Since moving to Montana, I have survived really cold weather, feet of snow on the ground for months, grey skies and being "laid off" or fired from 5, count'em, jobs in the last two years. Two years. I began my career in Livingston at the top of the heap, running a start-up nonprofit, being a professional peer to the City Manager of Livingston, and ending up with a $10 hour job as a receptionist.
Why? is the question of the day. What is is about my work habits, my appearance, my attitude that pisses people off enough to "let me go", thereby taking away my ability to earn a barely livable wage and keep a roof over my head? Anyone who had money riding on just how long it would take me to lose yet another job just hit the lottery. I have managed, in less than 3 weeks, to piss off enough people that they want me gone. In three weeks.
Ask people who know me why this is happening and the answer is always the same: I have a strong personality, and I don't know how to be pond scum. I am intimidating because.... why? I am a leader. I have ideas. I take Initiative. I am dependable, never late, work hard, trustworthy. I see something that might be tweaked to be better, and that is not looked upon with a smile and a nod. I ask questions because I'm interested, not because I want someone else's job. I'm happy to be employed for christ's sake. I don't care what the fucking job title is. Executive Director or Receptionist, I do my job with integrity.
My latest job was to be the front desk person, answering phones, dealing with the public and running interference for the sales people and program directors. Theother part of the job was to input advertising informatiom into a database that I was not familiar with and pick it up within a day, I guess. Learn a new program in 2 weeks, learn everyone's name and job by osmosis because no one was actually telling me their name and where they were in the pecking order as well as hand hand out prizes to contest winners. Not too difficult, hmm? Anyone should be able to pick this up and do an ok job at it.
The problem is an ok job is not good enough for me. You can put the girl in the west, but you can't take the east coast mentality out of her.
I got fired yesterday, less than a month after I started. The HR manager was kind enough to fire me and then give me a ride home, 30 miles to Livingston. She told me I could use her as a reference as I was escorted to my desk to clear it out. I cannot claim unemployment insurance because I was FIRED within the 90 day probation period. Fired.
I've been told I have a "strong" personality and should have kept my head down and not try to take initiatve by saying for example to the GM, "if you'd like me to screen your mail, (because I distribute the mail), I am happy to do it". His answer was a curt no and to basically back off. I should have just answered the phones, learned the database, and not try to streamline processes within my job that didn't make sense to me and would make things easier. I was there to answer phones, be pleasant and learn radio traffic management in three weeks. I am pleasant, and I give good phone.
The sales people hated me. I dropped one call because the front desk phone was screwed up and I couldn't tell which line was ringing when I was on another call. 2 weeks ago. One phone call. That meant that I was losing the company business. I asked a lot of questions because I have never worked in radio and I was interested. The sales people felt that I was after their jobs. The clients loved me, whether on the phone or in person. That didn't seem to matter. What mattered was I was thinking outside of my job to the "bigger" picture and that's not what they wanted.
They wanted someone who doesn't give a shit, doesn't want to do more than what the job description said and someone for whom this was just a job to fill eight hours a day. That has never been me. I did not misrepresent myself in the interview. What you see is what you get with me. I don't make claims or promises about things I don't think I can follow through on. They hired that person and then fired this person because the person they hired, was not what they wanted. Even though they hired me for the qualities I could bring to the job as I presented myself in the interview which got me the job in the first place.
I have worked for over 35 years. I've been working since I was 15 years old. I've lost jobs in the past as many of us have. I have never, in over 35 years, had a 2 year run of such bad luck and bad judgement on my part. My friends tell me its because I am perceived as intimidating. I don't want to be perceived as intimidating. I don't walk into a room and expect my ass kissed. I have worked hard for the person I've become and feel that I have earned the right to be that person. I am not willing to "change" for anyone or anything. I'm not 25 years old and easily pliable any longer. These scars and bruises each have a story.
Smart and capable are bad words out here. I'm speechless. I have enough experience under my belt to figure out pretty quickly what the playground looks like and who the players are. At least I thought so. I must be a glutton for punishment because I am not going anywhere. Montana is home. Jeff & I have a life here in big sky country. We have good friends. He owns a business. And I'm stubborn.
Maybe Someday by Rob Thomas is my new theme song. You want to run me out of here? Good luck with that.
Wednesday, September 28, 2011
Wednesday, September 21, 2011
22 Acres and a Chicken Coop
We are in the midst of deciding whether we should weather it out going over Bozeman Pass every day in the winter, or move closer to Bozo or Belgrade. We love living in Livingston. We know almost everyone and have good friends here. L-Town is a cool little Montana town and quirky as hell. We have cowboys, neon lights on old buildings and wind.
