So, originally I didn't plan on posting about Ben's birthday. As I said in last night's post, I would wait until I was completely out of things to talk about. I'm sure tonight I could have found something else to blog about. It was my day off today, and I enjoyed it to the very fullest.
Something was nagging on my mind though.
In the last email that I received from Ben, he wrote the following about why he dislikes birthdays:
"You wonder if we don't have better things to do then celebrate someone getting older...How about why we go to such lengths to celebrate someone getting older...I mean where did that start. Congratulations..you are closer to death then you were before."
Kind of a pessimistic view if you ask me, and a way I had never thought of birthdays before. I've sat and thought about Ben's view of birthdays for more than a day, trying to reconcile it with my view.
The kicker of it is though, I can't.
The way I see it, a birthday celebration isn't just for YOU when you've had a birthday. Of course you get gifts, and people sing you Happy Birthday. More often than not, there are cake and ice cream involved. You really haven't done anything more than exist for this celebration to happen though. I could do nothing but sit on the couch for the next ten years, and every March 20, my birthday will be celebrated. You see, rather than celebrating the fact that you've taken up space for one more year, your birthday is a celebration of the wonder that you bring into the lives of the people you touch.
Contrary to Ben's belief, I believe that your birthday is an extraordinary thing. You have existed on this earth for exactly one year more, continuing to be a miracle to your parents, family, and friends. You have made them laugh, you have made them cry, and certainly you have made them just shake their heads in bewilderment. Your birthday is a celebration of the milestones that you have accomplished in this last year, whether or not you see them as important or not. The fact that you were there to accomplish them is the important thing. Your birthday is a celebration of the light that you bring into other people's lives, just by existing.
Your birthday is also a celebration of the things that are to come. Every year that you celebrate, you are reaching another milestone. From this point, the possibilities are endless. There is so much that can happen in a year. In Ben's case, this time next year he may be in command of his own ship. We could be living someplace TOTALLY different than Folly Beach. He may be looking at attending grad school. The possibilities are endless. There is no limit to what can happen in the next year.
Now tell me, isn't that something to celebrate?
Happy Birthday my love.
Jun 13, 2007
Jun 12, 2007
And I Didn't Even Have to Click My Heels.
A funny thing happened this evening when I was taking the dog for a walk down to the beach. I realized that I am happy. I feel like I belong. I'm home.
Now, I'm sure most of you are sitting there, reading your computer screens and saying "huh? has she lost her mind?" Let me explain, and bear with me. I promise there is a point to this.
At seven o'clock this evening, I sat in my desk chair wondering what in the world I was going to blog about. The weather? Nah...the fact that it's hotter than blazes during the South Carolina summer (and it's only June) wouldn't come to a surprise to anyone. Food? Definitely not...who really cares about my new found love of Charleston She-Crab Soup? Ben's Birthday? It has possibilities, but he didn't seem as excited about his 27th birthday as I was...maybe I'll have a discussion on why we celebrate birthdays on another day, when I'm REALLY hurting for material.
And so, still with no topic of discussion, and dusk approaching, I decided that walking the dog down to the beach so that he could play in the water was the thing to do. As Coda and I crossed the causeway and headed into Folly Beach proper, I realized that I felt no stress whatsoever. Anyone who knows me knows that NEVER happens. I'm ALWAYS stressed out over SOMETHING. I looked to my left where there were kids using nets to catch crabs out of the Folly River, and then I looked to my right where the man taking his boat out of the water at the public ramp actually stopped what he was doing, just to smile and wave. Beyond him the sun was setting, all pink and fiery red behind the sailboats that tie up at Mariner's Cay. All was right with the world.
Coda and I continued on our way down the main drag. As I tell Ben almost every time we walk into Folly, it seemed like Kenny Chesney's song "I Go Back" should be playing in the background...and this time, it WAS! The singer at Woody's Pizza (who makes a great White Pizza by the way...but we're not talking about food tonight) was actually halfway decent. Coda and I stopped to listen and sing along for a few minutes, and then continued on our way. As always, Coda tried to go into the bathing suit store on the way down the beach (no, my dog is NOT gay) to go see the nice lady that owns it (and always has a treat for him when he walks by). We were on a mission though...to get to the beach before all of the light faded away.
