Friday, August 31, 2012

To the Paper Carriers

Note: this post was written on Thursday. However, since I'd already posted on Thursday and I did want to write this post, I scheduled it to be published on Friday. Also, it makes me look like I'm doing a little more work keeping up with my blog because you read each post on a different day. Haha!

Since most of you already know I got a job (scratch "unemployed" off the "unemployed single living at home" title!) I'll skip that part except to say "Yay!".
I'd like to dedicate this post to newspaper carriers worldwide. Most people seem to think their newspaper magically appears at their doorstep, or that it's delivered by a flying monkey trained to cater especially to their detailed, specific needs. In reality, they're just one more person on the route. It's commonly believed that the people with "normal" jobs are the ones who need people skills: the office workers and restaurant employees and secretaries. While that's certainly true, the people who really need people skills are the paper carriers. Let's face it: every paper customer has certain expectations as far as the delivery of the daily news goes. On the porch, in the paper slot by the mailbox, on the hooks under the mailbox; or down the alley, up the stairs, through two doors, down the hall, and double-bagged hanging on the doorknob. If the paper is missing, we take the blame. If the paper is wet, we hear about it. Heaven forbid we forget to bag and band it and stick it in the tube under the mailbox instead of the special newspaper tube next to it.
If you want an example of a truly "underdemeciated" person, look at the paper carrier. It's not just a boy on a bike who knows everyone on his route and who only gets smiles and tips. It's a person in a car with their hazards on and people behind them not understanding what that means so nearly rear-ending them when their daughter's arm is sticking out the window making a shot into a tube two feet away set too far back from the curb so they have to slam on the gas and yell for their daughter to pull in her arm before it gets broken off. /end rant/ Okay, that was a bit extreme of a scenario, but it's happened.
We spend hours a day in a car, so bored of banding and bagging and chucking papers and going through the routine and singing along with the radio that we make up names for customers. Yeah. At least, I do. No, I'm not sharing.
And that's not really what I had in mind for this post. Of course not. Is it ever?
My point had to do with the people skills part. Mom just picked up a new route that's all downtown offices, banks, and businesses. And a church. We've got it down to about 45 minutes for the whole thing. Yeah. There are maybe that many papers. I was musing today about the strange relationship paper carriers have with other people. On this new route, the people who get the paper are the ones used to running the interaction, but to me they're the customers. And because we're supposed to be magical flying monkeys, people treat us differently. We aren't expecting their services, so we don't get treated like a valuable customer. We just kind of go along with a smile and a nod, in and out, speed walking and sweaty, and people barely give us a second glance. We get black finger prints all over their doors and railings, but no one seems to notice. They see us for two seconds, and we're gone, and they're just another person on the route. You see people in a different light. I've come to appreciate mail carriers a little more, too.
But mostly, I've decided that I really hate cubicles.
Truly. I may enjoy writing, which involves sitting in front of a computer at a desk filled with pens and notebooks, but it's not the same thing.
There's one new building in particular. It has lots of windows, and a lot of them get sunlight a good portion of the day. However, the windows stay closed and the curtains drawn. The place stinks.
Honestly, I think something died in the ventilation system and the poor cubicle dwellers are so miserable that they don't even noticed. But I certainly do. It's practice for holding my breath going into that place. And the people are nice enough. They just work in a stinky building, sun-deprived and not remembering the taste of clean fresh air brought in on a summer breeze. They don't even have any too-powerful air fresheners installed like the Catholic church, where you walk in and get hit with a wave of fragrance so powerful it takes your breath away.
Basically, delivering news papers is a job that lets you get a feel for other peoples' lives. You can make up stories about the people you meet based on what you come to see and learn about them. You bemoan the obvious lack of driving education, particularly concerning the use of hazards. You get to know your city streets very well, more so than people who have lived in that city their entire lives. You see things other people completely ignore, simply because those things are obstructing the driveway or just got knocked over with a wayward paper. And it's all great writing material.
I had a thought today: does the White House get a newspaper? Like, delivered by an average person with other papers on their route? Or would it be the only paper on their route? Do they tip well at Christmas? Or is the paper specially delivered? Makes you think, doesn't it?
Okay. I'm done being weird.
(Oh! Tonight is a Blue Moon. Just thought you'd like to know.)