We love our house. It's got its issues but it has character and we started our life together here. We are outgrowing it because both of us love to collect things. Jeff brings home these pieces of electronic equipment and is happy as a pig in dirt. I can tinker with it he says. And it sits wherever he has put it, and gathers dust. I try to make sure his electronic toys remain in the man cave. We definitly deserve each other but we are outgrowing this house.
All Jeff has to do is mention something, and I'm on it. Mention moving and I get excited about a new place to put my stuff. Yet, this time I haven't felt that excited about moving until I found it. An ad for a house up Trail Creek (Crick) Road. 22 acres and a chicken coop. Then my heart started racing. I'm in Montana, this is how it should be. 22 acres and a chicken coop. And horses. Maybe some goats. A couple more dogs wouldn't hurt either.
The house sounds like it is primarily off the grid and was built by the people who own it. Woodstoves to heat, propane to cook and heat water, a spring and a well. I didn't think to ask whether they have electricity up there. Maybe I shouldn't assume. I want to live Montana, but I do like electricity. Half mile of unmaintained dirt road to the house. The owner told me it wasn't so bad in the winter; you have to have 4 wheel drive, and drive over it enough, and you're good to go. I asked her if the driveway was on a slope and she said not much of one. I think I am a bit worried about that 1/2 mile of dirt road in the winter.
None of this makes good sense for us and we both know it. But I love the idea of 22 acres and a chicken coop and a house that's heated by wood stoves. She said they don't have any curtains up because they are at least a mile from anything and who wouldn't want to scare the critters on a nightly basis? There would be critters: bear, mountain lion, elk, moose. Big critters.
22 acres and a chicken coop. I could do this.
We love our house. It's got its issues but it has character and we started our life together here. We are outgrowing it because both of us love to collect things. Jeff brings home these pieces of electronic equipment and is happy as a pig in dirt. I can tinker with it he says. And it sits wherever he has put it, and gathers dust. I try to make sure his electronic toys remain in the man cave. We definitly deserve each other but we are outgrowing this house.
All Jeff has to do is mention something, and I'm on it. Mention moving and I get excited about a new place to put my stuff. Yet, this time I haven't felt that excited about moving until I found it. An ad for a house up Trail Creek (Crick) Road. 22 acres and a chicken coop. Then my heart started racing. I'm in Montana, this is how it should be. 22 acres and a chicken coop. And horses. Maybe some goats. A couple more dogs wouldn't hurt either.
The house sounds like it is primarily off the grid and was built by the people who own it. Woodstoves to heat, propane to cook and heat water, a spring and a well. I didn't think to ask whether they have electricity up there. Maybe I shouldn't assume. I want to live Montana, but I do like electricity. Half mile of unmaintained dirt road to the house. The owner told me it wasn't so bad in the winter; you have to have 4 wheel drive, and drive over it enough, and you're good to go. I asked her if the driveway was on a slope and she said not much of one. I think I am a bit worried about that 1/2 mile of dirt road in the winter.
None of this makes good sense for us and we both know it. But I love the idea of 22 acres and a chicken coop and a house that's heated by wood stoves. She said they don't have any curtains up because they are at least a mile from anything and who wouldn't want to scare the critters on a nightly basis? There would be critters: bear, mountain lion, elk, moose. Big critters.
22 acres and a chicken coop. I could do this.
Friday, September 16, 2011
The Bestest Dog In The Whole Wide World
On the one year anniversary of losing the bestest dog in the whole world, I am reflecting on our life together with a smile. People would look at him and ask, what kind of dog is he? I'd always respond that he's about 15 different breeds and looks like a big old gateway computer box having a bad hair day. Georgie had hair going every which way. Some unkind people would say he wasn't the handsomest dog they had ever seen, but to me, Georgie was handsome and an old soul.
We met in 2001 in Cortez Colorado. A guy named J-Bear had a large storage unit where he was fostering pups. We followed up an ad for a pup who was part Chow I think and made the 100 mile trip to Cortez to meet him. The original pup wasn't for us, but there was George. I asked J-Bear what his story was. He told me someone had abandoned him in Toac on the Ute Reservation. Georgie was laying around in the sun, not paying much attention to anything. We were looking for a pup to go hiking and camping with. When we asked about Georgie (back then his name was Buddy), J-Bear told us that's all he did was lay around in the sun. Probably wouldn't make a good hiking dog he said. We didn't care. It was love at first sight. When I offered to pay for him, J-Bear turned me down. When I offered to at least give him a donation for dog food, he turned me down again. All J-Bear wanted was a good home for Georgie and he knew we were Georgie's people. We think George was about 2 years old when we became his people.