As we got down to Snapper Jack's, Coda started getting really excited. As we got closer to the Holiday Inn parking log, he started turning himself inside out. You see, the ocean is just beyond the Holiday Inn. Upon moving to the East Coast where the water is warm and the waves aren't gigantic, Coda has discovered that he loves to play in the ocean. It's even better when I remember to bring a ball with us. Any day that Coda gets to go down to the water is a good day in his book.
As Coda ran and wagged his tail, and acted like the dog he loves to be, I got to thinking about the people that I've met here. Matt, Sharon, and John took care of me the night that Tropical Storm Barry rolled through, handing me a beer and inviting me to my first "Hurricane Party" of the season (and of my life). The guys at work all smile, wave, and ask if I'm getting along okay. At first I was a little suspicious of their kindness...but then I realized that is just the way that they are. They really want to see me do well. I thought of Lonnie (complete with the biker tattoos, shaved bald head, and goatee) puffing up proudly to inform me that he thinks of himself as a father-figure, making sure I'm safe while I'm working down on the docks (his little girl is 27 too). Shaune, Scottie, Terry, Larry, Jill, Diane, Karen...the list goes on. These people have all accepted me. Even more, they have embraced me and made me part of "the crew." For the first time in my life, I even have a real nickname that people call me (I'm known as Cricket at work).
After running on the beach, chasing the waves, barking at the water, flirting with the ladies (Coda, not me), and doing all of those things Coda loves to do, he decided that it was time to go home. And so, we made our trek back up the road to home, past the Wine Bar, and the Sand Dollar, through the crowds outside the Taco Boy. Coda was gentle and friendly, and the highlight of a little girl in a stroller's day when she reached out to pat him and he stopped for her. We stopped to listen to the singer at Woody's again for a few minutes, and then took our time walking back over the causeway.
Halfway back across the causeway, I stopped for a minute, turned around, and looked back on this little beach town that I've come to call home. Until I moved here in April, I had no idea what the term "Low Country" referred to, or that when someone says "Bless your heart" it isn't a good thing. This time last year, Ben and I rolled into town for the first time, and I thought that it was the beginning of the end. No way could we make it work from 3,000 miles away with two patrol schedules competing against each other at times. There is no way that I could have fathomed that it was the beginning of something bigger than I could have ever imagined. During my last visit out here in January, before I moved here to be with Ben, I remarked to him as we drove home from the airport that even then in felt like I was coming home. Ben and I like it so much here that we've even talked about the possibility of buying a house here and coming back to stay when he's done in the Coast Guard.
And I wouldn't complain...after all, I would be coming home.
Now, I'm sure most of you are sitting there, reading your computer screens and saying "huh? has she lost her mind?" Let me explain, and bear with me. I promise there is a point to this.
At seven o'clock this evening, I sat in my desk chair wondering what in the world I was going to blog about. The weather? Nah...the fact that it's hotter than blazes during the South Carolina summer (and it's only June) wouldn't come to a surprise to anyone. Food? Definitely not...who really cares about my new found love of Charleston She-Crab Soup? Ben's Birthday? It has possibilities, but he didn't seem as excited about his 27th birthday as I was...maybe I'll have a discussion on why we celebrate birthdays on another day, when I'm REALLY hurting for material.
And so, still with no topic of discussion, and dusk approaching, I decided that walking the dog down to the beach so that he could play in the water was the thing to do. As Coda and I crossed the causeway and headed into Folly Beach proper, I realized that I felt no stress whatsoever. Anyone who knows me knows that NEVER happens. I'm ALWAYS stressed out over SOMETHING. I looked to my left where there were kids using nets to catch crabs out of the Folly River, and then I looked to my right where the man taking his boat out of the water at the public ramp actually stopped what he was doing, just to smile and wave. Beyond him the sun was setting, all pink and fiery red behind the sailboats that tie up at Mariner's Cay. All was right with the world.
