik's plastic rear bumper was shattered, but there was no other damage to the car or to me, so the bumper served its function admirably.
A couple of phone calls, and it appears that a bumper off a junked Escort can be obtained and attached for under $300 (touch wood), so not too bad.
There was a time when I would have suffered pretty severe traumatic reactions to a traffic accident, even a minor one, and worse yet I would have loudly denied any such thing. As it was, I did have some strange emotional responses, but I noticed them and calmed them. I really do like my post-psychotherapy self.
Today, I spent a total of ten hours helping batch-process enumerator trainees. That was pretty stressful, too, but I survived that, too.
//The Magic Eight-Ball says, "You are going on a trip -- oh, wait, you already did...."\\
I don't blame the other driver -- the car in front of me made a sudden stop, so I made a sudden slow-down, and so did she, only not quite enough.
The Sputnik's plastic rear bumper was shattered, but there was no other damage to the car or to me, so the bumper served its function admirably.
A couple of phone calls, and it appears that a bumper off a junked Escort can be obtained and attached for under $300 (touch wood), so not too bad.
There was a time when I would have suffered pretty severe traumatic reactions to a traffic accident, even a minor one, and worse yet I would have loudly denied any such thing. As it was, I did have some strange emotional responses, but I noticed them and calmed them. I really do like my post-psychotherapy self.
Today, I spent a total of ten hours helping batch-process enumerator trainees. That was pretty stressful, too, but I survived that, too.
//The Magic Eight-Ball says, "You are going on a trip -- oh, wait, you already did...."\\
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
Census Work -- It's a Living
I'm training this week to be a Crew Leader for the 2010 Census, visiting and interviewing the people who haven't returned their questionnaires.
"May you live in interesting times...."
I have never had anything like a managerial job (unless you count teaching a middle school history course). This is something totally new to me.
I kind of wish I hadn't read that blog post, though, about the guy threatening to greet census workers with a shotgun. I feel worse about the prospect of sending enumerators out to interview people like that than I would about going myself.
Oh, well. If I totally hate being a manager, or totally stink at it, it will only be for a few weeks. And if it turns out I like it, that will be something worth knowing.
//The Magic Eight-Ball says, "Seek, and ye shall find."\\
"May you live in interesting times...."
I have never had anything like a managerial job (unless you count teaching a middle school history course). This is something totally new to me.
I kind of wish I hadn't read that blog post, though, about the guy threatening to greet census workers with a shotgun. I feel worse about the prospect of sending enumerators out to interview people like that than I would about going myself.
Oh, well. If I totally hate being a manager, or totally stink at it, it will only be for a few weeks. And if it turns out I like it, that will be something worth knowing.
//The Magic Eight-Ball says, "Seek, and ye shall find."\\
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)