I believe critters will tell you what their name is. Buddy did not fit. On the 100 mile drive back to Blanding, my son and I bounced names around. At one point Ralph came up however I couldn't name a dog after my grandfather. Then we hit on George. He was the perfect George. George was always calm, and never used his voice. It took me almost a year to get him to eat people food. What dog doesn't like eggs and cheese mixed in their kibble? Georgie didn't know what to make of the good stuff. Once he figured it out though, I'd get the "look" and he always got the last bite of whatever I was eating. How can you turn down a face like that?
Every morning, Georgie and I would go for a hike in Westwater Canyon. We'd see mule deer and rabbits and lovely sunrises. I never needed to keep Georgie on the lead; we had the trail to ourselves and he would run 100 feet ahead, stop, look back to make sure I was still there, and turn around and keep going. There wasn't much grass in the desert, but the building I worked in was surrounded by grass, and that dog would roll around in the grass happy as a pig in dirt.
Georgie hiked the rocks with us at Chaco Canyon. Chaco Canyon is at the end of 25 miles of really bad road and we had gone to see the sun dagger for summer solstice. We couldn't see the dagger because the sky was filled with smoke from the fires outside of Durango Colorado, over 100 miles away. That night we camped. The wind came up and I swear we should have found ourselves in Kansas in the morning, it was so strong. It rained dirt and sand on us all night long. Georgie had the best seat in the house because we put him in the truck for the night. At least He got some sleep that night! J-Bear was wrong about George-he loved to hike and climb and run. Georgie became the VISTA mascot. Everyone loved him, especially me.
After my VISTA tour was over, we headed to Farmington New Mexico, where Georgie became the Downtown Dog. His picture was on almost every piece of promotional material I put out. He would come to work with me, in the office or during any of the many events I worked on while I was there. Everyone loved him.
George has ridden across the country and back with me twice. He loved to load up and go, just like his momma. George wasn't afraid of anything, or anybody. He was 85 lbs of puppy love and hair. He was allowed on any piece of furniture I had, but would not sleep on the bed with me. He would when I wasn't there though. I think he was just warming it up for me. Someone once told me George wouldn't sleep on the bed because he was my "first line of defense", protecting me should somone try to come into the house who didn't belong. George was a large dog with a larger heart and soul. I doubt he would bite anyone, but I also believe he would if he had to.
As we made our way to Montana in 2007, we stopped at a rest stop somewhere in Wyoming. A skeezy guy walked up to me, looked at George and asked does he bite? Only if he has to, I replied. The guy walked away. I believe George saved me from something bad that day.
Dogs are great judges of character. When we met Jeff, Georgie fell in love with him. I am not sure who loved the other more. Everytime Jeff would come home, Georgie would start his happy dance. Jeff would start his loving on Georgie routine, and I would sit back and smile. Love me, love my dog. I seemed to have competition for Jeff's affection with the dog but it didn't matter.
It gets cold in big sky country, and each winter seemed a bit harder on George. He loved the snow and his fur would catch ice balls after a walk. He loved his walks. When it did snow, George would bounce through the drifts and dig his nose ito the snow to find something interesting. The hair I would get off him when I brushed him would fill 2 plastic grocery bags. Georgie was known for his hair. It was everywhere. I would tell people who visit that they would leave with dog hair souveniers all over their clothes. There weren't many people who chose not to come to visit because of the dog hair.
As Georgie got older, his eyesight got worse, his hearing got worse and his teeth were not good. One day I was standing outside when the postman came by to deliver the mail. Georgie was standing right next to me, and the next thing I hear is "shit!" What?!? I asked the mail carrier. Your dog just bit me he said. What?? George has never bitten anyone and I was standing right there. George in fact did bit the postman. Thankfully he didn't break any skin, but it was a sign that he wasn't aware of who or what was going on around him. The mail carrier was such a great guy and I felt horrible about it. When I ran into him downtown a few days later, I apologized again, and he told me "just don't put him down" because of what he did. Put him down?? Are you kidding me? We were doing everything we could to keep the old man happy and healthy. I assured the mail carrier that would not happen.
As Georgie got older, the cold was harder for him to bear. His old joints were hurting and it stays cold for 9 months out here. Towards the end, I had him on some major pain medication. He had became incontinent and I would find him laying in his own poop. He didn't even know he had done it. Jeff and I talked for almost a year about what we should do. We knew what we had to do, but both of us wanted Georgie to make the decision for us. I had George with me every day and could see his health declining. Jeff was in denial. Then Jeff went on a fire for 2 weeks, and when he got home, he finally saw what I had been seeing. I was happy cleaning poop up just to keep that dog around for as long as possible, but at that point, it became a quality of life issue for Georgie. Would you want to sleep in your own poop and not be able to move around easily?
