A visit from the neighbor's cat.

Tonight, I was sitting in my easy chair when I saw a four-footed creature come walking through the bathroom door.  Since this is how Mickey usually comes into the house, I assumed it was him.  The lighting in the hallway was rather dim, though, so I couldn't see him too clearly.  I called out, "Hey, buddy," and the usual things I say when trying to call him.  After he got into a little more clearly lit  part of the hallway, I clearly saw, this wasn't Mickey.  It was a different cat altogether.  This was a black cat.  He had just wandered in. 

I pet this new visitor and felt his body.  He was very thin, bony. His vertebrae were very high up off his ribs.  I was very worried for him.  I tried feeding him some of Mickey's dry food, but he didn't even eat a bite.  I tried feeding him some of Mickey's wet food.  He didn't touch that either.  I was worried.  I filled up a little dish with some water and offered it to him.  This time, he took some and drank.  I felt better about that.  I let Fergie out of my roommate's room to roam around a bit and see how she would react to our guest.  She didn't seem to mind his presence too much, but she didn't want to be friends with him either.  The black kitty sat on the steps leading up to our front door.  I sat down by him and pet him.  His purr was pretty good, which was saying something considering his meow sounded like a high-pitched quasi-"whoop" sound, like he was out of breath or something.  I did everything I could to make him comfortable, but I didn't know what else to do.  I really didn't think he was a stray, but I didn't know whose he might be.  Fortunately, my landlord came in to use the bathroom and met him.  At first, he wasn't sure either, but then he had a hunch that this cat belonged to the family on the other side of the backyard fence.  Sure enough, he was right.  With a little handling from me, we brought the cat back to his family.  It was then I found out that when I said, "Hey buddy!" I was right on the nose.  Buddy is in fact his name.  And sadly, I was right about his condition.  He is dying.  They said he hadn't eaten anything in a couple days, but they were glad to hear he'd taken some water.  As I gave him back and shook his paw, he was purring again.

I remember the whole time Buddy was in the house wondering what to do.  I didn't know he wasn't a stray, but it seemed unlikely.  What to make of his not eating?  His whooping meow?  What would happen if Mickey came in from the outside and decided he didn't like me petting and feeding another cat?  Would he stay the night?  So many questions I didn't have an answer to.  I do remember thinking I needed to check with either the landlord or my roommate to see if they recognized him.  I'm glad I didn't have to figure something out beyond that.  Buddy is home.

It's also sticking with me how his family reacted.  They knew he was dying, from old age, according to them.  They said Buddy is fourteen.  That gave me pause, because Mickey's already thirteen, and right now, showing no signs of slowing up.  I didn't know what else to say to that.  Old age, when he's only a year older than my cat.  It also shocked me that they'd pretty much given up on his returning.  They figured he'd just wander off to die, and they'd never see him again.  It's a scary thought for me because of how much I love Mickey, and for how much I prefer closure and don't like to assume.  I prefer to know.  Even though it is likely the way of cats to do so, I really hope that when his time comes, Mickey won't just wander off, leaving me to wonder where he went.  I hope he'll come to me and let me close his eyes and bury his body.  He'd probably want to spare me that.  I hope he doesn't.  We're a package deal, together to the end, and I would hope to know it's the end when that time comes.

I'm also reminded of the saying that kindness is never a wasted effort.  Even though he wouldn't eat the food, it gladdened the hearts of his family to know that Buddy drank some water, the most he'd ingested in a couple days.  Shaking his paw, hearing him purr, knowing he was happy, and the happiness when he was returned to his family, I guess it is true that the kindness wasn't futile after all.  I can't prevent death, probably didn't even stave it off a full hour, but no one asked me to do that either.  Some water for a suffering animal may be all that's required of me in this instant.

And if I may anthropomorphise Buddy for a moment, I might conjecture that feeling like he's not long for this world, he decided to take a chance and go somewhere new, satisfy one last curious itch, and see what was in that window, and in doing so, made one more friend.  Maybe we should all live that way.

Don't know if I'll see Buddy again, but as I type this, there's a little buddy sitting on the arm of my chair, wanting some love and attention. 

And that's tonight's discourse in philosophy.

Thoughts on death

Hey!  What happened to 2018?  I don't wanna talk about it, but between personal and professional setbacks, we've ignored it.  Call it suppression.  I dunno.

