The Best Laid Plans....

I sit here in Bend just stupefied. Marc got a call late last night from the investor doing Clovis, saying they were going to lay him off as they had decided they were not going to finish out the project after all. He is packing up this morning and will be out and on the road shortly. Will he even be paid for his time and the move there? We don’t know.

Now what?

Goodbye Old Friend

My last day in Coos Bay, and I watch the fog whisking among the fir branches and treetops as the wind whips the dune grass. It’s been a long time since I’ve been able to stop and smell the salt air—better than roses for my mind and psyche. The packing is just about done, the errands all run; now is my time to say goodbye to my favorite place.

As I sit and ponder, a tug appears far down the bay guiding the huge ship Glorious Lotus, home port Singapore, to sea. Probably more wood chips bound for the Far East where they will make chip board and once again send it on a huge ship back to us. She towers over the small boats stuck to their piece of ocean, crabbing, and then silently save for her bellowing horn, disappears into the mist and her far flung ocean voyage.

The harbor remains wreathed in fog as I note a new boat tied up, a huge catamaran that has the look of something odd about her like she is very possibly homemade. She dwarfs the other boats around her and her straight sided lines and angles look reminiscent of a 1970’s apartment building, not a boat. She definitely looks stout but like an ungainly ugly duckling at the same time.

Too soon, it’s time to leave Charleston to do more packing. I am so anxious to see Marc; so sad to leave the coast. We have no time line on this journey to return; it’s all in the great mystery called remaining gainfully employed if possible, so weeks could stretch to months and into years. The ocean will continue to call me so I take my photographs for my memory scrap pile and file away the sounds and smells which leave no tangible reminder save for lingering memory.

Exiting WalMart: Short-timer's Syndrome

I have a dear friend from college who has mentioned that her husband does not always work well with others and should wear the tee-shirt. You might know the one: “Does Not Play Well with Others.” Well, I called her tonight and told her to be sure and send me one too.

I have worked the past two weeks with someone I have come to intensely dislike more than anyone in recent memory. This young girl is not only bossy, but she is a boss-suck-up extraordinaire. Any way you have of doing something she feels it important to make comment on, usually negative, and is constantly nagging our supervisor asking for advice of how or what should be done. Like she can’t possibly figure out how to do it on her own and then feels compelled to tell the rest of us how we should then do it when it’s really none of her business. I figure if the boss doesn’t like the way I am working THEY can tell me; not some other workmate who knows less than me to begin with.

Finally at the end of the day today, my best work partner and I were in the back room working with this girl when she started REALLY mouthing off as usual. Ok, I admit, short-timers syndrome is probably a nasty thing for a person like me, who has a hard time holding her tongue anyway; and in this case it was devastating. I had had enough and lit into her. She obviously didn’t get “it” and said she wasn’t going to work with us anymore as she left in a huff with: “I’m going to go tell MJ” (our supervisor). So my parting repartee was “I don’t give a shit what you do.” as she stormed out.

Well, I have to admit; upon seeing MJ later she did not mention a word to me. Upon leaving this evening I stopped to say a special thank you to another supervisor whom I really enjoyed working under and mentioned that she might need to give me an especially good recommendation because I probably wasn’t going to get a good one from MJ. She asked why and when I explained she said MJ was probably secretly thankful. Apparently the girl’s been getting on everyone’s nerves but has them all walking on eggshells—you know how it is now with all the politically correct stuff everyone seems to have to deal with. And of course, it is against WalMart policy to have personal altercations or use swear words with anyone. Oh my. I think I’ve broken their rules.

One more day. I don’t expect for things to be better tomorrow with the exception that I will really have short-timers syndrome! Who knows what might come out of my mouth? I wish I had that tee-shirt already; I’d wear it as a warning. (grin)

Relief is Spelled J-O-B

I haven’t said a lot about Marc lately because he was finalizing helping some friends with some projects in Yuma. Since last fall, he has been in contact with an investor whose group took back one of the projects Marc most recently worked on for his former employer in Clovis, New Mexico in ‘08. This week things came together for Marc to gain the Superintendent position to finish up that project for the investment group, which is expected to run three to four months.