On a clear, Indian summer day in September, our vet, Dr. Lindsay, came to the house to help us help Georgie across the rainbow bridge. He was in my arms, in the grass he loved so much. We knew he would not make it through another harsh Montana winter. I picked at least 500lbs of river rock and we buried Georgie the Wonderdog at our friend Chuck's ranch, in the shadow of a juniper tree, with a view of the Absorkee Mountains.
A bunch of our friends were there as we buried the bestest dog in the whole world and began toasting his life with a bottle of Jack. Ok, I began toasting his life, and kept on toasting until the bottle was gone. I have never been so sick as I was the next day from what I swear was alcohol poisioning. At one point during the wake, I ended up on my butt on the kitchen floor, barely missing a sharp object with my head. All I remember is looking up seeing all these people peering down at me making sure I was still alive. I was, sort of.
The bestest dog in the whole wide world deserved a wake like that one. The bestest dog in the whole wide world will always remain in my heart and bring a smile to my face whenever I think of him. Animal's people are the lucky ones, even if it is only for a short time. Georgie the Wonderdog was at least 11 years old, if not 13 years old. He lived a good, long life in a family that adored him. We should all be so lucky.
God bless Georgie. I know he is running after bunnies or rolling around in the clover on the other side, hopefully waitng for me. The bestest dog in the whole wide world he was.
We met in 2001 in Cortez Colorado. A guy named J-Bear had a large storage unit where he was fostering pups. We followed up an ad for a pup who was part Chow I think and made the 100 mile trip to Cortez to meet him. The original pup wasn't for us, but there was George. I asked J-Bear what his story was. He told me someone had abandoned him in Toac on the Ute Reservation. Georgie was laying around in the sun, not paying much attention to anything. We were looking for a pup to go hiking and camping with. When we asked about Georgie (back then his name was Buddy), J-Bear told us that's all he did was lay around in the sun. Probably wouldn't make a good hiking dog he said. We didn't care. It was love at first sight. When I offered to pay for him, J-Bear turned me down. When I offered to at least give him a donation for dog food, he turned me down again. All J-Bear wanted was a good home for Georgie and he knew we were Georgie's people. We think George was about 2 years old when we became his people.
I believe critters will tell you what their name is. Buddy did not fit. On the 100 mile drive back to Blanding, my son and I bounced names around. At one point Ralph came up however I couldn't name a dog after my grandfather. Then we hit on George. He was the perfect George. George was always calm, and never used his voice. It took me almost a year to get him to eat people food. What dog doesn't like eggs and cheese mixed in their kibble? Georgie didn't know what to make of the good stuff. Once he figured it out though, I'd get the "look" and he always got the last bite of whatever I was eating. How can you turn down a face like that?
Every morning, Georgie and I would go for a hike in Westwater Canyon. We'd see mule deer and rabbits and lovely sunrises. I never needed to keep Georgie on the lead; we had the trail to ourselves and he would run 100 feet ahead, stop, look back to make sure I was still there, and turn around and keep going. There wasn't much grass in the desert, but the building I worked in was surrounded by grass, and that dog would roll around in the grass happy as a pig in dirt.
Georgie hiked the rocks with us at Chaco Canyon. Chaco Canyon is at the end of 25 miles of really bad road and we had gone to see the sun dagger for summer solstice. We couldn't see the dagger because the sky was filled with smoke from the fires outside of Durango Colorado, over 100 miles away. That night we camped. The wind came up and I swear we should have found ourselves in Kansas in the morning, it was so strong. It rained dirt and sand on us all night long. Georgie had the best seat in the house because we put him in the truck for the night. At least He got some sleep that night! J-Bear was wrong about George-he loved to hike and climb and run. Georgie became the VISTA mascot. Everyone loved him, especially me.
After my VISTA tour was over, we headed to Farmington New Mexico, where Georgie became the Downtown Dog. His picture was on almost every piece of promotional material I put out. He would come to work with me, in the office or during any of the many events I worked on while I was there. Everyone loved him.
George has ridden across the country and back with me twice. He loved to load up and go, just like his momma. George wasn't afraid of anything, or anybody. He was 85 lbs of puppy love and hair. He was allowed on any piece of furniture I had, but would not sleep on the bed with me. He would when I wasn't there though. I think he was just warming it up for me. Someone once told me George wouldn't sleep on the bed because he was my "first line of defense", protecting me should somone try to come into the house who didn't belong. George was a large dog with a larger heart and soul. I doubt he would bite anyone, but I also believe he would if he had to.