Coda and I continued on our way down the main drag. As I tell Ben almost every time we walk into Folly, it seemed like Kenny Chesney's song "I Go Back" should be playing in the background...and this time, it WAS! The singer at Woody's Pizza (who makes a great White Pizza by the way...but we're not talking about food tonight) was actually halfway decent. Coda and I stopped to listen and sing along for a few minutes, and then continued on our way. As always, Coda tried to go into the bathing suit store on the way down the beach (no, my dog is NOT gay) to go see the nice lady that owns it (and always has a treat for him when he walks by). We were on a mission though...to get to the beach before all of the light faded away.
As we got down to Snapper Jack's, Coda started getting really excited. As we got closer to the Holiday Inn parking log, he started turning himself inside out. You see, the ocean is just beyond the Holiday Inn. Upon moving to the East Coast where the water is warm and the waves aren't gigantic, Coda has discovered that he loves to play in the ocean. It's even better when I remember to bring a ball with us. Any day that Coda gets to go down to the water is a good day in his book.
As Coda ran and wagged his tail, and acted like the dog he loves to be, I got to thinking about the people that I've met here. Matt, Sharon, and John took care of me the night that Tropical Storm Barry rolled through, handing me a beer and inviting me to my first "Hurricane Party" of the season (and of my life). The guys at work all smile, wave, and ask if I'm getting along okay. At first I was a little suspicious of their kindness...but then I realized that is just the way that they are. They really want to see me do well. I thought of Lonnie (complete with the biker tattoos, shaved bald head, and goatee) puffing up proudly to inform me that he thinks of himself as a father-figure, making sure I'm safe while I'm working down on the docks (his little girl is 27 too). Shaune, Scottie, Terry, Larry, Jill, Diane, Karen...the list goes on. These people have all accepted me. Even more, they have embraced me and made me part of "the crew." For the first time in my life, I even have a real nickname that people call me (I'm known as Cricket at work).
After running on the beach, chasing the waves, barking at the water, flirting with the ladies (Coda, not me), and doing all of those things Coda loves to do, he decided that it was time to go home. And so, we made our trek back up the road to home, past the Wine Bar, and the Sand Dollar, through the crowds outside the Taco Boy. Coda was gentle and friendly, and the highlight of a little girl in a stroller's day when she reached out to pat him and he stopped for her. We stopped to listen to the singer at Woody's again for a few minutes, and then took our time walking back over the causeway.
Halfway back across the causeway, I stopped for a minute, turned around, and looked back on this little beach town that I've come to call home. Until I moved here in April, I had no idea what the term "Low Country" referred to, or that when someone says "Bless your heart" it isn't a good thing. This time last year, Ben and I rolled into town for the first time, and I thought that it was the beginning of the end. No way could we make it work from 3,000 miles away with two patrol schedules competing against each other at times. There is no way that I could have fathomed that it was the beginning of something bigger than I could have ever imagined. During my last visit out here in January, before I moved here to be with Ben, I remarked to him as we drove home from the airport that even then in felt like I was coming home. Ben and I like it so much here that we've even talked about the possibility of buying a house here and coming back to stay when he's done in the Coast Guard.
And I wouldn't complain...after all, I would be coming home.
Jun 11, 2007
What exactly is it that you DO here...
So lately, I feel like I'm living in the movie "Office Space," complete with the saga of finding and hoarding the only working stapler on the terminal. Every time I talk to someone, whether it is on the terminal or off, the question inevitably is asked, "what exactly is it that you DO?" It's like "the Bob's" are following me around (and if you've never seen "Office Space," you will have no idea what I am talking about). Some days I'm working "on the deck," standing in as a longshoreman, making sure boxes go in their assigned spaces. Other days I'll be standing out on the dock, observing the man that's working "in the lead," ensuring that the boxes are going on the ship in the correct order. I do these things to prepare me for the job I've been hired to do, and give me some experience out on the docks.