Marc arrived in Clovis Friday morning and says the project is a complete mess, having sat vacant and unfinished for the past year. He says the list of things to do is so overwhelming he doesn’t know where to start but he knows one thing for certain: he needs his helpmate ASAP! Often times, I have helped Marc in the capacity as his laborer or project cleaner and he is in desperate need of such right now so it certainly makes sense to resign my position at WalMart and go join my husband as quickly as possible.

With that in mind, I plan to give notice to WalMart on Monday, of one week. In actuality, I hope they let me go before then as I will have some things to attend to here to close up the place, pack up what I will need and then head over to Bend to visit a couple days with my folks before hitting the highways through eastern Oregon on my way south nearly 1500 miles with my traveling companion cat Tucker.

I face the coming days with a fresh spirit and much anticipation of again being on project and working and living beside my husband. It’s about time!

What is It About Blogs?

Ok, I admit: much of my world exists in cyberspace. Since I have very little life of my own these days, I seem to relish following others’ particularly enhanced lifestyles that we now find a plethora of on the internet. From its start many years ago following some of the most rudimentary websites that evolved to capture life on the road amongst the RVing crowd, as time and ever-evolving electronic gadgetry allowed, I have expanded my repertoire to include many adventurer blogs I now try and follow. Frankly, I wonder if it has become overkill.

When Marc and I first started telling our tales (because I had a yen for writing) in 1998 on our new domain (which we paid dearly for) “Itchyhitch”, we were one of the few. As times evolved and more RVers jumped on the bandwagon of telling their traveling tales, many gravitated to the new format called “blogging” which served up a ready-made template for those not having their own domain, or who didn’t want the investment in hundreds of dollars of software like Front Page with its hard to figure out HTML format for posting. Suddenly, within the past two-three years, everyone who features themselves “anyone” now has a blog! It’s a wonder there is any room left in cyberspace.

Of long habit of course, I still follow many (no; make that SOME) RV blogs. Some of these people I feel I know, having either actually met them in person along the trail somewhere or having emailed back and forth enough to suppose an actual friendship. Others I have no clue who they are. They came to my attention, usually by mention of someone else and I read a little and add them as a “favorite” hoping to go back and catch up on their story. Unfortunately, that doesn’t always happen lately and I now look at too many entries, wondering how on earth they ever got added in the first place. Do I know this person? Does anyone I know, know this person? Is this person really important to my life? Why would I want to read about theirs; especially as I am not really living a carefree RV lifestyle these days.

Ok, so what have I moved on to? Well, world adventurers of course! Those traipsing the USA don’t have enough territory to report on; not enough roads to traverse, not enough exotic locations to post about. Given our interest in motorcycle travel, I have found several world adventurers traveling the world on bikes! Wow; talk about tough (but exceeding exciting to think about!). The best example I can think of is http://www.2canadiansonbikes.com/.



This young couple just about sets the bar for adventure travel and toughness. Visit their blog, if you like travel and the pictures that a $3200 digital camera can produce of most of the world’s outstanding historical sites; you owe it to yourself to tune in. Although not of the caliber of world travel as the above site, I have often enjoyed Guy Bodin’s motorcycle adventures as a long rider on America’s best back roads: http://www.bamarider.com/ on his Honda motorcycles. Although Guy's photography may leave a lot to be desired, he weaves wonderfully descriptive tales that take you right along for the ride.

Starting many years ago in a sailboat around the world, and very young, now having gravitated to an old VW wagon, one cherished contact is Pat and Ali of http://www.bumfuzzle.com/ fame. They certainly create waves, and have become pretty controversial world-wide. If you email them however, they are very endearing. Mention itchyhitch sent you.

So what’s the latest on the agenda? Well, now I am into researching boats—all manner of boats, all manner of stories centered on their use and lifestyle, particularly liveaboard. One retired couple decided to tour all of America’s waterways with their trailerable boat and camper and have a very encompassing website entitled “Cruising America”. Since he is a former Geology teacher he offers great insight into the earth around us as we visualize it today, but really which had its history millions of years ago. The tale of cruising over the top of Yellowstone Lake is fascinating! http://www.geocities.com/bill_fiero/index.htm

As I did with RVers so I am doing with boaters: following tales of people I have no clue about. One is of Life’s 2 Short http://btlifes2short.blogspot.com/ aboard a large trawler whose owners retired young and beautiful and cruise around wherever they want with an adult beverage constantly in their hands and pictures of party after party—the ultimate indulgent life mere mortals can’t begin to imagine. They have some great pictures of the clear blue water of the Bahamas.