As we made our way to Montana in 2007, we stopped at a rest stop somewhere in Wyoming. A skeezy guy walked up to me, looked at George and asked does he bite? Only if he has to, I replied. The guy walked away. I believe George saved me from something bad that day.
Dogs are great judges of character. When we met Jeff, Georgie fell in love with him. I am not sure who loved the other more. Everytime Jeff would come home, Georgie would start his happy dance. Jeff would start his loving on Georgie routine, and I would sit back and smile. Love me, love my dog. I seemed to have competition for Jeff's affection with the dog but it didn't matter.
It gets cold in big sky country, and each winter seemed a bit harder on George. He loved the snow and his fur would catch ice balls after a walk. He loved his walks. When it did snow, George would bounce through the drifts and dig his nose ito the snow to find something interesting. The hair I would get off him when I brushed him would fill 2 plastic grocery bags. Georgie was known for his hair. It was everywhere. I would tell people who visit that they would leave with dog hair souveniers all over their clothes. There weren't many people who chose not to come to visit because of the dog hair.
As Georgie got older, his eyesight got worse, his hearing got worse and his teeth were not good. One day I was standing outside when the postman came by to deliver the mail. Georgie was standing right next to me, and the next thing I hear is "shit!" What?!? I asked the mail carrier. Your dog just bit me he said. What?? George has never bitten anyone and I was standing right there. George in fact did bit the postman. Thankfully he didn't break any skin, but it was a sign that he wasn't aware of who or what was going on around him. The mail carrier was such a great guy and I felt horrible about it. When I ran into him downtown a few days later, I apologized again, and he told me "just don't put him down" because of what he did. Put him down?? Are you kidding me? We were doing everything we could to keep the old man happy and healthy. I assured the mail carrier that would not happen.
As Georgie got older, the cold was harder for him to bear. His old joints were hurting and it stays cold for 9 months out here. Towards the end, I had him on some major pain medication. He had became incontinent and I would find him laying in his own poop. He didn't even know he had done it. Jeff and I talked for almost a year about what we should do. We knew what we had to do, but both of us wanted Georgie to make the decision for us. I had George with me every day and could see his health declining. Jeff was in denial. Then Jeff went on a fire for 2 weeks, and when he got home, he finally saw what I had been seeing. I was happy cleaning poop up just to keep that dog around for as long as possible, but at that point, it became a quality of life issue for Georgie. Would you want to sleep in your own poop and not be able to move around easily?
On a clear, Indian summer day in September, our vet, Dr. Lindsay, came to the house to help us help Georgie across the rainbow bridge. He was in my arms, in the grass he loved so much. We knew he would not make it through another harsh Montana winter. I picked at least 500lbs of river rock and we buried Georgie the Wonderdog at our friend Chuck's ranch, in the shadow of a juniper tree, with a view of the Absorkee Mountains.
A bunch of our friends were there as we buried the bestest dog in the whole world and began toasting his life with a bottle of Jack. Ok, I began toasting his life, and kept on toasting until the bottle was gone. I have never been so sick as I was the next day from what I swear was alcohol poisioning. At one point during the wake, I ended up on my butt on the kitchen floor, barely missing a sharp object with my head. All I remember is looking up seeing all these people peering down at me making sure I was still alive. I was, sort of.
The bestest dog in the whole wide world deserved a wake like that one. The bestest dog in the whole wide world will always remain in my heart and bring a smile to my face whenever I think of him. Animal's people are the lucky ones, even if it is only for a short time. Georgie the Wonderdog was at least 11 years old, if not 13 years old. He lived a good, long life in a family that adored him. We should all be so lucky.
God bless Georgie. I know he is running after bunnies or rolling around in the clover on the other side, hopefully waitng for me. The bestest dog in the whole wide world he was.
Monday, September 5, 2011
Getting My Groove Back
Back in the day, I was involved up to my eyeballs in anything musical or event oriented. I was out, a lot. I knew the hot bands. I booked hot bands. I hired hot bands. Now I've scored this terrific job at a radio station, and all I can say is I'm tired, and the idea of going anywhere in Bozo after 5pm only means that I still have a 30 mile drive home. When did that happen?
I tried to be a party DJ once. It didn't take long for me to realize that I hated the music I was playing and I don't care how well you think you do at public speaking, talking through the music breaks at a loud gig is hard. When I was a kid, I used to think the DJs on the radio box actually lived in the box. When I was a kid.