I was hired on as a Vessel Superintendent for Ceres Terminals. They are a holding of NYK Lines out of Japan. When a container ship is scheduled to call at our terminals, it is my job to go in and do what is called a "pre-stow." When I pre-stow a ship, the first thing that I look at are the cargo manifests of what is going to be discharged from the vessel. Anything that is hazardous or refrigerated has to be segregated from the rest of the cargo. Usually I "send these boxes to chassis." What that means is that these containers are discharged onto a chassis that can leave from the yard, as is. The rest of the containers are "sent to ground," which means that they are sent to a field of stacks, usually four boxes tall and about five boxes wide. The discharge of cargo from the ship is actually an easy thing to plan for.
After discharging a ship on the computer, that is when things get interesting. We serve several different shipping lines. When cargo is going to be exported from our terminal, each of these lines will send us a manifest telling us what containers will be going to which port, whether they are hazardous materials (and if so, what kind of material is contained inside), or if they are refrigerated. Once all of these manifests are collected, we run a "load list" from the computer program that we use (that has already been imported to our system from our headquarters in New Jersey from what is called a BAPLIE file), and compare the manifests to this list. This is called "bumping the load." If containers don't match the number on the list, or the bills of lading are incorrect, we either correct the numbers or "roll the load" to the next ship that will be taking that route. Sometimes we have to do this when an entire shipment of containers hasn't arrived, or there are discrepancies that can't be fixed in one day.
Once the list has been "bumped," we are ready to stow the containers on board. Planners for the ships will send us a stowage plan, indicating where they would like cargoes to be placed. Hazardous material boxes are placed specifically in places to keep them separated. "Reefer boxes," or boxes that are refrigerated, are stowed in places that have plugs to run the compressors that are attached. The rest of the containers are "block stowed," typically by port and by container type. It is my job to ensure that the correct containers stowed in the correct place. When doing this, I need to worry about the weight of the containers, their heights, and their construction. Not all containers are the same size. Heavy containers must be stowed as low as possible (preferably in the hold). Structures call "flatracks" (flatbeds that have walls on each end, but not on the sides or top to allow for awkwardly shaped cargo) must be stowed in places that are appropriate for whatever cargo is being transported. On top of these things, I also have to consider where the containers are coming from within the container yard when stowing a ship. If I mess that up, it will make for a very long night as the longshoremen work to find the containers and dig them out of the stacks (this can add hours of frustration when finally working the ship if I don't plan well).
When the ship has been completely pre-stowed, I then wait for it to come to the dock. A copy of the pre-stow plan is brought up to the Cheif Mate of the ship so that he can review it, and make any necessary changes to the plan.
The process of pre-stowing a ship in itself can take upwards of six hours (sometimes even more if there are problems with the stow plan that has been sent). But wait, there's more. When a Vessel Superintendent has done the pre-stow of the ship, it is expected that they will also "work" the ship, managing the yard crews and longshoremen that will be discharging and loading the cargo. That can take anywhere from 5 to 15 hours.
During the time that a ship is working, the Superintendent will often talk to the Chief Mate several times about what cargo is going where. They are in charge of the safety of the operation, ensuring that all of the proper paperwork is filled out, preparing and submitting accident and damage reports, and just generally supervising operations. It can be very tiring, and makes for some very long nights (and days). Most ships that I've worked have docked in the evenings, making for an all night evolution. It is not unheard of for me to work a 20 hour shift.
Now for the answers to the questions that are often asked after I give my explanation of my work.
Do I enjoy it? For the most part, yes. Definitely for the first 12 hours of a shift
Is it hard work? Some days, it is extremely hard work.
Will I make a career of it? I really don't know...stay tuned.
I was hired on as a Vessel Superintendent for Ceres Terminals. They are a holding of NYK Lines out of Japan. When a container ship is scheduled to call at our terminals, it is my job to go in and do what is called a "pre-stow." When I pre-stow a ship, the first thing that I look at are the cargo manifests of what is going to be discharged from the vessel. Anything that is hazardous or refrigerated has to be segregated from the rest of the cargo. Usually I "send these boxes to chassis." What that means is that these containers are discharged onto a chassis that can leave from the yard, as is. The rest of the containers are "sent to ground," which means that they are sent to a field of stacks, usually four boxes tall and about five boxes wide. The discharge of cargo from the ship is actually an easy thing to plan for.
