Monday, June 21, 2010

The battle with myself

I've been busy rooting through my mega-piles of schtuff, and trying to figure out how to cram 3 bedrooms, two baths, one barn and one shed into 20 feet of camper trailer. Not an easy feat, lemme tell ya!

"Where to start" Me wonders, wandering around from room to room, poking my nose into closet after closet, a cupboard here and a drawer there. "Ok, start here, in this room" I say. Me says, "Ok, that sounds like a good idea."
So Me and I pull out a box and start digging in stuff that is gold to me, junk to anyone else. Me wonders why in the world I still have this thing? I think, 'I can't throw that out, someone, sometime, somewhere gave it to me'. Me says, "Throw the dumb thing out, it's been wrapped in this paper for... how many years?" Me checks the date on the paper the dumb thing is wrapped in. "Good grief!" Me exclaims, "2004?? Throw the stupid thing out! It's been wrapped for 6 long years!" I close my eyes and toss it. I drag it back out. I throw it away again. I sigh deeply and pull the next wrapped object out of the box, wondering what it might be.
The battle thus rages for several weeks, box after box, I feel like it's Christmas morning, unwrapping things I forgot I had. Me wonders when I became a pack-rat. I feel guilty throwing out things that un-remembered people gave me, sometime, some holiday somewhere.
After several weeks of this guilt-ridden battle, I was happy to note that I managed to cull 20 boxes into 12. Me thinks I didn't do a very good job of getting rid of forgotten junk that who-remembers-who gave me sometime somewhere long, long ago. And Me knows that 12 boxes is way too much to schtuff into a space 20 feet long and 7 feet wide. I sigh heavily, knowing that Me is right. After much guilt-ridden work, many 'yeah-but's' and more sighing, I managed to cull 20 boxes into one admittedly large box of 'very special schtuff' that Me just had to lose the tossing battle and let I keep.
Me doesn't know just what the flock I'm going to do with this large box of very special schtuff, except put it in storage, but for now I won the battle, at least to a degree.
Next I look lovingly at my many, many books. It didn't look like that many until I had 11 boxes neatly packed. Me say's, "No way, you are NOT dragging 11 boxes of books up the road and putting them all in storage!" I went through and culled one bag and one box, "There, I'll donate these." Me thinks, 'uh uh, girly-o, get rid of more'! *Sigh*. My beloved books. "But this is such a good book," I argue. Me says, "How many times have you read it? A dozen? When's the last time you read it? 10 years ago? Put it in the donate box!"

*SIGH*
Ok, I didn't do too good with the book project. I still have 5 boxes. Books are so hard to get rid of.... *sigh*. Me says shut up, Me is so mean!

The final decision that Me and I agree upon is this: I will live under a big leaf in the woods before I ever have this battle again! Pack rat. Shut up, Me.

Tuesday, June 15, 2010

I was lost but not anymore

Almost two years ago I climbed out of my career and came home to take care of the Maternal Figure. A year ago she left, again, not so surprising, since she had been making her own career of showing up and going AWOL for over 35 years. But this time she actually said 'Good by' and I, for once, knew just where she was going. Never again will I wonder where the hell she is or when she'll show up on my door step without the courtesy of at least 5 minutes notice.

Since she went on her new and permanent adventure, I've been kind of lost. For the first time in many, many moons, I did not have a plan 'B'. No stinking idea what I was going to do next, and what I would do if 'next' didn't work out.

That's not a good feeling. I didn't like it. Oh, I've kept busy, learned the tax code, helped a bunch of people out, worked a few places.... but that wasn't a good answer either, there was no 'tomorrow' to all those things. That wasn't a good feeling. I didn't like it.

I put my house on the market and chewed my nails while the realtor did nothing to advertise it, paced a hole in the floor waiting for the never-to-happen-prospect to ring my phone. That wasn't a good feeling. I didn't like it.

A job offer came up, but not here. Back in Pa, back home. Doing the same thing I did before I moved to Tennessee. They E-mailed an application to me. I filled it out, copied my resume and E-mailed it back. Spoke with the guy on the phone, and started that wait.

South Central Human Resources called me and asked it I would volunteer to do taxes again next year. Next year. "Unless you can hire me and pay me NOW, I can't wait around for next year." was my answer. No job, no pay, nice talking to you lady....

I called the company in York again. Nobody around to talk to. "I'll call next week," I say.
I start thinking about going home. Where will I live? What will I do? I'll look for a camper, I think to myself. Stick it in a year round campground and see what happens.

A friend calls from PA and says, 'Hey, why don't you come to work here? I'll be your reference, they're hiring, I'll get you in." "I'll think about it," I say.

I go look at a few campers. This one is junky, this one is too expensive, this one is too long, this one is too heavy.... I donate a bunch of furniture to the town I live in for the flood victims. Not that I had that much, but any little bit helps. I find someone to babysit the house and mow the yard. I find a nice lady who lives alone and loves my cat. And I find a camper. Right size, not too old, very clean, came with all the stabilizer and weight distribution equipment, nice price.

