Whether I grant my consent or not, winter has a date with the hills of eastern Nebraska. And this tryst is fast approaching. This weekend McKibbin and I winterized the house. Not exactly a glamorous nor a romantic venture. It also requires no small amount of energy to get ready for winter in a house that is nearly one-hundred years old. But it was the week-end-long task we took up and accomplished the following:
*Set up the sunlamp fresh herb garden in the basement
*Stash two ice scrapers in the console of my car
*Mate mittens and warm socks
*Change the oil, check the battery and rotate my car tires
*Re-locate the shovel and ice-melt to the front porch box
It sounds like a lot, and it was. But with the proper amount of joking around, several trips to Home Depot, the gratuitous over-use of gadgets and power-tools (because, hey, if you've got a delux-ious tool box why not use it?), and a soundtrack of funk music blaring from every available stereo speaker...it actually wasn’t a bad time.
Working for a public utility isn't the cubical station in life I had once aspired to. Its turned out to be a good gig for me, don't get me wrong, its just not glam. Job perks, other than stable employment and a dental plan, just aren't all that plentiful. No effusive job titles. No wild office parties. No liberties to take with a company car or credit card. As a public entity we have no stocks, so, no stock options. No year end bonus.
Through work I am part of a Community Services Committee though. We have organized a effort this year to gift children at the Cedars Home for Children over the holidays. Yesterday I was put up a tree in our lobby. Each ornament details one of the children's needs we are committed to fulfill. Its a cool program and one I'm proud to be part of. However inspiring the effort, though, I was tasked with that darned tree. It isn't the tree but the lights that, year after year, irk me. They're always tangled and I can never ever get each bulb to kick in.
I sat down on the lobby floor at 7 a.m. yesterday having already set tree in its stand and untangled the gangling wad of stringed lights. I had plugged in one end and was working my way down the string with the spare bulb, muttering expletives when one of the power plant operators walked by.
LES has four staffed facilities. We have 450 employees or so - most of whom are officed out of downtown. By contrast my power plant has a small workforce of maybe fifteen stationed out there. We staff the facility 24 hours a day so at any given time there are only six to eight of us onsite.
Being so isolated, and having gone through the construction and start-up process together, the fifteen of us are no strangers to peppering a task with muttered expletives. I mention this, not because I shocked my co-worker with my language, but to explain that expletives aren't off-putting nor all together noteworthy. They certainly don't dampen the holiday spirit.
Jim, the Plant Operator, ignored my muttering and walked up to the tree. He surveyed my work and found an understated but genuine compliment for the effort. Not looking up from my task I said thanks in a louder version of the same irritated tone I had slung toward the lightstring.
Frustrating job there? He asked.
Yeh, I sighed.
Always is, he said. Hey, don't worry about that. I'll get one of my guys to troubleshoot those lights for you.
Really?
Yeh, he said. They'll hook this up and get it firing right. It'll give my night shift something to do. Keep them awake
I don't have some diva sounding job title on my business card. Nobody says "Really, how fascinating!" at a cocktail party when I tell them what I do for a living. LES payroll doesn't help me out with spending cash for the holidays and there's no corporate discount at Starbucks. But I can say that being saved, by skilled electricians, from a string of Christmas lights is no small deal when it comes to job perks.
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Currently Reading: The House on Mango Street by Sandra Cisernos (and) Hot, Flat, and Crowded by Thomas Friedman
Currently Watching: Torchwood Season 2
Naomi's Reading: Ivy and Bean book series by Anne Barrows
Current family dilemma: Naomi asks if we can turn her art/craft area into a chemistry lab. Stay tuned.
I woke up late some time last week, buried my cold nose under the covers and thought: “Humpf, I guess its fall.” Sadly, the warm weather had crested and my cold nose is a harbinger of colder temperatures (and appendages) to come.
Bare branches, shortened day-light, migration and deep-sleep hush the noisy summer chatter. Cold weather inspires a necessary kind of solitude to clear my head a little. With the election behind us, I'm trying to reconcile lofty conversations of politics with my more immediate surroundings. An ambitious goal, I know, but worth a try. Because at the center of each of us lives a small, soft animal trying to survive the cold.
Over my lunch hour I cast an early-ballot at the Lancaster County Election Commission office. The line was long, but things clipped along at a good pace. Stem to stern the line was a 30 minute time commitment. No "I Voted Today" stickers though which was a notable down side.
To sound like a complete geek, I have to say I generally find election days exciting. This year has a particular groundswell but it only offers thematic variations for me. That kind of butterfly feeling I got at the polling booth isn't entirely attributable to the McCain or Obama ticket. Its the sense of being part of something bigger than myself. Voting conjures a similar sense of wonder and purpose I get when standing in a large forest. Its a moment where my place in the fold of something feels exactly right.
On my way out of the Election Commission office I pressed through the heavy glass door. A dry wind kicked up around me and I reveled in a moment of confidence that I had just helped elect the next President of the United States. Not too shabby.