After discharging a ship on the computer, that is when things get interesting. We serve several different shipping lines. When cargo is going to be exported from our terminal, each of these lines will send us a manifest telling us what containers will be going to which port, whether they are hazardous materials (and if so, what kind of material is contained inside), or if they are refrigerated. Once all of these manifests are collected, we run a "load list" from the computer program that we use (that has already been imported to our system from our headquarters in New Jersey from what is called a BAPLIE file), and compare the manifests to this list. This is called "bumping the load." If containers don't match the number on the list, or the bills of lading are incorrect, we either correct the numbers or "roll the load" to the next ship that will be taking that route. Sometimes we have to do this when an entire shipment of containers hasn't arrived, or there are discrepancies that can't be fixed in one day.
Once the list has been "bumped," we are ready to stow the containers on board. Planners for the ships will send us a stowage plan, indicating where they would like cargoes to be placed. Hazardous material boxes are placed specifically in places to keep them separated. "Reefer boxes," or boxes that are refrigerated, are stowed in places that have plugs to run the compressors that are attached. The rest of the containers are "block stowed," typically by port and by container type. It is my job to ensure that the correct containers stowed in the correct place. When doing this, I need to worry about the weight of the containers, their heights, and their construction. Not all containers are the same size. Heavy containers must be stowed as low as possible (preferably in the hold). Structures call "flatracks" (flatbeds that have walls on each end, but not on the sides or top to allow for awkwardly shaped cargo) must be stowed in places that are appropriate for whatever cargo is being transported. On top of these things, I also have to consider where the containers are coming from within the container yard when stowing a ship. If I mess that up, it will make for a very long night as the longshoremen work to find the containers and dig them out of the stacks (this can add hours of frustration when finally working the ship if I don't plan well).
When the ship has been completely pre-stowed, I then wait for it to come to the dock. A copy of the pre-stow plan is brought up to the Cheif Mate of the ship so that he can review it, and make any necessary changes to the plan.
The process of pre-stowing a ship in itself can take upwards of six hours (sometimes even more if there are problems with the stow plan that has been sent). But wait, there's more. When a Vessel Superintendent has done the pre-stow of the ship, it is expected that they will also "work" the ship, managing the yard crews and longshoremen that will be discharging and loading the cargo. That can take anywhere from 5 to 15 hours.
During the time that a ship is working, the Superintendent will often talk to the Chief Mate several times about what cargo is going where. They are in charge of the safety of the operation, ensuring that all of the proper paperwork is filled out, preparing and submitting accident and damage reports, and just generally supervising operations. It can be very tiring, and makes for some very long nights (and days). Most ships that I've worked have docked in the evenings, making for an all night evolution. It is not unheard of for me to work a 20 hour shift.
Now for the answers to the questions that are often asked after I give my explanation of my work.
Do I enjoy it? For the most part, yes. Definitely for the first 12 hours of a shift
Is it hard work? Some days, it is extremely hard work.
Will I make a career of it? I really don't know...stay tuned.
Jun 10, 2007
Back by Popular Demand
Hi...it's me again. Remember me? The one who started this blog...yeah, sorry I've been so remiss for almost a month now.
These last few weeks have been pretty busy. There's been a dog shaving (yeah, talk to Ben about THAT one):
A photoshoot:
A dependent's cruise on DALLAS:
Ben getting underway to go to sea, a crazy work schedule, and a Tropical Storm Barry... these are really poor excuses though, I know. The main reason that I haven't been writing is because I haven't felt up to it. Remember about three months back, I wrote about how I have a hard time blogging when things aren't going my way? How I don't like to write about the bad things because I didn't want to seem like I was complaining? There have been a lot of adjustments in the last month that make it very hard for me to come out of my shell.