So, last week a cousin of mine died at the age of 40.  For all we knew, he was in good health.  I'm not gonna rehash what I've said in memorial to him on Facebook, but I still feel like there's something I've got to talk about.  What, I'm not sure.  But I know I want to blather a bit about the subject of death.

I don't want to double down on the importance of telling loved ones you love them.  It's something I've been working on doing, and it's not where my mind is wandering right now either.  But yes, tell your loved ones you love them.  Actually use the "L" word, folks.

As I type this, I've just finished talking to my parents.  I try to talk to them every week, usually on Sunday.  With the cousin's passing this past week, at such a young age, it prompted my parents to talk to me about the importance of making a will, naming a power of attorney, having enough life insurance.  My sister has also in the past posted adamantly about having life insurance to not burden loved ones financially.  I have nothing to say against that, so I really don't want to dwell on that.

The subject of a will though. that's an interesting thought.  My cousin didn't have one that we know of, and now the handling of his estate is rather kittywhompus, to say the least.  His parents are divorced, so that makes things even more fun.  My parents asked me if I've put any thought into making one.  Thought?  Yes.  Commitment to it?  Eh.  I once wrote some thoughts down once on some paper.  I had this eerie feeling once, and I wrote something down, but in the days afterward, that feeling passed, and I chucked that scratch paper.  Wouldn't have been legally binding anyway.  I told my parents, as I looked around my room, that I didn't think I had much that anyone would want anyway.  My dad liked that I had that attitude.  He volunteers for a secondhand store similar to Goodwill, and told me that so much of what comes in is stuff that none of the surviving family members wanted, and just wanted to unload, so that store gets them.  So to realize that so much of what I have is pretty worthless to most people is a healthy way to think about it.  I know that I kinda wanna bequeath some of my CD's to particular co-workers, as gag gifts from beyond the grave, so they always think of me, but would I really do that?  I dunno.  It makes me smirk to think about it though.

But the thing about the will that really sticks in my brain right now is that it really serves to illustrate how disconnected I am to the area I live in and to the people.  Over the holidays, I got called in to report for jury duty.  I was dismissed from the trial, but that's the closest I've been to making connections to anyone in the legal field, in this area.  I also haven't really found a financial adviser about handling my stock portfolio (pithy as it is), and even getting a local insurance agent was a mad scramble because my previous company didn't provide coverage in Washington state, for whatever reason.  So shopping for agents of this nature is outside of both my ken and my comfort zone.  I don't know any lawyers out here, and I don't even know how to go about shopping for a lawyer.  What kinds of things should we agree on that will tell me this is the person I want to handle my legal matters, should my time come sooner rather than later?  Same thing for financial advisers!  What should I be looking for?  I have no clue where to even start.

And that brings me to power of attorney, executor, and things of that nature.  Those, at least intuitively, are things I think should be granted to someone whose perspectives and beliefs are at least somewhat similar to mine.  And holy cow, does THAT rule out a lot of my friends, possibly the majority.  Most of my strongest friendships have arisen out of my latent journeys in life to love and try to at least understand people with wildly different points-of-view than mine. I'm not saying I couldn't trust my atheist friends to arrange a Christian funeral for me, but it would be a greater comfort for me to have that mantle placed on someone who thought like me more often than not, and would know exactly what I would want for myself if I didn't make it abundantly clear beforehand.  That's especially true when it comes to power of attorney.  If I'm in a persistent vegetative state, I want to be kept alive until even the most expert of medical skills surrender to the will of the Almighty Father, but who reading this would have known that if I didn't say it just now?  Or that I wish to be buried and NOT cremated?  I love my friends dearly, and I trust them to have their hearts in the right place to do what I would want, but in this instance, I think it's better to have someone whose thought patterns align more closely with mine. 

So between my cousin's death, and my finally achieving full-time employment (oh yeah, that happened, hurray!), I've got a lot of decisions to make soon regarding things that are HIGHLY specialized and that I'm not smart or trained enough to navigate alone.  When I first felt compelled to type about all this, I never figured that by the time I got to this paragraph that the big takeaway life lesson here is how much more I need to plug in to the immediate world around me.  I have no idea how to even go about doing THAT, but it'll come, I hope.  So much that needs to be done within the next three weeks just regarding my health insurance (full-time employment being a major life change, after all), and so much more to think about.  And not just think, do something about.

