Shifting Gears

So umm...I sorta got fired today.
Well, "fired" is a strange way to put it--I'm no longer a summer intern, so I'm no longer running the ropes program at Windy Gap, but they want me to stay on in a staff position as long as I want it, I just have to move off camp and not do the summer internship program. Both of those things I'm happy for: no more of the big brother babysitting stuff that comes from being a summer intern and I don't have to live in a room with three much younger girls (I should note that I love those girls, I just feel a little old for it). The hard part is leaving the ropes; I was really, really looking forward to it. I had that place ready to go and I don't get to see the fruits of my labor there. And I just bought a new $80 harness. That sucks. I had a great team to work with. But they want me to stay on, which is weird. They know how hard I work and I'm good at my job so they don't want to let me go, but I'm not spiritually in a place to do the internship to the degree that it should be done. I have a meeting with them Monday to discuss options with the staying on thing. I don't know if I want to stay on or not; I do but I don't. I simply can't force myself to mix the personal and professional; I don't know how to function in place where everything is basically on the record. I don't mean that as a knock on them, I mean it simply as two very different ways of processing and living. I can't do that.
I know it's the right decision for literally everyone involved, from the campers and summer staff to the property staff to me. I mean, when they told me I was...relieved. That itself is a sign that it is right. So right now I'm in the process of packing and moving...again. Effin' moving.
I already have some great options for places to live and some jobs lining up, but I kind of want to spend this time to figure out what the hell it is I actually want to do, as I simply don't know or even know where to start.
This is the beginning of 26. It'll be an adventure.

Danger Zone

Well here it is, end of work week. And by work week I don't mean "Oh, it's our normal 5-day work week" I mean "Holy crap, there's nearly 300 people here to do stuff. Why does that guy have a welding torch? And you want me to do what?"
I'm the ropes intern for the summer (yee haw) and the Tower and Swing interns, David and John, joined me in doing all of our summer prep, so for the past four days we've been up to our ears in ropes and high element management, along with one trusty summer staff alum and Matt Knauer, the only one who actually knew what he was doing. Day two of work week had us cutting down a nearly 300 foot zipline at the ropes course and replacing it, along with the 12' x 12' net it runs through. Sounds fairly simple. Ha. After we had it set up we made David be the first to ride on the new cable. He was a little nervous, for good reason. It's over 50' high at the jump off.
Day three found us at our giant swing, replacing two of the four drop cables that hold the swing in place. This requires someone to lobster claw up a side tree to the two top cables (height: 60') then place their lobster claws and a rappel rope onto the top cable and pull themselves out to the connecting point of the drop cable (leading to the swing) where they undo the drop cable from the top cable, then rappel back down to earth. Only to go back up to put in the new cable..and this had to be done on both sides. We got it done cleanly and correctly the first time, with the injuries being the minor ones that come from having a job dealing with 3/4" galvanized aircraft cable. Sure. We also had to put in a safety net around the swing platform (nicknamed "The Beth Net" in honor of our dear Beth Williams) which required drilling holes completely through trees about 20 feet up while standing on a shaky, janky ass aluminium house ladder. We did end up putting in staples because the ladder was so bad, and we had to get even higher up in the tree. So then we were standing on a janky ass ladder, pounding giant staples into trees with a sledgehammer. The Beth Net took almost a whole day in and of itself, but we finished it this morning and laid in it to make sure it was safe. It is, and its kind of comfortable. Here's to you, Beth Net. Then back to the ropes course to move the net at the zipline up one foot, which took, oh, two hours (also required drilling holes completely through trees. The bit is two and a half feet long).
All week Igot to use terms like, "Let's swedge it," Which is a pair of pliers that, when opened fully, the legs are five feet apart and the mouth opens maybe an inch. It's a TIIIIIIGHT pinch but it creates this ridiculously safe cable closure. I also used cable cutters, which look like hedge trimmers on 'roids. I could put the cable in them and throw my whole body on them as hard as I could and the cable would just say, "Oww." If I wanted to cut a cable it'd take me a good four tries and by then it looked like I'd gummed it to death. Oh well. I have new respect for 3/4" GAC and electrical tape.
I think there is dirt permanently etched into the creases on my palms. I washed 'em I swear.

Not Gonna Miss Ya

So Jerry Fallwell died yesterday.
I know it's crass, but I can't honestly say I'll miss the guy.
In fact, I can say with great confidence that I won't miss him, except as the best of punchlines.
Simply can't get behind a guy who defines his belief, his public image, his seeming whole life, by the people of whom he disapproves. I don't get definition by exclusion. Maybe it's just me, but I'd rather be part of something that welcomes rather than one that pridefully omits. I remember one article in the National Liberty Journal where he claimed that the Lilith Fair was a demon-worshipping event. Sure thing there, Jer.