Thursday, August 30, 2012

Practice Makes Perfect

With some of the money I earned from inventories and babysitting, I bought stuff for the dogs the other day. The Kong toys we bought a while ago both went missing (okay, one got left by accident at the boarding kennel and we never took the trouble to get it back) and the dogs have resorted to chewing our things because they're bored. I also got dog treats (the special all natural kind even humans could enjoy) and a new body harness "guaranteed to stop pulling instantly" because the nose harness finally broke.
This was all in support of that healthy, positive lifestyle I've been meaning to develop for the past few years. Nothing like spending my own hard-earned money to encourage me into action. Sasha's nearly a year old.... Wait! Her birthday was two days ago! Whoa. Okay, so she's a year old, and she truly knows only two commands: "sit" (and then her butt barely touches the ground before she's up again most times) and "drop it" (but never with toys). She knows key words like "outside" and "walk", but mostly she catches onto routines: me grabbing the gate and an ice cube means bedtime, my getting on my sneakers in the morning after bringing her in from the kennel means a walk, me holding a treat and telling her to sit in the living room means "lay down" and "crawl" are to follow. She doesn't come when called, she doesn't stay (she'd quite ADHD), she pulls until she can't breathe on walks, she barks incessantly at anything that moves, she's abusive to Hershey and the cat, and, frankly, it's my fault.
When we visited our friends down south and saw how well-behaved their two-year-old dog was, I decided (again) that it was time to make some changes and teach my dog obedience.
All this to get to the point: walking.
Walking is the best way to get out Sasha's natural energy, and it's a good habit for me, too. However, she always pulls and she always leads. I've heard that a dog who follows on walks is a dog willing to follow and submit to their masters in other areas of life, so I figured it was a good place to start (since I failed to teach her "come" and "heel" as a puppy). I started by teaching her the concept of "heel" indoors, keeping her on my left side with her nose by my hip. She saw the clicker and was ready for action, and soon got the idea that walking beside me on my left earns a treat.
However, once we got outside, any such notion was forgotten, and she pulled away. She would come when I called "heel" and gave the signal, but only long enough to earn a treat, and then she was off again. Indoors, she'll fall into step beside me and watched me excitedly, but not outside.
Today was the second day of that exercise. I got 10 treats and broke them in half, debated about bringing more just in case, and decided it wasn't worth it. Then we were off.
I called Sasha to "heel" quite a few times on our street, and she did. However, she's learned where every dog on the street lives and watches their houses expectantly as we walk by, so she was very distracted. I decided to drill her on the "leave it" trick, which essentially means ignoring whatever has her attention, from the cat to a dog to something tasty on the floor she's eyeing. Basically, I clicked when she finally looked away.
Our normal route takes us up our street and across to the next one over, down that street, and across the park back to our house. Half-way down the other street, I'd pretty much given up on "heel" for the walk, and I was running out of treats. Then, all of a sudden, right near the end, Sasha stopped pulling and came back to my side, looking up expectantly.
Wonder of wonders! I dug in my pocket for the last treat I had, praised her, and kept on. Of course, now I was begging her to just behave until we got home so I didn't disappoint her with no more rewards.
We were half-way through the park when she did it again. I gave her all the crumbs I had, and she pulled the rest of the way home.
There are pros and cons to having a smart dog. Pro: she picks up quickly on things. Con: those things are both good and bad. Con: she has a lot of energy. Pro: if I'm persistent, she's willing to use it productively. Con: she assumes because she's so smart that she's better than the rest of us. At least, that's how I explain her attitude. It may just be her natural personality, but I think part of it is, again, my problem.
You live and learn, right?

Wednesday, August 29, 2012

The Purpose of this Blog....

