Troubles With Anecdotes

Everyone loves a good story but what everyone loves more is an anecdote, good or bad. Not only do I love hearing anecdotes (especially from relatives), but I love telling them too. They add sometime special to a conversation (i.e. comedic relief). My problem is that I forget my best ones when I have the perfect situation in which to tell them. When I finally remember the short story I'm usually in a different location with a different group of people, so telling my story is pointless. Sometimes I'll tell it anyway just to get it out of my system. I would provide an example, but naturally I can't think of one. It's interesting that I'm so fond of something I have trouble properly executing. And still I try.

An Adventurous Night Strait From A Movie

Saturday was quite a day for Kyndra and I. It included shopping at Target for Josh and JoAnn's for flowers and Rite Aid for Neosporin, exploring, eating, hockey, soccer, then no soccer, and a train. Yeah, a train.

After the hockey game (which we won) we were driving back to campus and decided to do some late night exploring. The night was still young and there weren't very many other cars about even though it was a Saturday night. We ended up in Fairhaven and decided to drive down to the water to get some photos of the brilliantly lit bay. We pulled into the public boat launch and parked in the lot. We carefully crossed the two sets of train tracks that lay just before the boat launch. "I hope this isn't illegal," I said, then proceeded to the water's edge. Two Coast Guard boats were docked nearby, glowing of yellow and red lights. We snapped a few pictures when suddenly we heard a train coming quickly towards us.

"Crap the train," I exclaimed. Then I hurried across the tracks so as not to get stuck on the other side in case the train was a long one. I hopped over both sets of tracks being silly because this was something I would normally never do. The I heard behind me "oh sh-! ARIEL!" I turned around and saw Kyndra sprawled across the tracks. A little stunned that she had actually fallen down when a high speed train was coming towards us, I managed to say "Get up!" She got up and ran to me and the car. About a minute late the train flew by. I, shocked at the situation, looked at her and said "what happened?" Then we started giggling.

"I fell down."
"Yeah! But how?"
"I tripped."
"Well DUH! What did you trip on?"
"THE TRACKS! IT'S PITCH BLACK OUT HERE!"
"Oh...jeeze look at your shirt! and your pants!"
She had dirt all over her sweat shirt, pants, and face. Then we got in the car and fled the scene...a few blocks up Kyndra pulled over.
"Are you okay," I asked mid-laugh.
"I think so," she replied laughing also as she pulled up her pant leg to check out her knee, which was completely skinned.
"I didn't realize you fell so hard."
"DUDE! I totally biffed it at full speed!"
Then my laughing became uncontrollable and I exclaimed "GOOD THING YOU GOT NEOSPORIN!" Then we just sat there for about 5 minutes laughing so hard it hurt.

"That was like a scene from a movie gone wrong," I said when we started driving again.
"You mom's going to hear about this tomorrow isn't she?"
"YUP!"
"Don't tell her the train was coming..."

"I hope this isn't illegal."

Coast Guard Boats

Kyndra's knee

A Special Mind Set

There is one, and only one, part of the job I look forward to every day. It is the only task I derive real enjoyment from. After I finish plugging a stack of wood, I get to replace it with another stack. I then have to mark the new stack so that the grader (who sorts the wood after I plug it) knows which sheets came from my stack. I mark the wood by spray painting two corners.

After tapping my foot for two hours, the chance to step down and spray paint something is a welcome relief. My favorite paint to use is the silver. The worst color is the yellow because you can't even see it on the wood so you might not as well spray paint the wood at all.

It's a good day for me at work when I get to use the silver paint. It's a not so good day when I have to use the yellow paint. In the world of plywood making, there is little to derive enjoyment from.

I decided to briefly tell the grader how much I look forward to my brief spray painting moments. He looked at me with a straight face and said, "Why do you like it so much? Is it because of the fumes?"

I silently shook my head and went back to work. I recounted the tale to my father and he said I just have to get used to that kind of mind set in my particular work place. In the future I think I'll just plug and keep my comments to myself.

An Eye Full

I accidentally stared at someone today. For several minutes. How can you accidentally stare at someone?

Perhaps you were sitting in the break room with nothing to do so you started gazing around at the walls. You continued just gazing off into space, letting your eyes scan the room for anything of interest while at the same time remaining completely disinterested.

Perhaps during one of these scans a fellow worker's eye caught your interest. The eye wasn't looking at you, it caught your interest because there was something just slightly off about it. Imagine that you continue staring at the eye, debating whether it's slightly crossed or maybe a little lazy. By this time of course, the eye is looking at you, but you're lost in your thoughts and have failed to notice.