A photoshoot:A dependent's cruise on DALLAS:Ben getting underway to go to sea, a crazy work schedule, and a Tropical Storm Barry... these are really poor excuses though, I know. The main reason that I haven't been writing is because I haven't felt up to it. Remember about three months back, I wrote about how I have a hard time blogging when things aren't going my way? How I don't like to write about the bad things because I didn't want to seem like I was complaining? There have been a lot of adjustments in the last month that make it very hard for me to come out of my shell.I will make a better effort at posting...
May 18, 2007
Why NASCAR is still the greatest...
I know this post is a little late, but a little late is better than never isn't it? Ben and I went up to Darlington International Raceway last weekend to see the Dodge Avenger 500. Although it was rained out Saturday night, they still ran in on Sunday. What a great time! We had tickets two rows off the raceway (yes, that means we had rubber in our beer), right at the Start/Finish line. As we were sitting there Saturday night, wearing our $5 trash bag ponchos, I couldn't help but think about how cool NASCAR fans really are. In most sports, even the THOUGHT of a rain delay would cause many fans to run for the dry warmth of home. Not us though. We sat in the rain (literally sat in the rain) for about an hour before the lightning started striking around us, driving us under the bleachers. It was there that Ben and I stood with about 5,000 other people waiting for them to call the race.
Ben and I drove 60 miles back to Columbia just to find a room to stay in for the night. For the record, that was the scariest Ramada I have ever seen (and Ben wonders why I am a hotel snob...). Sunday morning dawned bright, beautiful, and warm...in Columbia anyway. As we got closer to Darlington, the clouds got darker, and it looked like it was threatening to rain again.
However, luck was on our side, and the race was run promptly at one o'clock. Of course, driver introductions were beforehand. Ben and I were less than 75 feet from the stage, and we got to see everything. what a great experience! Never in my life did I even imagine that I would be that close to Dale Earnhardt, Jr.
The race itself was fantastic. Lots of competition, and several lead changes, combined with very few wrecks. There were several caution flags for debris on the track, but they only served to make the race more competitive I think.
Dale Jr. didn't win unfortunately, but he did make the Top 10. Jeff Gordon won (again). With that, Ben and I headed back out to the parking lot, and then back home...until next year...or this autumn...we'll see :).
Ben and I drove 60 miles back to Columbia just to find a room to stay in for the night. For the record, that was the scariest Ramada I have ever seen (and Ben wonders why I am a hotel snob...). Sunday morning dawned bright, beautiful, and warm...in Columbia anyway. As we got closer to Darlington, the clouds got darker, and it looked like it was threatening to rain again.However, luck was on our side, and the race was run promptly at one o'clock. Of course, driver introductions were beforehand. Ben and I were less than 75 feet from the stage, and we got to see everything. what a great experience! Never in my life did I even imagine that I would be that close to Dale Earnhardt, Jr.
The race itself was fantastic. Lots of competition, and several lead changes, combined with very few wrecks. There were several caution flags for debris on the track, but they only served to make the race more competitive I think.Dale Jr. didn't win unfortunately, but he did make the Top 10. Jeff Gordon won (again). With that, Ben and I headed back out to the parking lot, and then back home...until next year...or this autumn...we'll see :).
May 4, 2007
When is too much of a Good thing bad?
When I left the Coast Guard, I knew that I needed some time off too spin down. I was a nervous wreck, completely stressed out, and about THISCLOSE to losing it at times. I needed a change of scenery - STAT (I've always wanted to use that word in a real sentence...). However, the idea of taking time off just to take time off was a bit daunting to me. To me it seemed like a colossal WASTE of time. It was also a bit scary. After all, what if I started to LIKE all of this time off?
Unfortunately, I never really relaxed during that time off. There were so many things that needed attention, between moving, paperwork that needed to be finished, fixing my car, and a myriad of other little things that popped up along the way. I got to a point that I couldn't stand being at home alone anymore.
So, I got a job, as was part of the plan that Ben and I had (although he told me to take off as much time as I needed). A job that shows a lot of promise. One that when I get to work in the morning, I'm excited about what it is I will be doing that day. I am so busy learning and working that I even lose track of time.