Before I get to the actual point of this blog:
I totally forgot to mention another thing from our trip down south: I decided that I want to learn to play the spoons. Right after I achieve ambidexterity. Then again, all my practice to become ambidextrous may be the only thing that will enable me to have the coordination necessary to play the spoons.
I'm not kidding you. We saw a hillbilly band during our touristy touring. Washtub, banjo, guitar, and spoons. Of course, I'd probably end up with bleeding hands and arms for the first two weeks of practice before the calluses developed, judging by the way the woman played those spoons. 'Twas fascinating, truly. Good thing I don't have nice, dainty hands I want to keep in flawless condition. Wonder what it would do to my fingernails, though....
Onto the real subject: I'm thinking about changing the title of my blog. Indeed. When I titled it "Breathless", I'd set out with the idea that I'd take what I saw and did in my everyday life and write about it, similar to One Magical Moment Per Day. Clearly that plan didn't turn out the way I'd expected. I'm still trying to find my blogger's voice (if you couldn't tell), because rambling on and on and recapping all the time irritates me to bits. The original idea of "Breathless" isn't quite what I'm going for any more.
I'm thinking about maybe "The Definition of Me", though that doesn't really flow. The idea behind it is that, lately, I've started "discovering myself", if you will (I know, I don't like the New Age connotations, or whatever that's related to, either, but I can't pin down the proper term). It's hard to put into words. It's all about this growing up process, and how I'm stepping away from being a child defined by the authority figures around me - my parents, especially - and changing into the person I'll be the rest of my life. I'm trying to capture the idea of that journey from child to adult, I guess. I don't know. That doesn't really make sense, even to me.
Let me try one more time. Much as I dislike the phraseology, the idea is a journey of self-discovery, in the simplest terms. It's what I've been struggling with for the last year or so: trying to figure out where I'm headed, "what I want to be when I grow up", and, deep down, the sort of person I'm becoming. The struggle with a new sort of independence and existence that kids my age face. That transition between child following parents to adult stepping out based on the guidance of those parents. If you get my meaning, and it's okay if you don't, because I hardly do.
"The Definition of Me", or "Defining Me", just sort of came to me a few days ago, along with that whole confusing concept I just failed to put into words. I don't know if it fits, but neither does "Breathless", either. Basically, the goal I have for this blog is to allow people to share in my journey by looking at the little things that define me as a person; like my love of gardening and cooking and writing, my brat dog, hopefully soon the stage of life where I start my first real job, etc. Less of me rambling about nothing in particular like I would in a private journal, talking about what I did in general, and more of a story highlighting the things that are special to me.
That's the dilemma, in a nutshell. Concision is not my strong point in writing! I'll mull over the one, but if anyone has any grand ideas, by all means, do share! "The Definition of Me" doesn't really roll of the tongue all that well, and, really thinking about it, I don't much care for it. Help?

Tuesday, August 28, 2012

The Absent(-minded) Blogger Returns!

Updates are sooo overrated.
So I'm not doing one.
Actually, they're rather depressing, because they remind me 1) how many good things I could have blogged about in detail but am now cramming into six paragraphs and 2) how poor of a memory I have. I've tried writing a post probably three times now. I even got the Blogger app on my phone thinking it meant I no longer had any excuse for not blogging. Nope. My new excuse is that I hate, despise, detest virtual keyboards.
So Youth Conference was good, I got my driver's license, went to another job interview, had some church activities, voted, read a few books, didn't write much, and then everyone but Wes went on a short trip to visit some friends down south who moved away this past May.
That's not really a recap.
Actually, we just got back from that short trip. Just Friday to Monday, and it was a long drive. We did a little touristy stuff, ate lots of good food, hung out, and avoided the humidity as much as possible.
What I totally didn't expect, but what has become a personal highlight for me, was the preaching on Sunday. God worked it out so that much of what was said was exactly what I needed to hear. It spoke right to some of the deep, personal issues I've been dealing with lately. For that alone, I truly do feel blessed. God's just amazing that way.
Life's been crazy. I'm stepping into a new stage: unemployed single living at home. I hate that stage and am desperate to get out of it. At least as far as a job goes. I have an interview this Thursday, and I'm praying hard this one works out. It's at a cafe owned by some people we know, which opened up sometime last year (?). As soon as we heard they were opening, Mom told me to put in an application. Did I? No. Of course not. Even though I love that sort of job and it's pretty much exactly what I've been looking for. Well, this is my second chance.
As far as the "living at home" part goes, I'm quite content. Most kids my age are like "Yay! Independence!" I'm like, "Um....No, thanks." I'm pretty sure whenever I do eventually leave home, I'll be reduced to a puddle of tears and nervous stomach acid before I turn off our street. Only in my head am I a bold adventurer doing new things.
That, and part time at a cafe probably won't be enough to sustain my wannabe Bohemian self and my brat.
Also, there's that part where I want to get into missions, and somewhere down the line (hopefully at the next stop) I'll be applying the concept of saving most of what I earn to my good, healthy habit-filled lifestyle I'm trying to develop.
There's also the concept of a schedule. Yeah. Well, I would attempt to stick to that as far as this blog goes, but we (being Mom, myself, the girls, and a pal) will be heading out West to visit Grandma on Friday. So...perhaps I'll return on Thursday? I'll definitely try blogging (okay, I should use a word more committed than "try") while we're gone.
Whatever. I should go. Lots to do!