Wouldn't it Be Loverly

I haven't posted in a while. I've been in the process of moving, and sitting down to write out thoughts is difficult when my thoughts are elsewhere. I'm 90% moved into my new (temporary) living quarters and I have to say, it is much better than my Eyeore nature let on. They did a great job getting it set up for us, though sleeping in a bunkbed and having three other roommates does have an echo of dorm life (though I never had either a bunk bed or more than one roommate in college) and it's an adjustment from the comfort of my queen-size single in ol' Shady. I'll miss that place in all its damp, dark, basement glory.
Anyway, a story:
This weekend was my last stint as primary host (sigh...I loved that job). Friday night I was just leaving the club room after making sure the very green sound tech was slightly comfortable when I walked out into the darkness to go fix a toilet and I heard a cry. A little cry. A little, kitten cry. I looked around and couldn't find where this tiny incessant cry was originating when she came running up: a young little tabby kitten. She wouldn't let me pet her but it was clear she was very used to people, and was very hungry. She followed me up and into the cabin whose toilet I was to fix and that's when I knew I couldn't have her wandering around property while a camp was in session. I got her into the Guest Services office and called around to borrow a dog carrier, then down to the barn to get some cat food and water, which she ate like it was her very first meal.
My roommate helped me get her into the carrier and we took her back to Shady for the night. She cried the entire time. Like didn't shut up. Poor thing. I couldn't decide if I should call her Hubris (my dream name for a cat. So fitting.) or Liza Dolittle (the heroine from "My Fair Lady").
While all that was going on I got a call about a snake trying to get into the club room (which was full of 220 people. Like yelling "Fire!" in a crowded theater...). I now assume that when I host, it's Animal Planet camp. During my three months in Guest Services I had: a rabid bat, two birds trapped in rooms, a snake, a kitten, a hermit crab, a dead mole in the pool, a dead turtle, and I feel like I'm leaving one out. That's hilarious.
Back to unpacking...

Box Out

I'm in the midst of packing to move, once again. This time is odd, because it's "Ok, what will I need in the next three months?" and not really having a clear answer to it. Winter coats: don't need. Christmas stuff: box it up. But besides that I get a little befuddled. (I'm currently typing this standing up, because my bed is so covered with boxes and junk that I can't really sit down anywhere)
Anyway, that's the news over here. Monday we move over to the temporary "intern" housing in prep for the rest of the group to arrive. My distaste for feeling displaced is in full force, but I'm trying to be a good sport.
Parting shots for the day:
Yup, that's an office chair. With an excavator behind it...and a dumpster in front of it. In the middle of a construction zone. Whaa? (Or, in honor of Murphy, "QUAAAA!?") I saw it when I was walking up to my car the other day and had to take a photo.

(Current listen while packing: The Cheesy Mix, as made for Hatcher. "Coming to America" by the Neil is playing at the moment...TODAY!)

Back of The Mind

I've written about my back pain and subsequent problems several times over these four and a half years (4.5 years!? Ummm...holy shit on that one?), seems to be about once every year or so it spews up, bloggerized. There are two from 2004 when I was going to the doctor about it and one a week later when they told me they thought I had a brain tumor/leukemia (those are Here and Here). What a strange time that was (other posts are Here, Here and Here ).
I ran the HRA 9th grade program this past weekend, as I have done for those five years or so. I know that running the program will hurt my back and I'll be sore and/or limited for a few days afterward. The question is, why do it? Why do the things that I know will cause me pain and uncomfortably?
The answer is clear to me: because if I don't, then it wins. Whatever it is that's causing this situation gains yet another foothold in my life; takes yet another thing I love. Like a slow robbery. It's already taken whitewater, good sleep, taken most caving, office work, extended backpacking, extended guitar. I can start to imagine how it must feel for an aging woman to lose her drivers license, knowing she won't ever get it back, even if family promises otherwise. It's watching freedoms like sand grains slipping through fingers. And so I will continue to do what I love as long as I can because I'm tired of losing my life to the prospect of pain. I'm tired of feeling robbed. I have little else I'm willing to give up for the sake of one more restful night.

