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What about ME?

Today, frankly, was a combo productive/head banging type of day for me. I am finally getting on more of an even keel after suddenly losing both of my inmate clerks last week at work. I had worked with these guys for about a year, so it was a big shock to me when they were suddenly packed up and sent to Cedar Prison. Even worse is that I cannot seem to find out what happened. But I have since hired two new guys, and I think they are going to work out okay, though its much harder training two that one. This aspect of my job is always very stressful to me, and kind of “pulls the rug out from under my feet” for a few days or weeks. I’m not supposed to care what happens to these guys, but after working with them daily for such a long time, that is pretty much impossible.
We have a new caseworker at the prison now; before that we were without one for quite some time. In that inbetween time, when I hired a new inmate clerk, I took “kites” (or applications), had officers help me weed them out, conducted interviews of the ones I wanted to talk to, and let the LT know who I wanted to hire. Now it is all “per A.R.” (Administrative Regulation). All job assignments or changes have to go before a committee. This committee consists of the caseworker, an officer, (should be the LT), a rep from NDF (Nevada division of forestry, who is in charge of inmate work crews) and, in this case, me, since I am the one who needs an employee. We sat at a long lunch table in the culinary, and the potentials were asked in one at a time. The CW then proceeded to list a history of their crimes and grill them about current work and attitudes. Much of it seemed to me unnecessarily humiliating. Finally it came time for me to ask my questions, of which there were three: Are you are strong person, whom other people could not influence? (Of course, the answer was always an emphatic “Yes!”) Do you get regular money sent from home, so you are not tempted by what I have in the store? (answers vary from ‘yes’, to “I don’t need much.”) and Are you a hard worker? (they all are). I knew whom I wanted to hire going in, and was relieved when noone had objections to my choices. I was glad to make my escape before they got too far into the process of selecting an “Education clerk” after firing the last one for his inability to keep the restroom clean enough.
I have been thinking lately that maybe it is time for me to seriously start considering a new job/career. I know, some of you are thinking, “Isn’t she a little old for this? Shouldn’t she be thinking about knitting some afghans or something?”The answer to that would be obvious for anyone who had seen me attempt a creative effort of that magnitude, for which I lack both the skill and the stick-to-it-iveness. Or else you are thinking “Aren’t you already doing that? What is this going back to school thing all about?” And yes, I will have to develop some degree of stick-to-it-iveness after all.
I am well into my two trial ‘back to school’ college classes. I find, contrary to my fears, that I have not become terribly stupid in the intervening 30 years or so, despite my difficulty in committing things to memory, which used to be quite easy for me. I am doing pretty well, and am quite enjoying my Political Science class (good teacher), though my online music class is rather horrible. The syllabus states that the class includes “ear training” but in fact, it has no audio component to it whatsoever. Even worse, once my transcripts from my 30 year ago college experience had been translated and applied to my current attempts, I find that I don’t even NEED this stupid music class. Thanks for nothing, Phil, the guidance counselor.
Speaking of Phil, I had an appointment with him today. I had seen fliers on the campus announcing a career workshop today. I called and registered for it, and thought it seemed a good time to schedule with Phil to go over what I was doing and where I should go next.
I showed up for my appointment promptly at 1:00 P.M. After a brief wait, my file was pulled and Phil and I were discussing my future. As we chatted amiably, Phil was sympathetic to my situation at work. You may remember that Phil and I share similar personality types, and one of our traits is listening and empathy. After a bit, I realized we had fallen into the trap I recalled from previous appointments of exchanging INFP personality anecdotes while my future went largely undiscussed. I jerkily rambled about the topic, mentioning tentative majors of radiology, nursing and business, while lamenting my age and the time and resources it would take to actually achieve a degree in one of these areas.
“So, why do you want to get a degree?” he asked me. I shakily replied that I really didn’t know. Basically I just wanted to be able to support myself doing something I enjoyed.