"I'll think about it," I say. I call the only year round camp ground I know of in PA, it was one the Maternal Figure lived in for a while, you know, one of those times she dropped into my life like pigeon poo on a city street. Surprise, Surprise, as Gomer Pyle would say, I stumble upon the same lady who rented a space to Maternal Figure, "Yes, I remember LaDonna, she was so sweet, how is the dear lady?" she asks. (I swear Maternal Figure had multiple personalities).

I call the guy who has my application and Resume. "Yes, I want to hire you but it will be a few weeks yet," he tells me. THAT'S what I wanted to hear. Now I have a plan. And a plan 'B'.

I'm back on track and it's a good feeling. I like it.

Monday, June 7, 2010

Well it was fun while it lasted

I moved to this podunk little town, thinking I was moving back to my past, a time with only a few red lights, small private-owned stores, population small enough that in a few years I would have met almost everyone here.

It is a nice, small town, it does have a few private-owned stores, a junk store, a jewelry store, a flower shop, a small-time grocery store akin to the IGA Mom used to shop at a hundred years ago. (Or so it seems like a hundred..)

I have seen almost every face that lives in the county, know some by name, even know which 'creek' some of them live on. There are 21 creeks in this area. I live 'on' Cedar Creek. I like it here 'on' Cedar Creek, my 11 1/2 acres is quiet, serene, save for the morning bird that wakes up and screeches WAY before morning is actually here. The 'peeps' in the woods in the evening can't be beat, I love it. Yeah, there are bob cats and coyotes running around after dark, armadillo's that dig holes in my yard, and weird dangerous snakes, but that goes with the territory.

I've spent the last two years looking for decent work here. I've tried a few food joints, deli's, a farm, and now a mini-market. What I've learned is this: Tennessee does not have many laws to protect the employee, I can get fired for simply fixing my hair in a way the boss doesn't like. The boss doesn't have to give me a lunch break. Well, that's not entirely true, there is a lunch break mandate;, after 6 hours you must get a break. Oh, but if you are doing a job that doesn't allow time for a break then you take the break 'when you can' and it has to be at least 15 minutes and you have to get paid for it. In other words, the boss can say there's no time for a lunch break and just pay you for the whole day.

On another note, I see so many people around here that think it's a great accomplishment to be able to 'collect a check', Disability is a big thing here. I saw that when I was doing taxes. Some of the people 'collecting a check' didn't seem disabled to me, but.. what do I know?

So. The places I've worked around here went like this. Not enough people to do the job correctly, punished for not getting it all done, don't you DARE work any overtime... Oh, someone quit today? Ok, you pull a double. You've been working for the last nine days? Well, we're two people short and don't know when we'll hire anyone to help out.

Yesterday it was, "I know you're on time for work but you need to go home and come back in 2 1/2 hours so you can pull a 10 hour shift". I said NO.

Saturday a girl quit, she didn't call, didn't give notice, her boyfriend called and said she wouldn't be in today. Small town gossip came in a few hours later and said she was working at a different mini-market. I called the manager and her answer was, "well, you'll have to close the store tonight." Let's see, that would put me on my feet, no 'break', busy store on a main highway, selling gas, beer, cigs, lottery, soda, candy, and cooking for the deli case for abouuuuut 13 1/2 hours. I said NO. I ended up working 10. Next day, "Hey, can you work 10 again?" NO. What does the manager say? "Well, I"M not working!!" "Close the store when you feel like it then."

I'm leaving this town, I need a real job, with real people, not selling one beer at a time for 10 hours to all the 'collect-a-check-winners' that drag their progressively drunken bods in hour after hour.

More bitchin'. The boss came in to relieve me the other night and didn't do trash, didn't mop, and left my drawer 5 bucks short. Mopping and trash is something she rags about every day. I wish I could dock her pay. More bitchin'. Apparently when someone wins money on the on-line ticket, the ticket has to be run twice through the machine. I did not know that. I run it through, find out how much they won, pay them and throw the ticket in the trash. Seems I'm short 78 bucks the other day, seems it's all on-line winnings I'm short on. Seems my paycheck will be 78 bucks short this week. Seems I just might walk out.

More bitchin'. We can't make people pre-pay their gas. We're the only store in town that does not require pre-pay on gas. We're also the only store in town where the gas pumps are out of sight of the cashiers. People aren't dumb, they know they can get gas and run, who will catch them? Policy says I must call the cops, but what can I tell them? "Someone stole gas, have no idea what they were driving, no sir, there is no camera on the pump they drove off from."

Pay day comes and I see I've been kind enough to treat the thief with free gas. Boss says, "You have to pay attention." Yup. And the aisles are set up in a way that I can't see what people are doing in there and they pocket candy and what ever else they can get. Customers say they saw so and so steal, I call the cops, and say, "No, I didn't see it, someone told me." yeah, that goes a long way!

Enough. House is for sale, I'm dragging my sorry butt back home.