But of far greater meaning, is the irreverent tale of young Jason and Christy, http://blog.svhelloworld.com/ from Seattle, aboard their 40 foot sailboat who have just made their escape from the rat race; yes, quit their jobs in this economy and are racing the tides up the Inland Passage towards Alaska. Now they’re the kind of people I would love to meet!

So tell me folks; you who are reading this blog, why is it we are so attracted to others lives in addition to exposing our own? Is there something wrong in this premise? Will my real life continue to be centered on a computer and others’ tales? I am beginning to wonder. Do I need to cut back this addiction?

When Life Gets Down To Elements, part 2

In groups we move off onto the floor following our assigned supervisors. Typically, we either move fixtures, build fixtures (after schlepping the parts from the sea container of parts out in the South 40 of the parking lot), or we “set a mod”. Setting a mod requires placing shelving or pegs which hold product according to a specific plan. Once the setup is done, we install what’s called fast track, which is the rail which holds all the skews and pricing information contained on the little yellow tags. Those all go on in certain order and there is a definite method to the madness. I have become particularly adept and fast at it, hence have become in great demand by all the supervisors as “the Mod Queen”. It’s not a bad position to hold.

Once the mod is set, we then set the product. Next time you waltz through WalMart pay particular attention to such aisles as the deodorant or hand lotion or shampoo sections. Note just how many brands, how many flavors, how many varieties there are of each product. Each one has a separate skew; each one has a separate area where it must be placed. Each one also has, per manufacturer and how much they are willing to pay for shelf space, a certain amount of rows for their product. Hence, you will see some brands which have the same product with face forward three rows, while others languish with only one. Yes, the almighty dollar at work again. Also, note just how low that bottom shelf is and what’s placed there. How many are willing to get down on their knees to pick up a product? Now imagine me stocking all that stuff and the back ache that ensues. Further imagine doing one of these entire aisles and you will have an inkling of my day. Is it any wonder I ache all week?

Break passes too quickly two hours after starting work sitting with others from our group at round tables in the employee, excuse me, Associates room. There are vending machines, refrigerators, a microwave, a coat closet, and silent sufferings. The two time clocks sit menacingly right outside each of its doors. A wide cement hallway leads us back through double swinging doors onto the floor again all too soon.

Finally, it’s lunch. We need to wrestle with the demon time clock again; I get into my locker to pick up my fanny pack with my car keys, and hustle towards the front entrance and North 40 to my car and a blissful hour of kicking off my shoes and immersing myself in my latest book. I clock watch constantly, afraid I will be late. They have drilled it in: if you are late, you can be fired! I leave the car’s sanctuary after 45 minutes to have time to walk the long way, go to the bathroom, visit the locker and clock back in on time. Then it starts again.

My energy typically flags after lunch but not nearly so much as after our afternoon break at 3 p.m. That is the worst part of my day; I am bone tired by then as I watch my workmates swallow cokes two at a time and munch on candy bars and junk food. Half of their earnings must be spent on that crap! I only drink water I bring during the day. But somehow we all manage to go back out onto to the floor and complete the tasks for that day. Many days now we don’t stop until 5:15 or 5:30 although technically we should be done at 5 p.m. We are released; we hurry back to punch out and hope the machine spits out its “badge accepted” so we are official to hit the swinging double doors as a free soul for the night. I remove my badge lest I be accosted by people all the way out of the store, “Do you know where xxx is?” I limp out to my car and pull out of the parking lot with a crowd of shoppers; after work is typically the busiest time for the store. Thankfully, it is a short drive home; I wind around the sharp bend and spot the bay again and gaze out and analyze it all over again: tide going out? tide coming in? boats on the water? what height the waves? and yes, I want to be out there once again. Shortly, I pull into the RV park, park the car, gather my lunch box and other stuff and unlock the door to my hungry cat greeting me. Ah, sweet release. I have about three or four hours before I will feel like going to bed and face another day to get up and do it all again. I end my day with shoes off and sitting once again with my heating pad on my back.

Despite this, I am thankful for this job. It is just what it is, and surprisingly makes my days pass very quickly. I guess at this point that is the most I can hope for. And who ever thought I would become a Mod Queen and like it? There could be worse designations for an oldster like myself.