I must have mentioned the farm in Idaho, because I suddenly realized we were now deeply involved in a conversation about how gratifying it was to care for baby animals. I steered the talk back to classes I may or may not need to take. “Have you ever thought about taking an art class?” Phil asked.
“Uh, no. I’m quite hopeless at art,” I replied, kind of puzzled by the question.
“Well, so am I, but I think I might be ready to take one,” he revealed animatedly. “I have a black lab, and I find myself noticing how the lights and shadows reflect……I knew someone who drew a black Cadillac on black velvet with a white pen….a black Cadillac with a white pen! Can you imagine?”
Intense feelings of deju vu struck me as I recalled having this exact conversation with Phil the last time I had come in. As fascinating as were his artistic observations of the outer world, I decided it was time for me to go. “I have a Career Workshop to attend at 2:00,” I interrupted. “It’s nearly that time. Can you tell me where this place is?” pulling a copy of the flier out of my book.
“It’s here,” he said in confusion. “Keitha! Is there a career workshop here right now?”
“Yes,” said the office manager, poking her head around the door.
“Did we have anyone sign up for it this time?” asked Phil.
“Yes,” repeated Keitha. “We have Kathy.”
I followed Keitha around the corner to a small room containing 10 or so computers. “You can just take some of these skill or interest inventory tests, if you want to,” she told me. Then we can print off the results; careers will be suggested based on the answers you give.” I fumbled my way through rating ‘skills’ I found interesting or important. We printed some stuff off. Then Keitha told me I could access the same programs from home. I selected a few career exploration books to check out and, per my usual M.O., renew a few times and return unread. Looking at the check-out sheet, only one other person had checked books out from the career center since I last had in mid-summer. Then I left.

It was a beautiful day, weather wise, and I spent the next several hours checking ‘things to do in town’ off my list. I ordered my new prescription reading glasses, hoping that having the vision corrected per eye (they are each different) will bring back my pleasure in reading. I picked up some medical prescriptions. I got a new book on CD from the public library, and I stopped by the Weightwatcher meeting, even though it was not my week to work, to chat with my coworkers. All of that, coupled with an invigorating walk with the ‘boys’ this morning has put 13,406 steps on my pedometer.

So, no, I still don’t know what I want to do, but I am becoming a little more aware of what I enjoy. I want, what I do, to make a difference (hopefully for the better) in someone’s life. I want to interact with people in a positive way (but only if I like them.) I want to feel fulfilled and competent and appreciated. I want enough variety and activity that I’m not bored, but not so much that I’m overwhelmed. I want to be able to support myself, and better yet, support my husband. In short, I guess I want the land of dreams and rainbows.

I noticed today that there is another guidance counselor in that office. Maybe next time I’ll ask for Pat.

The same old UltraMom

This sounds like me; what about you?

Preparing for a WeightWatcher meeting, I came across this poem by Portia Nelson. I thought it said a lot in just a few words. It’s called
Autobiography in Five Short Chapters

I
I walk down the street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I fall in.
I am lost…I am helpless.
It isn’t my fault.
It takes forever to find a way out.
II
I walk down the same street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I pretend I don’t see it.
I fall in again.
I can’t believe I am in the same place.
But it isn’t my fault.
It still takes a long time to get out.
III
I walk down the same street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I see it is there.
I still fall in…It’s a habit.
My eyes are open.
I know where I am.
It is my fault.
I get out immediately.
IV
I walk down the street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I walk around it.
V
I walk down another streeet.