Oh, and P.S., just so it's out there too, if Mickey survives me, I want him to see my cadaver.  He's a smart cat, and being a hunter himself, he's got a pretty good understanding of the balance of life and death, at least I think so.  I want him to see my corpse so he understands that I'm not abandoning him, and that I really did love him up until the end.  And then have him go to my current landlords, Obaid and Freba.  They love him too, and he's quite friendly with them.  I know they'll continue to give him a loving home.  And maybe put a burr in their saddle to stop renting out their upstairs on Airbnb and move back in. 

What is value?

Last night, I went to a singles' event.  It was an interesting experience, well-guided, and thought-provoking.  One gets really contemplative with some of the questions they ask.  They sound silly on the surface, but it really was worth going.  I didn't get a date out of it, but I may make contact with someone later.  Who knows?

One of the last exercises we did was stream-of-consciousness writing.  For six minutes, we were to keep writing.  We were given the first four words, and then we kept going from there.  When it was over, we were asked to share three of our best sentences that we wrote.  The first four words were "What I value is," and we took it from there.  Many people wrote lists, whether bullet-points or lists in sentence form.  My sentences took a different bent.  It was kind of awkward, but the sentences I shared were, "I feel the meaning of the word "value" has been... well... devalued due to oversaturation.  I guess the best place to start is what I most appreciate having in my life right now. ... I enjoy [my job], and it's where I hope the permanent roots prove to have begun."

It was very impromptu, and thus a bit clumsy.  If I'd had a little more time to think about it before writing, I think my three sentences would have read thusly:

"I feel the meaning of the word "value" has been... well... devalued due to oversaturation, due in part to the world of advertising.  I suppose that it's indicative that what I ultimately value is value itself, deep meaning to things and experiences.  I've been told on numerous occasions that I overthink things, overanalyze situations, and infer meaning where none simply exists, but the search for purpose, deep meaning, and yes, value in my vocation, recreation, relationships, and especially in my walk with God is a continual endeavor for me, because I suppose in the end, I want my life to have had meaning -- something I suppose we all strive for."

What changed my mind?

Unlike my usual entries, this one has a specific audience: my coworkers.  Feel free to keep reading if you're not, but there might be some jargon in here you won't understand, or you'll just lose interest, though in all fairness, the latter could happen even if you are one of my coworkers for whom this post is meant.  I apologize if it gets hard to follow in some parts; I'm intentionally eschewing using people's names.

In case the grapevine hasn't already gotten to you, last night I was nominated and voted in as County President of WARLCA for our county.  For those in the know, this was not a position I particularly coveted; truth be told, I was practically dragged into it kicking and screaming.  I had reasons for not wanting the position: I didn't think I would make a particularly good president, for starters; sometimes, I have the same feelings about the union meetings held by those of you who never attend said meetings; but most of all, I didn't think an RCA should hold office.  I felt that someone with more experience should be president, that an RCA wouldn't have the confidence of the full-timers behind them, and I especially worried that an RCA as chapter president would send a message of general union weakness to management.  My name had come up at a previous meeting as being a "good choice" to succeed my venerated predecessor and then-president; however, so opposed was I to this notion, that I originally planned to skip the meeting.

That changed on Wednesday, the very day before the meeting  The events of the work week were snowballing and when a coworker said something about the upcoming meeting, it flipped the switch internally.  On Saturday, we were shorthanded and ended up having to split two routes, resulting in the curtailing of standard flats, and probably raw as well.  I made a point to case all my raw, and leave just the flats for the regular for whom I was filling in. The way that whole situation was handled by management was still resonating at least through Tuesday.  On Monday, one of the regulars told me that she wishes they'd called her in, that she'd have come in to help contain the chaos, and then asked for a different day off that week.  It was still being talked about on Tuesday, with some murmurs about X-time being owed, who would have come in, and just the overall disgruntlement one would expect there to be.  And then on Wednesday, the subject of the meeting came up, and how it was primarily about electing new officers.  That's when one of the carriers said that if they couldn't fill all the officer positions, our chapter would be absorbed into the Skagit chapter.  I already knew that, but when she repeated it at that moment, it jarred me.  When I transferred to the office I'm at now (before that actually), I noticed something about management there that wasn't at the office I was transferring from.  Four years later, that particular problem remains, though there is a little more effort to take care of it.  (A glaring moment of lapse, however, befell me yesterday, more on that in a bit.)  But since then, I've noticed other problems in our office, as all my fellow coworkers from every craft have.  It just struck me that we're having some infantile and avoidable confrontations, and it just seems like it shouldn't be.  We'll always have problems; technological advancements, population growth, and other factors will keep the nature of the job in a constant state of flux.  But when the problems of our office alone overwhelm the shop steward into stepping down from that role, then it becomes clear that absorption of our chapter must not be allowed to happen.