When Life Gets Down To Elements

Very early on, I hear the birds starting to chirp in the tree directly behind my bedroom through the open window. I never need an alarm. I am used to rising very early. I always leave the window open here, regardless of season. It puts me to sleep or grounds me to hear the ocean roar in the background of traffic noise and later when the highway is quiet, the whistle buoy. On damp mornings I even smell the ocean, while cozied under my covers.

By 5 a.m. I can tell if it is going to be foggy, rainy, or the rarity, sunny for the dawn, since I can see out my clerestory window to the distant eastern sky. I smell the coffee that has gone off a little earlier on automatic deployment, thank God. I trudge to the bathroom and my cat comes running from the front room to rub my legs and talk to me about how he wants his breakfast NOW, not when his automatic feeder goes off nearer to 6 a.m. He always sleeps with me but gets up even earlier about 4:30 a.m.

Blinky-eyed, I get the vanilla creamer packets and dump two into my cup and pour the coffee. Sometimes I hit the heater button but lately don’t have to. I jump up onto the step stool ottoman to flip on the cable internet modem and fire up my computer. While I wait for it to get online I change the cat water and pet him. With coffee in hand and computer running I settle back into the recliner and turn the heating pad on to warm up my sore back while I check email then go on to check Yahoo for news and weather and then onto several newspapers and fleetingly, blogs I try and follow. I write some emails and delay till the last minute rising from the chair to go to the bathroom for my shower and get-ready routine.

Usually, everyday, I try and vacuum and sweep; after all, I only have 400 square feet, how tough is that for a housekeeping routine? The cat is losing lots of hair lately and if I don’t vacuum daily it seems to build up in tufts throughout our domain. I make my lunch and clean out and replace the coffee stuff for its next automatic disgorgement. I water my deck plants; I make the bed; I shower and dress in my WalMart uniform (navy shirt, tan or denim pants). I take special care with my feet, delaying until the last second putting them into their shoe corral for the day. On the way out, I empty the garbage and am sure to grab my book for lunchtime reading.

I drive only about two miles down the highway, gazing at the bay all the time I can to see the nature of the water (tide out? tide in? winds blowing whitecaps already? how many boats? cloud cover? and mostly “why can’t I be out there right now on a boat?”) before I approach the final short quick turn to head eastwards towards WalMart where the bay drops away behind me. I pull over at the 7-Eleven to pick up E, the in-your-face-woman from L.A. that I now take to work every day. I found out she was walking over a mile as she doesn’t have a car and since I pass right by there I offered to bring her with me. Typical of her generation or her heritage as a tough Latina from L.A. she has yet to ever offer me a thank you for this service and savings to her feet. But it’s OK. I know my karma feels better for it. It gives me a connection to people I normally would have no connection to. I would not want her life.

We park way out in the North 40 employee area and walk into the grind together, where in minutes I will clock in like some automaton. My daytime life now is ruled by this time clock, which after swiping my bar coded name tag, gives me options to think for it since it doesn’t have quite as developed brain as myself: am I clocking in, am I clocking out; am I going to meal; am I back from meal? Meanwhile, someone has crossed some wires on all us new hires and we appear on the screen as “You are not scheduled to work today” which causes each of us to have to do numerous other steps including choosing a manager’s name for an override of the system, then typing in how long that mysterious manager has required us to work when we are not scheduled and ad infinitum. When it finally spits out its message “Badge accepted” we can breathe a smile of relief. By then I have also placed my fanny pack inside my locker, grabbed my back brace and wrapped it around myself and am off with the others to our morning meeting.

There we all gather with our supervisors and have roll call, a safety talk, a pep talk, a general talk of what’s about to be accomplished that day and divvying up of all us worker bees to each particular supervisor and then we do stretching exercises and finally the WalMart safety pledge followed by the WalMart cheer. I have heard tales that one can refuse to do the cheer but no one so far has done so. I often wonder if I could step outside my body what I would look like doing this so early in the morning—an aging woman, still tired to start her day, being asked to jump and throw up her arms like I am some 16 year old at a football game. I wonder what we must look like to the general public that passes by. I wonder if this is somehow part of the publicity problem WalMart has with the general public about its cult-like atmosphere? Frankly, the cheer sucks and I wish I could garner the balls to skip it. But in good WalMart fashion, wanting to keep my job, I cheer as one of the the loudest. (to be continued).