Why is it that before I get there, and at night before I go to sleep, I want to cry then? Why does the thought of working a long shift make me want to curl up in my covers and never get out of bed again? Why do I actually START to cry when Ben is leaving the house in the morning, and he doesn't quite know what to do with the sobbing mess sitting in the middle of the kitchen floor?
These questions, and more, I am still trying to answer. You see, I got this great job. It is exactly what I was looking for - something where I can work outside, have responsibility for a job that has tangible and visible results (i.e., can the ship get underway on time, did all of the containers make it onboard), and dress casually everyday (I do believe I will be issued coveralls here before long).
Something just doesn't seem to fit. I don't quite know what it is though. Maybe it is just because I haven't quite learned the ropes yet, and that it is something 180 degrees from anything that I've ever done. I have to worry about time equalling money now, as well as the consequences of getting fired if I screw up. They CAN just fire me on the spot now...and conversely, I can just quit.
Being part of the real world is scary. Part of me really wants my old life back.
Unfortunately, I never really relaxed during that time off. There were so many things that needed attention, between moving, paperwork that needed to be finished, fixing my car, and a myriad of other little things that popped up along the way. I got to a point that I couldn't stand being at home alone anymore.
So, I got a job, as was part of the plan that Ben and I had (although he told me to take off as much time as I needed). A job that shows a lot of promise. One that when I get to work in the morning, I'm excited about what it is I will be doing that day. I am so busy learning and working that I even lose track of time.
Why is it that before I get there, and at night before I go to sleep, I want to cry then? Why does the thought of working a long shift make me want to curl up in my covers and never get out of bed again? Why do I actually START to cry when Ben is leaving the house in the morning, and he doesn't quite know what to do with the sobbing mess sitting in the middle of the kitchen floor?
These questions, and more, I am still trying to answer. You see, I got this great job. It is exactly what I was looking for - something where I can work outside, have responsibility for a job that has tangible and visible results (i.e., can the ship get underway on time, did all of the containers make it onboard), and dress casually everyday (I do believe I will be issued coveralls here before long).
Something just doesn't seem to fit. I don't quite know what it is though. Maybe it is just because I haven't quite learned the ropes yet, and that it is something 180 degrees from anything that I've ever done. I have to worry about time equalling money now, as well as the consequences of getting fired if I screw up. They CAN just fire me on the spot now...and conversely, I can just quit.
Being part of the real world is scary. Part of me really wants my old life back.
Apr 28, 2007
Postcards From the Edge Aren't Always Pretty
Earlier this week, as I was talking to my friend Eric, he jokingly commented about how I never mention my "really cool friend Eric" on my blog. I promptly apologized for being so remiss, and that I'd talk about him sooner than later.
Sorry Eric, today is not your day.
This morning's post is a somber one, one that I've been trying to get my arms around writing for a day now. I finally caught up with my friend Kimberly on Saturday evening. Of all of the people that I went to high school with, Kim is the only one that I really still talk to on a regular basis (i.e. more than just Christmas and Thanksgiving). I was a little irked at Kim earlier this week. I had been IMing her routinely, trying to talk to her about how great things are here, between my new job and all of the life changes that I've been through. Little did I know that Kim was stuck in a personal hell.
Kim has always been one of those people who gives unselfishly of herself, and always has. She's the kind of person who, even though she might not know how to make something better, will do everything she can think of to try. She's smart, funny, caring, and dependable. It is a combination of these traits that make teaching a great profession for her.
After graduation Kim went to college to become a history teacher, and upon receiving her Masters and Teaching Certificate, returned to Leicester High School to take a position. Kim took the place of Mr. Chase, an old favorite at LHS and teaches, among other things, a Civics class that I can remember slogging my way through beside her as Seniors. Every time I talk to Kim, her voice lights up when she talks about her job, and especially her students.
Kim lost one of those students this week in a horrible car crash.