I'm very musical but not the least bit talented. I loved working with the band Hey Norton, managing them. They were a great group of guys who all had "real" jobs, and took their music very seriously. R&B mostly, with sax and harp playing. Loved those guys. It worked out great for everyone. I was single and don't like going to bars by myself, and here I am with the boys who are keeping an eye on me and I'm filling rooms with their great music. Well, filling rooms may be a stretch when there are only 10 tables, but its a gig. A paying gig.
I learned two very important band managing lessons: first, the BAND is the one that brings people in. Our very first gig was at a little biker bar and she wanted to give us a Wednesday night. I tried to get at least a Thursday. Thursday's are always good nights. We got Wednesday because she'd never heard of the band. Gotta start somewhere.
The gig was great, people were happy, the band was happy, I was happy. I am not a drinker, but when I do drink, its tequila. Shots. I decided to buy a round of shots for the band to celebrate. Bar couldn't serve liquor, only beer and wine. OK, a round of beer. At the end of the night, my "take" was $25 while my bar tab was $35. Lesson number two, don't ever buy beers for the band
Here I am, working for one of the biggest radio "conglomerates" and the idea of hanging out with some great music and I'm just not there yet. I know it will come back. I'm back where the music happens which is a very cool place to be. Even if it isn't a really cool box with people inside. I'm excited for my groove to come back. I think it just took a vacation for a bit.
Stay tuned, a live remote coming to a parking lot near you....
I tried to be a party DJ once. It didn't take long for me to realize that I hated the music I was playing and I don't care how well you think you do at public speaking, talking through the music breaks at a loud gig is hard. When I was a kid, I used to think the DJs on the radio box actually lived in the box. When I was a kid.
I'm very musical but not the least bit talented. I loved working with the band Hey Norton, managing them. They were a great group of guys who all had "real" jobs, and took their music very seriously. R&B mostly, with sax and harp playing. Loved those guys. It worked out great for everyone. I was single and don't like going to bars by myself, and here I am with the boys who are keeping an eye on me and I'm filling rooms with their great music. Well, filling rooms may be a stretch when there are only 10 tables, but its a gig. A paying gig.
I learned two very important band managing lessons: first, the BAND is the one that brings people in. Our very first gig was at a little biker bar and she wanted to give us a Wednesday night. I tried to get at least a Thursday. Thursday's are always good nights. We got Wednesday because she'd never heard of the band. Gotta start somewhere.
The gig was great, people were happy, the band was happy, I was happy. I am not a drinker, but when I do drink, its tequila. Shots. I decided to buy a round of shots for the band to celebrate. Bar couldn't serve liquor, only beer and wine. OK, a round of beer. At the end of the night, my "take" was $25 while my bar tab was $35. Lesson number two, don't ever buy beers for the band
Here I am, working for one of the biggest radio "conglomerates" and the idea of hanging out with some great music and I'm just not there yet. I know it will come back. I'm back where the music happens which is a very cool place to be. Even if it isn't a really cool box with people inside. I'm excited for my groove to come back. I think it just took a vacation for a bit.
Stay tuned, a live remote coming to a parking lot near you....
Sunday, September 4, 2011
The Four Letter "F" Word
What's the first thing that comes to mind when you read the title? No, it's not that. Could be that, but not this time.
The"F" word I am referring to is FALL. Fall is already here in big sky country, and it's only the first week of September. We had a glorious 6-week summer, once it finally got here. There are two weather settings in big sky country: hot and cold. For six weeks, we had 90 degree temps and sunshine every day. There is a reason people with big bucks buy huge homes on their 20 acres of paradise, and come to big sky country for the summer month(s). When the weather turns, they go back to wherever they came from. Only the hardy stay during the winter months.
It's dropping down into the 30's at night with a real chill in the air in the morning. During our six weeks of summer, the day warmed up by 9am. Lately it doesn't seem to get warm until early afternoon. My sunflowers are drooping their heads because they know their season is over. There is a tinge of yellow in the aspen leaves. My tomatos are trying to turn red, but because we weren't able to plant until mid-June, I am afraid we won't get many of them before the first frost.
During our glorious six weeks of summer L-Town comes alive. You can tell who the tourists are because they are riding really sweet street bikes, rented from Timber Trails. I have a bike that I paid $50 for. An old blue Schwin, with a basket. The basket keeps falling off whenever I hit a bump in the road and I aspire to a wicker basket. I found a wicker basket, but it costs more than I paid for the bike. So I will continue to use my old, metal basket, and hold on to it as we ride around the bumpy streets of L-Town. Gives the old girl character, and I'm not talking about me. During our six weeks of summer, I ride my bike everywhere. Good for the earth. Good for my health. I don't have to feed Louise the truck as often.