Right now, attendance at the meetings is a little low, and it's understandable.  Most who only attend once in a blue moon wish to attend to vent frustrations, get some answers, and if necessary, get our steward to initiate discussions with management to resolve the issues.  That's what unions are for, after all.  And our district representative doesn't attend every meeting.  But even when he is there, attendance still fares so-so at best.  And we can't even get any members from across the river to attend.  I can understand nobody from Deming, Acme, or Maple Falls attending, but I'd at least like to see if we could cajole a couple people from Everson to attend.  But I digress.  The point is, even when people are steamed right around the date of the meeting, it's inconvenient for them to attend.  If we were absorbed, it's all but guaranteed no one would attend a meeting, thus ensuring that our issues would only ever compound.

I can't guarantee that I'll be a good county president.  I was told I was nominated because I'm observant.  I'll let you decide for yourselves on that one.  I've been told I'm nosy, I overthink things, and even read into things when there's nothing to read into; but I haven't been called "observant" much.  And if you wouldn't have even thought to call me that before now, then I'm probably not.  But what I do observe just in my office alone, is that we need to keep our chapter local.  Yesterday, I had a flat tire on route, and had to call the office twice before help was sent out to me (four times actually, but twice I got a busy signal).  My vehicle was immobile for an hour and a half with a flat tire.  That's sixty minutes longer than it should have been, and it's because the first supervisor I talked to didn't contact the motor pool guy.  That's an issue that wasn't even initially a compensation issue, at least not for me.  I just wanted to get back on the road and finish up and wasn't even thinking about money or O-time, or anything like that.  NOW it's a compensation issue: because I had to wait an extra hour to get help, I went over forty hours.  I got overtime this week because of two split routes, schedule changes, a second run to complete an auxiliary parcel pick up, and a really long wait on a flat tire.  Three of those four things are, in my opinion, things that could have been handled better.  And at the meeting, I heard about an issue at another office that was even worse.  I strongly believe our chapter needs to stay local for our own strength.

Looking at the County Unit map on the WARLCA website, I see it wouldn't be the worst thing to be absorbed.  Right now, our county is the only political county that is also its own county unit with WARLCA.  Other county units are at least two counties big.  Some are three.  Two of them are five whole counties with a piece of a sixth to them.  So, if we were absorbed with our neighboring three-county unit, we'd probably be renamed to the "North West" county unit.  But looking at some of the spreads on the map, I wonder how well represented some of those areas really are.  How well are the issues being handled at their levels?  I have no idea.  But ultimately, that's the key thing I can do as president, if nothing else: we can keep our resolve and focus more finely tuned by remaining our own county unit.  That's how we can make beneficial change happen for us.

And that can only happen if we have people serving as officers.  It almost seems silly, but it's true.  If next time, someone comes along with some really good ideas, I'll gladly defer to them, whatever is best for us.  I joined the union following an accident.  I'd held off joining because I wanted to work a whole year at one office first.  Those plans were quickly changed.  I joined then because I needed the union.  And at the risk of sounding like cliched movie dialogue, it seems now the union needs me.

Hi.  I'm the county unit president.

What's in a passport?

So a little over a week ago, I posted a Facebook status, "And the passport is in the desk."  This status got one like from one friend I haven't met, and have only talked to over the phone.  I don't know if she got what I was saying with that.  I talked to my sister later, and she understood what it meant.  I don't know if anyone didn't get what I was saying, honestly, but the silence in response to that post was deafening.  Either way, I know I have to say something about it for my own peace of mind.