Everyone has been so caught up in the Virginia Tech shootings (as they probably should be), that things like this slip under the radar. An article about this accident was actually posted on cnn.com, a site that I read daily...and I missed it. When I asked my mom about it, she told me she had forgotten about it.
A car full of teenagers, two from Leicester, three from surrounding towns crashed last weekend on River Street in Leicester. Four of those teenagers were killed, one still remains in a coma. One of the deceased was a student in Kim's class. A sibling of the other teenager from Leicester killed is also in one of Kim's classes. All four that were killed were wearing their seat belts. Drugs and alcohol were not factors. The teenagers had gone out to dinner, and were racing home to try to beat curfew. When I talked to Kim, the teen that was in a coma still didn't know her friends were dead.
If only they had slowed down. I've driven the road where they were killed, most times at a rate of speed way beyond safe, usually with a car full of friends, often including Kim, trying to get everyone home for curfew.
Kim is one of those teachers that looks at her students as HER kids. She often refers to them in that manner, saying "you wouldn't believe what my kids did this week." Usually she goes into bragging about their intelligence and drive. She has hope for the future, and wants to pass it on. This accident, and the loss of one of her "kids" has hurt her badly. Yet, she is once again a pillar of strength, standing tall for those who need her, who feel like they've been left behind.
I can only hope that I have the strength that Kim has when faced with something like this.
Please, if you have a moment, say a prayer for Nathan (the boy who was killed), his friends, his mother, and his family - and include Kim too.
Sorry Eric, today is not your day.
This morning's post is a somber one, one that I've been trying to get my arms around writing for a day now. I finally caught up with my friend Kimberly on Saturday evening. Of all of the people that I went to high school with, Kim is the only one that I really still talk to on a regular basis (i.e. more than just Christmas and Thanksgiving). I was a little irked at Kim earlier this week. I had been IMing her routinely, trying to talk to her about how great things are here, between my new job and all of the life changes that I've been through. Little did I know that Kim was stuck in a personal hell.
Kim has always been one of those people who gives unselfishly of herself, and always has. She's the kind of person who, even though she might not know how to make something better, will do everything she can think of to try. She's smart, funny, caring, and dependable. It is a combination of these traits that make teaching a great profession for her.
After graduation Kim went to college to become a history teacher, and upon receiving her Masters and Teaching Certificate, returned to Leicester High School to take a position. Kim took the place of Mr. Chase, an old favorite at LHS and teaches, among other things, a Civics class that I can remember slogging my way through beside her as Seniors. Every time I talk to Kim, her voice lights up when she talks about her job, and especially her students.
Kim lost one of those students this week in a horrible car crash.
Everyone has been so caught up in the Virginia Tech shootings (as they probably should be), that things like this slip under the radar. An article about this accident was actually posted on cnn.com, a site that I read daily...and I missed it. When I asked my mom about it, she told me she had forgotten about it.
A car full of teenagers, two from Leicester, three from surrounding towns crashed last weekend on River Street in Leicester. Four of those teenagers were killed, one still remains in a coma. One of the deceased was a student in Kim's class. A sibling of the other teenager from Leicester killed is also in one of Kim's classes. All four that were killed were wearing their seat belts. Drugs and alcohol were not factors. The teenagers had gone out to dinner, and were racing home to try to beat curfew. When I talked to Kim, the teen that was in a coma still didn't know her friends were dead.
If only they had slowed down. I've driven the road where they were killed, most times at a rate of speed way beyond safe, usually with a car full of friends, often including Kim, trying to get everyone home for curfew.
Kim is one of those teachers that looks at her students as HER kids. She often refers to them in that manner, saying "you wouldn't believe what my kids did this week." Usually she goes into bragging about their intelligence and drive. She has hope for the future, and wants to pass it on. This accident, and the loss of one of her "kids" has hurt her badly. Yet, she is once again a pillar of strength, standing tall for those who need her, who feel like they've been left behind.
I can only hope that I have the strength that Kim has when faced with something like this.
Please, if you have a moment, say a prayer for Nathan (the boy who was killed), his friends, his mother, and his family - and include Kim too.
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