Ryder and I go for runs in the morning. Well, he runs, I ride my bike. He is so good about staying on my right side and he knows to slow down at intersections as I look for cars before we cross the street. Typically, cars will slow down or stop for us. Everyone seems to have a smile on their face as they see us; the old lady on a blue Schwin bike and a gorgeous, ginormous gallumpus of a yellow lab running beside me. Ryder carries his own toys when we walk to the river, which also brings a smile to people around us. Smiles are good for everyone. Even if it means its just a teenage dog with an old lady. I'm good with that.
Now fall is in the air, and I need to wear layers and gloves when we go for our run. Gloves. It's barely September. I was just getting used to wearing light clothes, skirts withough leggings and flip flops. Out here in big sky country, everything is big, including transitions in the weather. One minute, it's winter. Boom, it's 90 degrees and summer has arrived! Be careful or you will miss it. Now it is beginning to feel like winter is making its way back. Sadly, I have more sweaters, longjohns, coats and scarves than I do summer comfy clothes. I feel like I've just put the damn sweaters away. The world's ugliest yet best coat ever is just mocking me now.
I miss four full seasons. Springtime usually means flowers raising their heads out of the ground and trees and bushes flowering. Springtime usually means burst of color. Here in big sky country, if we do get a spring, it means months of rain and grey skies and cold. When summer finally hits, its a wake up call to plants and birds and those of us that really need color and sunshine as an attitude adjustment. Summer in most places mean heat, humidity, hurricanes and this year, earthquakes. I'm very happy with big sky's summertime. It's hot, but not unbearable. My hair doesn't turn into an afro because there is no humidity. I like summertime.
Fall is not an "F" word elsewhere. I remember fall to be beautiful with maples and oak trees turning orange and red and the sun being crisp and clear. Fall mean pumpkin picking and carmel apples, in October, where it belongs. I think its a tie regarding winter. The east coast gets ice and lately, lots of snow that no one knows how to drive in. Winter doesn't get really bad elsewhere. Winter does get really bad here.
Yellowstone in the winter is the best time to see the Park and Mother Nature's beautiful work. Snow flies around here and nothing shuts down. Schools stay open, people drive wherever they need to go and the stores aren't left with empty shelves of bread and milk. During the winter I see more soup making and comfort food items in the grocery. Or maybe that's because that's what I'm looking for. What makes winter so different from say, Seattle, is that we get wind. Cold wind. Wind that doesn't seem to stop for days. You haven't experienced cold until you've gone outside to walk and its -10 with a 40 mile an hour wind. It gets so cold that the bike is put away, and I drive the 3 blocks to the gym. That's just sad. I can handle the cold, but the damn wind I can live without. Rural legend has it the wind is strong enough to roll old men down the sidewalk. I'm a beliver.
Going through 9 months of winter makes summer in big sky country magical. It doesn't get dark until 10pm and the night sky is so clear that you want to just lay down on the ground and look up for hours. The critters are out and the birds are lovely to hear in the mornings. Once winter comes, we only get the ravens voice. I don't have a warm spot for ravens. Or magpies. We were lucky enough this summer to get yellow tanagers eating all the suet I could put out in our garden. We had wrens and finches and robins and blue birds, among many others. Now the morning bird song is "CAW, CAW, CAW". The ravens love the old oak tree in front of our house. So lucky.
Weather is a big deal in big sky country. Everyone has a "favorites" site for the weather forecast. Last week we got a hail storm. That's frozen rain. That's never a good sign in summer that the rain freezes before it hits the ground. Next up snow flying. Last year we had 16" of the white stuff in early October. Everyone who is a local is hoping for an Indian Summer. That would be lovely. I still plan on moving my summer happy clothes into storage and getting the winter woolies out this weekend. Having five big sky winters under my belt I expect the cold. I don't have to like it, but I am prepared for it. Until March, when it seems like winter will never leave.
F the Fall word.
The"F" word I am referring to is FALL. Fall is already here in big sky country, and it's only the first week of September. We had a glorious 6-week summer, once it finally got here. There are two weather settings in big sky country: hot and cold. For six weeks, we had 90 degree temps and sunshine every day. There is a reason people with big bucks buy huge homes on their 20 acres of paradise, and come to big sky country for the summer month(s). When the weather turns, they go back to wherever they came from. Only the hardy stay during the winter months.
It's dropping down into the 30's at night with a real chill in the air in the morning. During our six weeks of summer, the day warmed up by 9am. Lately it doesn't seem to get warm until early afternoon. My sunflowers are drooping their heads because they know their season is over. There is a tinge of yellow in the aspen leaves. My tomatos are trying to turn red, but because we weren't able to plant until mid-June, I am afraid we won't get many of them before the first frost.