So, just in case anyone DIDN'T get it, the passport is in the desk, because like most people I suspect, I use my desk to store things that are important, but might not always be of immediate use.  I used to keep it up in the dash of my car because I used it a lot.  Those who know me know that I was frequently going to Canada to visit my girlfriend.  The time has now come that I no longer know when next I shall be crossing the border, because I no longer have a girlfriend in Canada.  After the better part of seven years, I decided that it was time to break it off.

This was not a decision I made lightly or in a moment of rage.  I held off breaking up for a long time, and as the now-ex-girlfriend can attest, I did indeed fight to try and save it, including a couple meetings with our pastor to try and help gain perspective and focus.  However, at one point I met privately with the pastor, and after explaining the extent to which I was frustrated, he calmly said, "At this point, it's okay for you to walk away."  At this point, I knew it was inevitable, and I still made a last ditch effort to try and prove myself wrong.  It was a long road, and I remember at one point feeling my emotional ties snap, to where I emotionally checked out of the relationship.  And I still tried to make it work, hoping to gain back what was lost.

I suspect a lot of it had to do with a fear of being alone again.  Before the Canadian girlfriend, I was in another long-distance relationship, and broke that other one off to be with her.  So, this is technically the first time I've been single in over a decade.  But to be honest, this was the first one where we were really together, lived within driving distance of each other, and were making serious plans.  Yeah, I really didn't want to throw it away.  But also, who I was while single, and even in the other relationship, was vastly different than who I was with the Canadian girl.  I was significantly more pathetic then, probably even creepy.  I distinctly remember when people found out I was in a relationship with this Canuck, they treated me differently.  Teenage girls that I worked with at a dead-end job stopped treating me like a member of the Addams family and started treating me like a human being.  I was different; I was happy.  And I did not want to go back to being what I was.  I was certain that if I did, then spiraling back into that person would be unavoidable.

To some degree, I have a little.  I'm a bit sadder and moodier now.  I'm more on-edge, and feel prone to snap.  I've noticed it in a few moments of tension at work, where I just about yelled at one person or another over something trivial.  I feel like my humor at work is a bit off too.  Not that I'm funniest person at the office, but once in awhile I can get a laugh.  Even I can tell my punchlines are not good.  My mood is not what it was, and if I can't rein it in, I'll return to being a social pariah in my professional environment, which is pretty much all I am now.

Who am I now?  I have a cat now, so I have someone to come home to, but as much as I love the little fuzzball, he's not another person, and can be a little twerp himself sometimes.  I'm still a Christian, but lately, the only way I can get Sundays off from work is to actually put in a leave request slip, which is just wrong, but that's another topic for another time.  And having just moved to a new place, I haven't really found a church that I want to call home either.  My job is about the only solid external anchor now, and I worry that I'm gonna end up married to my work and die alone.  I don't want that to be who I am.  I want to find a new home church, a new group of friends outside of my coworkers, and maybe even be able to hang out with my coworkers outside of work sometime.  I want to find a woman who can make me a better person and help keep me that way, and someone I can do the same for.  I want to keep believing that this is possible.

Surprisingly enough, what I don't want to do is vomit all over my ex.  I don't want to air the dirty laundry or unload to the world everything that pissed me off, especially towards the end of it all.  This actually surprises me because I remember the weeks leading up to the break-up where I dwelt on everything that was irking me.  I kept venting off the steam several times to myself and to the Lord in prayer.  And if someone actually wanted to hear all about it, I probably could summon up the frustration to launch into it again.  But for right now, I really don't want to.  We're still friends, and I don't want to hurt her.  I want the best for her.  I still see some of the positive things in her that made me think we could go the distance together, and I don't want to destroy those things.  I don't want to rant about the things that drove me away.  I'm guessing that means I'm either ready to move on and date again or I'm nowhere near ready to move on and date again.

The Bible says there's a time to refrain from embracing, and for us, that time has come.  Goodbye, Erica.

What's in a hamburger?