There is no bridge in Jarbidge

This weekend, UltraDad and I did a little exploring. We had long been hearing about the town of “Jarbridge” and its natural beauties. Several of my weightwatcher members regularly go camping there and always come back several pounds heavier, blaming it on campfire food and drink. So, Saturday morning found us planning our expedition. We would take the pickup, because the roads were reputedly not all paved. This, we would come to discover, was a master understatement. Besides it would give UDad a chance to try out his 4-wheel drive. This part was true enough.
The ‘boys’ barked and jumped about excitedly as I loaded their take-along bag with treats, leashes and water bowl. They did not often get to go along. Soon we were headed out. Elko was on the way, so here we would stop and procure the fixings for a picnic lunch. As we drove along, I wondered out loud about Jarbridge. How big a town was it? How long would it take us to get there? Would the leaves be changing color?
“Jarbidge,” said UltraDad. “It’s pronounced ‘Jarbidge.”
I had been expecting, among other things, to see a scenic ‘bridge,’ but UltraDad was adamant. “I was corrected yesterday,” he informed me. He showed me the map, and sure enough, there it was. There is no ‘bridge’ in Jarbidge.
After loading up the cooler with fried chicken, chips, grapes and drinks, we took Mountain City highway out of town. An hour or two later, we took the turnoff to Jarbidge, expecting, per the sign, a 47 mile further drive to reach the town. The road was not paved, but was wide and well marked. After a while, we came to a fork. One way took off to the right. The straight ahead way went through a farmyard, and up to a gate. The only sign in the vicinity, right next to the gate read “Public access to Bruneau River. Leave all gates as you find them.” We went through the gate, and then another. “If this isn’t the right way,” said UtraDad, “I’m sure the two roads will meet up somewhere down the line.”
As in the Princess Bride where the bad guy keeps saying “Inconceivable!”, Ultradad would repeat this assertion many more times. I’m not sure he knew what it meant.
Finally about 1:00 P.M. we came to a clearing near a stream. Picnic time. We sat on the tailgate and enjoyed our repast, as Murphy and Rowdy ran about exploring. At least UDad sat on the tailgate. It was so cold, I could not stay sitting for long, but walked around in search of a patch of sunshine. At least this area was somewhat protected from the wind. Naturally, this was the coldest day, up to now, of the year. In fact, the higher we got, the more snow we ran into. The branches of the fir trees were heavy with the cold, white stuff and it covered the road in strategic places, mainly in the scary, narrow, mountain- hugging, sheer drop-off-on-the-other-side parts. But I’m getting ahead of myself. Everywhere also was evidence of the recent wildfire that had consumed countless acres of this wilderness. From our clearing, we could see burnt out landscape just a few yards away from the grove of trees near our stream. UDad said he wished he had brought his camera. “I have mine,” I said smugly, taking exactly one picture before my batteries died. The 4 extra ones in the bag were all dead too, of course. UltraDad examined a large, aged tree near us. “Look at this,” he said. “Someone drove a nail into this tree.” He worked at the nail to remove it, when he noticed several others. Closer examination showed about 10 nails of varying sizes, as well as several screws. Several of the branches had also been sawed off. We decided this tree must be much used by campers to secure gear or lines of some type, but it seemed a shame to deface it so.
Meanwhile, the ‘boys’ had been exploring around the stream, and their paws were caked with mud. I used damp paper towels to take off the worst, and they shook the rest of it off in UDad’s pickup as they dried. This was one of the 20-30 times I was glad we had not brought my car!
We doggedly pursued our ‘road’ through stream fordings, washout-rutted paths and the aforementioned mountain-hugging, adrenaline inducing trails. At last, faced with a major washout and near vertical navigation of the next hill, UDad was forced to turn around. Our little detour cost us about 3 hours.
Finally back at the fork of indecision, we took the road on the right, and soon were rewarded with a mileage signpost reading “Jarbidge 27 miles”. We had been telling ourselves, that at least our detour had netted us interesting and varied views of topography and wildlife, but the scenery on this road was actually much prettier. Here was the pristine winter forest scape usually depicted on Christmas cards. Twice we startled a pair of deer near the road and watched them bound effortlessly away from us as we marveled at their grace and beauty. We actually saw quite a few deer, or I should say, UltraDad did. “Look,” he would say, “Do you see the deer?” Except in the cases where the deer were practically under my nose, the answer was always “No.” After much pointing and describing, I would usually manage to see them just as they were leaping up the hillside out of view. I don’t know what my problem is.
Near 6 P.M. we finally pulled into the town of Jarbidge, and were surprised by the size of it. Most of the homes and structures lined the main street through town. I had the thought of “Brigadoon”; a full town dropped in the middle of nowhere, bristling with activity. There was a fire station or two and lots of wooden boxes labeled “Fire Hose.” All around the clearing that was the town were fir trees. We had dinner at ‘The Outdoor Inn’, we both had an unremarkable French Dip sandwich, but enjoyed the atmosphere of locals coming in for their ‘reserved’ Saturday prime rib and the bar next door was doing a good business. Taking the dogs for a ‘constitutional’ while UDad paid for dinner, I found a little park. A large sign told of Jarbidge’s history as a booming gold-mining town. Private property had been allowed here in the middle of public forest. Jardidge’s name? A Shoshone Indian word meaning “evil spirit.” That would explain how we managed to take the wrong road earlier. Darn evil spirits.
A large rock titled “Liberty Rock” was on display in front of the park. Also, I noticed several places around town displayed shovels, with the town’s name written across their several backs.
Researching just now, I learn that in the 1995 flood, many of Jarbidges access roads were washed out. Elko County and the Forest Service shared maintenance duties, and when the Forest Service had not repaired the road two years later, the county made plans to do so. Now the USFS argued that the bull trout would be disturbed if the road were repaired after so much time had passed. They piled tons of rock and debris for a 900 foot stretch of road so the county could not repair the road. A Nevada judge ruled that the county had the right to remove the debris and repair “their” county road however, the legal debate continued and county workers were even threatened with arrest when they tried to repair the road.
“Shovels” became the symbol of this controversy, and Elko county received over 11,000 shovels from all over the United States. Volunteers came on July 4th, 2000 and the Jarbidge Shovel Brigade removed the debris, including the 6 ton rock, now known as Liberty Rock. (http://www.ufwda.org/news_view.php?id=15) Interesting…
We decided to go home by another route. ‘Only 15 miles to paved road’ we were told, but those 15 miles were slow and windy. We finally came to the highway barely into Idaho, and drove back to Carlin by way of Jackpot, Wells and Elko, arriving home about 11:00 P.M.
We will definitely make the drive again some day, though probably not til next spring when the snow has gone. This time we’ll remember. Take the road on the right…or is it the left? Darn evil spirits….