Until the fellow worker waves his hand at you to get your attention. Then all of the sudden you realize you've been staring directly into this person's eye, which may or may not have some imperfection. I'm still not sure. I mumbled something about staring off into space and did what I always do when embarrassed. I turned bright red and high-tailed it out of there.

New Story for an Old Lunch Pail

I take a very special lunch pail with me to work every day. It is the lunch pail my grandfather took with him when he worked at the mill and the one my dad used during his brief employment with Simpson. It is an old lunch pail, a little grungy with rusty hinges. Still, I simply keep my food wrapped extra well and set it on the break room table with pride. My lunch pail has a history. It also has a new owner's experience to add to its being.

I set my lunch pail in the same spot on the same table every day (or so I have for the past six I have worked). Today, however, as I went into the lunch room to retrieve it, it was not in its spot. There was a retirement party occurring, so my pail had been moved to make way for a cake. I looked, but couldn't find it.

"It's on the window sill," a boy I work with volunteered.
"Thank you," I said.

I picked up my lunch pail to walk to my seat and discovered a piece of paper tucked under its rusty handle. I slowly unfolded it and turned bright red, I'm talking instant flush. I admit now that perhaps I over reacted. Someone had written a phone number on the piece of paper. There is no name, just a phone number. As I am on a first name basis with approximately two people at the plant, my supervisor and my trainer, I have no idea who it came from.

You might think it came from the boy who so gladly volunteered my lunch pail's location. Perhaps. But why not begin by saying, "Hello," or learning my name. What am I supposed to do with a phone number with no name, face, or person attached to it?

Also, as much as I would like to be, I am not that flattered. I am the only female I have run across in the plant's vicinity under the age of 35. If it did indeed come from one of the boys I work with, they don't have very many options. I'm about it. I also don't hesitate to admit that after working for 8 hours in the heat and dust, I am not in my most attractive state. I feel absolutely no need to wear make-up to work at a plywood plant. I'm a little confused actually as to why I recieved the paper in the first place.

I have yet to decide what to do. I am left with a random phone number. No other information included. But at least it adds one more piece of intrigue to my lunch pail.

Smells Like Money

Have I ever mentioned that Corvallis is surrounded by farms, so not matter how you look at it OSU is downwind. Usually the smell isn't that strong, but today because it was so warm and there was a little breeze it smelled like manure for the entire day. I actually don't mind the smell, it actually brings back memories. ¡Fun Fact!: Olfaction sensory nerves are processed in the same part of the brain as memories, thus when you smell something it can trigger a memory. Also when you think of a memory or a place you might remember a smell more than other senses like sound and touch.

When I was younger my family owned a worm casting business, basically we sold potting soil (very good dirt) and worms for composting. We would go to local farms and get cow manure for the worms. On the way there we would drive past other farms and dairies, usually down the Moxie or Highway 12. When my sister and I smelled the manure we would say the usual "ew," or "gross," or "who farted," and then laugh like little kids do, but my dad would always say "smells like money."

Bird of Prey

On Monday I was at home and my mom and I were out in the back yard. I was sitting on the trampoline and she was gardening. She decided to bring our guinea pig, Miles, outside with us to run around. She really doesn't run around, she just waddles around right next to where we are. Anyways, I was sitting there watching her when I heard the birds suddenly start chirping all at once. This made me think about how at Shasta, where all the Greek folks go every year, people were getting their little dogs snatched off their boats by eagles. When I first heard about this I laughed a little because little dogs are annoying, but then I thought about how I would feel if something like that happened to my dog and realized it must be horrific. Then I realized that Miles was in the grass and we have hawks around our place. So, I got up and sat down on the grass right next to her. Sure enough as I sat down I saw a hawk circling really close. Then he started flying towards me and Miles. "Look Mom," I yelled. Then I picked up Miles and held her close to me. "Whoa," she said. Then I told her the Shasta story.

We both couldn't believe it. Hawks never come that close to the house. He flew away a few minutes later, but I was paranoid so I just stayed on the ground right next to her. A little bit later as I was sitting on the ground I saw two more hawks circling pretty high right above me. It was nuts! He had brought in reinforcements! "See that shovel right there," I said to my mom, "if they come any closer I'm going to whack them with it...and I'm going to mean it." She said " You really think you can take two hawks with a shovel?" "Watch me," I said, "Plus you're here and you have a pitch fork." Not wanting to fight, I took Miles back into the house. It was pretty weird.