A couple weeks ago, we were eating out at White Spot, and they were featuring some of their new menu items.  One of which was a new sandwich of the hamburger variety that boasted a patty that was half traditional hamburger meat, and half bacon.  Now, you can say what you want about the ubiquity of bacon fanaticism, but my thought was really more about the concept of the hamburger itself.  This past weekend, I tried a sandwich that was supposed to be a hamburger patty wrapped up in a very small pepperoni pizza--think like a personal pan pizza from Pizza Hut.  The next night, we went to Red Robin, and I order the Red Robin Royale Burger.  The common factor among all three is that they were pretty tasty, but what made them special was the toppings.  See, for all the hype of a patty that was half-bacon, it tasted no different than a regular hamburger patty.  This is mainly because when you simply cook bacon for the simplest of bacon bits, there's a great risk you slightly overcook it, and when you do, it tastes almost the same as ground beef.  Slather on toppings that have pronounced flavors of their own, and you can't tell the difference.  This is also why I don't bother ordering ground beef as a pizza topping, or bacon, because those baked crumbles have little flavor by that point and just fall off and make a mess.

And that's not even considering that ground beef is pretty flavorless when cooked.  Maybe it's just me.  Maybe it's because I worked at McDonald's for four-and-a-half years and have been rendered incapable of tasting beef from both cooking it and eating them for so long.  But I find that hamburgers in general are only worth ordering if you like the taste of the toppings.  It's not like a good steak, where you can pick off onions and ask the chef to go easy on the pepper if you don't like those things.  Oh sure, on the odd occasion that I still order a McDonald's double cheeseburger, I still get it without the onions, but if I also hated ketchup and pickles, and couldn't tolerate mustard, I'd really have no reason to eat one.  Hamburger meat by itself, just isn't that big a culinary treat.  Now you can make some good sloppy joes and meatloaf, and do not for a moment suppose that I'm including steak and prime rib, or even pot roast in this conversation; but at this point, a hamburger is just a meat slab between buns, and whatever toppings and sauces you find tasty.  

I'm no culinary expert, so I can only surmise that ground beef is the least of all beef cuts and that the grinding process only makes them worse.  They're still passable, but the point is, really, stop trying to "revolutionize" the hamburger.  The only way to really revolutionize it is basically convert uncooked meatloaf into patties and grill 'em that way.  And even then, no guarantees that that would work.  The hamburger's pretty good the way it is.  Of the three I mentioned at the beginning, the Royale is easily the tastiest.  

Mainly because one of the toppings is a sunny side-up egg. 

The room with a revolving door versus the opium of stasis.

This past week, another roommate moved out, and a new one moved in.

A little context.  I moved to my current dwelling in 2012.  It has three bedrooms.  The master bedroom goes to the landlord, I have one, and the third has had a handful of roommates over the past three years.  I'm not even sure I can remember all their names, either.

There was the guy who juiced everything.  I really don't remember why he moved out or what he's moved onto.

There was the dude who worked at the theater and had a medical marijuana prescription.  His grandmother left him some money in her will with the stipulation that he had to go to college.  So he moved out to do exactly that.

There was the lady who just moved out.  She's a nurse, and she moved out to move closer to her work.  One of the family members of one of her cases is highly allergic to cat fur, and since the landlord has a fairly affectionate cat at the house, she needed to get away from the little fuzzball.

There may have been a couple others who didn't even last a week before finding something more convenient, someplace cheaper, or something else.

Now there's a new guy, a freelance translator who works largely with hospitals, but some legal and other various associations as well.

I'm not even sure where I'm going with this.  Is it me?  Is it the landlord?  Is it really these opportunities for them?  When will the time be right for me to move out and move on with my life?  I'm not even getting ants in the pants to leave the place, though if I had more brains I suppose I would.  My landlord roomie is certainly a belfry full of bats half the time, but when push comes to shove, he's someone who'll shock you and make you glad you had him in your corner.  Plus, I really love the cat.  When I do move out, the cat's coming with me.  My significant other and I like to joke about how it'll be the three of us when we finally get a place of our own.

As for the other roommates, I don't know if I made any impact in their lives, and I'm not even sure if they impacted mine.  Just a weird, almost ethereal feeling as I see people come and go.  Am I numb to it all?  Have I grown enough to not be jealous of their moving on to better things?  Am I depressed that I don't feeling anything more?  Am I weak person for not moving out sooner?

Truth is I don't know.  This is as much me looking for an excuse to have something to post in my personal blog after not writing anything for all of 2014.  Do I really need another reason beyond that?  Perhaps, but since I pontificate considerably more on my other blog, I thought I'd share a personal sentiment.  And that sentiment is, one room causes doldrums, one causes new chapters.

Maybe next time I should switch rooms.