During our glorious six weeks of summer L-Town comes alive. You can tell who the tourists are because they are riding really sweet street bikes, rented from Timber Trails. I have a bike that I paid $50 for. An old blue Schwin, with a basket. The basket keeps falling off whenever I hit a bump in the road and I aspire to a wicker basket. I found a wicker basket, but it costs more than I paid for the bike. So I will continue to use my old, metal basket, and hold on to it as we ride around the bumpy streets of L-Town. Gives the old girl character, and I'm not talking about me. During our six weeks of summer, I ride my bike everywhere. Good for the earth. Good for my health. I don't have to feed Louise the truck as often.
Ryder and I go for runs in the morning. Well, he runs, I ride my bike. He is so good about staying on my right side and he knows to slow down at intersections as I look for cars before we cross the street. Typically, cars will slow down or stop for us. Everyone seems to have a smile on their face as they see us; the old lady on a blue Schwin bike and a gorgeous, ginormous gallumpus of a yellow lab running beside me. Ryder carries his own toys when we walk to the river, which also brings a smile to people around us. Smiles are good for everyone. Even if it means its just a teenage dog with an old lady. I'm good with that.
Now fall is in the air, and I need to wear layers and gloves when we go for our run. Gloves. It's barely September. I was just getting used to wearing light clothes, skirts withough leggings and flip flops. Out here in big sky country, everything is big, including transitions in the weather. One minute, it's winter. Boom, it's 90 degrees and summer has arrived! Be careful or you will miss it. Now it is beginning to feel like winter is making its way back. Sadly, I have more sweaters, longjohns, coats and scarves than I do summer comfy clothes. I feel like I've just put the damn sweaters away. The world's ugliest yet best coat ever is just mocking me now.
I miss four full seasons. Springtime usually means flowers raising their heads out of the ground and trees and bushes flowering. Springtime usually means burst of color. Here in big sky country, if we do get a spring, it means months of rain and grey skies and cold. When summer finally hits, its a wake up call to plants and birds and those of us that really need color and sunshine as an attitude adjustment. Summer in most places mean heat, humidity, hurricanes and this year, earthquakes. I'm very happy with big sky's summertime. It's hot, but not unbearable. My hair doesn't turn into an afro because there is no humidity. I like summertime.
Fall is not an "F" word elsewhere. I remember fall to be beautiful with maples and oak trees turning orange and red and the sun being crisp and clear. Fall mean pumpkin picking and carmel apples, in October, where it belongs. I think its a tie regarding winter. The east coast gets ice and lately, lots of snow that no one knows how to drive in. Winter doesn't get really bad elsewhere. Winter does get really bad here.
Yellowstone in the winter is the best time to see the Park and Mother Nature's beautiful work. Snow flies around here and nothing shuts down. Schools stay open, people drive wherever they need to go and the stores aren't left with empty shelves of bread and milk. During the winter I see more soup making and comfort food items in the grocery. Or maybe that's because that's what I'm looking for. What makes winter so different from say, Seattle, is that we get wind. Cold wind. Wind that doesn't seem to stop for days. You haven't experienced cold until you've gone outside to walk and its -10 with a 40 mile an hour wind. It gets so cold that the bike is put away, and I drive the 3 blocks to the gym. That's just sad. I can handle the cold, but the damn wind I can live without. Rural legend has it the wind is strong enough to roll old men down the sidewalk. I'm a beliver.
Going through 9 months of winter makes summer in big sky country magical. It doesn't get dark until 10pm and the night sky is so clear that you want to just lay down on the ground and look up for hours. The critters are out and the birds are lovely to hear in the mornings. Once winter comes, we only get the ravens voice. I don't have a warm spot for ravens. Or magpies. We were lucky enough this summer to get yellow tanagers eating all the suet I could put out in our garden. We had wrens and finches and robins and blue birds, among many others. Now the morning bird song is "CAW, CAW, CAW". The ravens love the old oak tree in front of our house. So lucky.
Weather is a big deal in big sky country. Everyone has a "favorites" site for the weather forecast. Last week we got a hail storm. That's frozen rain. That's never a good sign in summer that the rain freezes before it hits the ground. Next up snow flying. Last year we had 16" of the white stuff in early October. Everyone who is a local is hoping for an Indian Summer. That would be lovely. I still plan on moving my summer happy clothes into storage and getting the winter woolies out this weekend. Having five big sky winters under my belt I expect the cold. I don't have to like it, but I am prepared for it. Until March, when it seems like winter will never leave.
F the Fall word.
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