Take Me to The River, Drop Me In The Water

That is an old Talking Heads reference (also a band to add to our pretentious rock list, Les) but it's true. I just love being out on the water; I miss that connection, that feeling of time existing only between smooth paddle strokes. All complications are stripped away for me. It's one place where I simply am. Anyway, a few photos from the 'venture. I didn't take my camera out on the water much, as it was raining one day and the other I was too busy fighting wind.
Mike, Brian, Helen and I in the backseat of Dave and Shelby's truck after finishing up our Saturday program. There were 7 of us in the truck; I sat on Helen's lap for the 20 minute drive. It rained almost the whole time we were on the water, which is never a good way to start a weekend. Mike, Dave and I were running the lower section (with Compton's rapid, a class II wave train that washes out into a deep pool in a canyon) but with the rain it was running high, so two more holes formed where waves normally are. I was lower-mid, standing on a rock with a throw bag and a whistle, directing the kids into the eddy or ready with the rescue rope. Mike was running cleanup at the bottom, collecting those that flipped and Dave was upper-mid in a boat, ready to get early swimmers. Thank God we were ready, because of our 10 boats, 7 flipped. Seven. Ridiculous. It was a friggin' yard sale: kids over here, paddles over there, boats all over the place. Fortuitously (and hilariously) there was a swiftwater rescue course training at Comptons so our first swimmers were nabbed up by the trainees before we could get to them. They asked if they could help with our rescues and we obliged, so even with 7 boats flipping we really didn't have to do much. Here's to you, swiftwater rescue trainees.
Sunday was beautiful, though cold and WINDY. I ran the upper section twice with Mike and Jess (who'd come in for the day) and we never had time to stop for games or the like. The head wind just had us digging in and paddling along shore. Above: The mighty Shenandoah on the upper section. I love the Blue Ridge.


Part of the AL HRA 2007 staff at about 7:30am. From Left to Right: Joanna, a professor at GMU who came out to teach a macroinvertebrate class as part of the land station; Dave, co-director and closest thing I have to a big brother; Helen, who headbutted me in the nose at 3am but I'm not bitter; Tim, who makes everyone else look tiny; Mike, my paddle partner for the weekend; Brian, who was my 18-year-old boyfriend until he was no longer 18 and Shelby, co-director with Dave and the one who tries to keep everyone else in line.
Group shot: Shelby, Mike, Dave, Me, Joanna, Helen and Tim. My people. Now that the HRA program is over, I'm trying to figure out what I have to look forward to next. I like to have some new adventure coming down the pipes and right now there's nothing but work and summer.

Gone

Back in the Shady--we finally have power again! Now I'm packing to leave for the HRA paddling trip.
I'm excited, but I'm already exhausted and my back is killing me, so no idea how I'm going to get through the next three days or so. I'll try to take photos, but it's hard when I'm running the trip. Yee haw! See ya'll Monday!

Roles

Yesterday was the weekly Williams' (formerly Moldy) Dinner and so 20 of us were sitting around their living room eating dinner and chatting as we do every week. It came up that one of the ladies needs to have the battery in her car changed and she remarked that she needed to get one of the guys to do it. I volunteered to do it; I mean, I've changed batteries multiple times. It's really quite easy actually. Takes five minutes max. One of the other ladies said, "No, we get the guys to do it. We don't do it. That is their job."
Maybe this is my 'northern' sentiment but I don't get that at all. If I need something done and I can't do it myself, I'll get whomever to do it regardless of gender, or I'll figure out how to do it myself. (It's a very different situation if someone offers assistance. I feel the need to make a distinction there.) I don't quite understand the 'gender roles' that seem coded into the societal makeup here. I don't mean to sound self-righteous, but it doesn't make sense to me to have guys do something that you can easily do yourself. My father is the one who instilled this notion in me; problem solving isn't gender specific. Now I've heard the argument that it makes guys feel useful, etc but why should I hide my abilities to boost the ego of another? I'm not man-hating either; lord knows most of the problems I make for myself have to do with a boy of some kind...
Can anyone explain this notion to me because it is something I sincerely would like to know more about. I see most of them as not only archaic but esoteric but I'm wondering the other more obtuse purposes that I don't see.

Wait...what!?

Two-and-a-half odd points of living/working at the same place:
(1) Walking to work this morning I ran into Pete, the head of our maintenance dept, who informs me that they are cutting off the power to our apartment today and that we'll have to move til Friday or so. Wait...what!? So lunchtime was spent moving the entire contents of our fridge down the hill into the "Doctor's Chalet" for the remainder of the week. And of course all three of us just did our last big grocery shopping trip before the summer. Ask me how thrilled I am about it. Grrr....

(2) I was cleaning the club room today and left to get a mop. I came back and found a very large hermit crab walking across the floor in the prep room. Just a-strollin' along. Wait...what!? Three weeks ago I was the swing host for a weekend and the program team was doing a skit with hermit crabs. That was the last time anyone brought them in, which means...that hermit crab had been wandering around the club room for, oh, three weeks. I took him to the kitchen's office and had Alana look up what hermit crab's eat. We got him (we decided it's a boy crab) food and water and have named him Jonathan for a multitude of reasons, including the guy who left him is of the same name. And for Jonathan Safran Foer, in which case we will call him John-fan. And because a hermit crab named Jonathan is, let's face it, funny. I have no idea what to do with John-fan.

(2.5) I have to admit, moving into the Dr. Chalet has been kind of fun. We've benefited relationally from the move; feels like living in a vacation house. We keep joking, "It's ok! We're on vacation," and instead of going to our own little corners, we're spending time together. Still annoying, but a surprising bit of entertainment too.