Doing Their Chival Chivalrous Duties

Today two different boys went out of their ways to hold a door open for me. It was actually really nice. This morning one of the boys was halfway through the door when I came around the corner face to face with him. He stopped, turned around, walked back through the door and held it open for me. Shocked, I said "Oh! Thank you!" He just nodded and walked back through the door. The other boy, this afternoon, had just unlocked one of the doors leading down to the ground floor (where the mailboxes are) and was in motion to go through it when he glanced over his shoulder and saw me coming. He too stopped, stepped back and held the door. I was shocked once again but told him "Thanks a lot!" I must say bravo boys! Chivalry is the perfect way to remind a woman that she is in fact a woman. We tend to forget sometimes.

What tool would you be?

As usual, I have fallen behind on posting. I spent the weekend with Ariel and have since continued my frantic job search. I've been looking for, applying for, and interviewing for jobs since the Tuesday after I got home from school. That was May 8th.

Today I headed out yet again in search of a job. I put in an application at a local juice bar. After handing in the application the girl behind the counter said she had to ask me a question that they have to ask everyone.

"If you were any tool in a tool shed, which tool would you be?"

I coolly hid my slight annoyance at so silly a question and said I would be a rake.

"Then I'd get to work in a garden and I would make such nice neat lines which dragged on the ground."

Writing With Wet Pants

I am writing this with wet pants. I have only a few minutes before I have to go help feed the calves. It was either change in that few minutes and hope no calf slobber gets on my clean clothes or blog. Needless to say, I chose blogging.

As I said, I am writing this with wet pants. My family and I just returned from dinner. At dinner my father spilled a glass of iced tea. He didn't just spill the glass, however, he spilled it directly into my lap.

Apparently, while buttering some bread, my father got a small tab of butter on his fingertips making them slippery. When he went to pick up his glass, his fingers slipped and lost their grip. Iced tea went right into my lap. There was even a butter smear on the glass.

I sat there stunned for a few seconds not comprehending what had happened. Then I slowly and quietly picked up his lemon from my lap and put it in his glass. I then took the numerous napkins my family was offering me.

I would have been more angry if I myself didn't find the entire situation so funny.

The Day of Our 100th Post

I didn't realize that this was the 100th post of our blog until I signed in to write a post. I didn't have anything spectacular planned. The original title was going to be My May 11. I was just going to recap what I did today, on this day where our blog reached its 100th post. I wish I had something better. Perhaps Ariel can do a magnificent 200th post to make up for this one. So today ...

I woke up and drove my sister to the airport. I then sat with her in the airport for two hours. I tried to teach her to play cribbage, but she grew impatient. I turned to reading instead. Only 50 pages left of We by Yevgeny Zamyatin.

I drove back from the airport. Traffic was horrible. I had to drive in the stop and go traffic with my heat on full blast to cool off my engine. Otherwise my car may have burst into flames.

I went out to dinner and a movie with my father. We picked up a couple Snapple teas when we put gas in the car. From my cap I learned, " 'Tsiology' is anything written about tea." My father's cap had "Real Fact # 89: The average American walks 18,000 steps a day."

The whole world is a little bit smarter thanks to Snapple.

At Applebees for dinner, they overcooked my father's steak so they gave him a new one and didn't charge him for either. It was quite nice of them.

We saw Spiderman 3. It is a looooooooong movie. It feels like a looooooooong movie. And I had such high hopes ...

But all in all, it was not a bad day for a 100th post I suppose.

Why Male Teens Pay More

After a long day of job searching and application filling, I was tired as I pulled into my old high school parking lot to pick up my sister from school. As I pulled in, I saw a visitor spot open and was thankful for my good fortune. I prepared to drive up, straight into it. But as I left the safety of the two rows of horizontally parked cars, in order to pull into the vertical spot in front of the school, a crazy high schooler in an old white mustang hit the gas and flew around the corner.

I heard the vroom of his gas pedal and then the "smack," of his car against mine. It was lucky for this young man that rather than braking, I managed to hit my gas pedal. He hit just behind my wheel instead of on my passenger door. My car is not in the best of shape. The horses broke the passenger side mirror and a bad experience with chains beat up by front left panel. This teen added a nice crack just above my right rear wheel. There was really nothing to be done about it, and it's not that large of a crack when one considers all the other problems with my car. As I was unhurt, I spoke to the young man but just let him go with the hope that he learned his lesson. I just didn't want to deal with it.

Later, however, as if it wasn't enough that I had been in a minor car accident hours earlier, my father lectured me about not getting the guy's information, as if we would have done anything with it. I probably should have taken down his name and information, but if I hadn't told my father about the incident, he wouldn't have noticed at all. It was a poor end to a busy day.

People should drive slowly in parking lots.