Requiem For A Mwuss

 A year ago this morning, I woke up to realize my cat Mickey hadn't come in during the night.  Admittedly, I wasn't terribly worried at the time.  There'd been a few mornings where he stayed out all night and didn't wake me up by jumping on the bed and walking around.  I don't remember if I worked that day or not, but I do remember that by evenng, I was getting worried, even going outside and looking for him and calling for him.  By the next morning, I was really worried.  As the week progressed, I was scared and starting to lose hope.  Despite the search, calling out, spreading his litter to apread his scent, he never came home.  It's been a year now since Mickey went out and never came back.

I felt horribly guilty for awhile too.  Shortly before he went out, he'd been antsy to go out.  I didn't want to let him out at the time because my roommate was in the shower, which means I would have had to let Mickey out through the kitchen door.  But when my roommates take showers, they close the bathroom window, which is about the only way that Mickey could get back in the house unassisted.  So I wanted to keep him indoors until the bathroom was vacant again.  Unfortunately, Mickey couldn't understand that.  He was antsy, and was roaming around my room acting up, trying to get me to let him out.  At one point, he knocked over my laptop.  Worried about the damage, and upset with Mickey who I felt should have known better, I picked him up, looked him in the eye and said, "Bad kitty!"  Mickey avoided me for most of the rest of the night.  For a little while, he seemed to calm down.  By 11:30, I'd remembered he wanted to go out.  I had him come into the bathroom with me, and I opened the window wide for him to go out.  He was hesitant at first, but I picked him up, snuggled him, told him I loved him, and helped him out the window to let him know it was okay.  But still, up to that point, our last interaction was confrontational.  I could probably count on one hand the number of times I scolded Mickey with the words "Bad kitty," or "Bad Mwuss."  (Mwuss was a nickname I gave him.)  I felt horribly guilty that he wandered off thinking I didn't love him anymore or that he thought I was kicking him out of my life.

He was also having health problems.  About three weeks before that night, he'd had a visit from the mobile veterinary service, and was diagnosed with a thyroid condition.  The vet told me that the medication was something I could find in a human pharmacy, so I was under the impression that it was something I could just pick up, that it was over the counter.  After failing to procure it, I received a call a couple weeks later from the vet asking for an update, and I expressed my problems.  It was THEN that she explained that it was not over the counter, and that I simply had to tell her where I was planning to buy the medicine from.  I told her from an online pet supply retailer, they corroborated the prescription, and my purchase was approved.  A few days after Mickey disappeared, his thyroid medication finally arrived.  So, I also still feel a little guilty about botching his care so badly.  I worry he wandered off and disappeared to die.  He was losing weight and not eating like he used to.  And wandering off to die alone is something cats will do.  As he was fourteen years old, I frequently told Mickey that I wanted him to die at home by my side so I could know and bury him.  But he was a cat.  Even if he did understand my words, his instinct would still be to die alone, the result of my negligence.  

It's also possible that the coyotes got him.  We get coyotes out here once in awhile, and I heard them howling that night, and a few nights afterward.  Side note, genuine howls of coyotes really do sound like teenage boys trying to howl like coyotes.  It's bizarre, but it's true.  Strangely enough, if this was his fate, I'd be most okay with this option.  Mickey was a hunter, and brought me numerous trophies of varying species, all of them mammalian, thankfully.  For a coyote to have picked him off would mean he died the way he lived, a part of the circle of life.  I only hope he thought of me in the last moments before his pure survival instinct kicked in, only to have failed him.

Whatever happened, Mickey has been gone over a year now.  I held out hope, because it's not unheard of for kitties to disappear for an extended period of time only to return suddenly.  There's been news stories of this happening several years after the cat disappeared, but most anecdotal stories say it's about a year later.  So, I wanted to believe that Mickey was going to return.  Maybe he was serving a stint in the feline ROTC, or something.  I just wanted to have a reason to keep believing he would come back.  I even balked at ever talking about him in the past tense.  But it's well past time to concede the odds that Mickey is most likely dead now.  That I'll never see my fuzzy little buddy again.

For those who don't the background info, though, I first met Mickey in 2012.  I was looking for a place to live in Mount Vernon, and I checked out this one house that had a room available.  I got there late at night because that was what worked for the landlord, as well as me.  The night I checked out the room, I talked in the living room with the guy for a few minutes.  During that time, this tabby cat was walking across the room, curious about what was going on.  I asked what the cat's name was, and he said, "Mickey."  I crouched, got the kitty to come over to me, pet him a few times, and then picked him up carefully.  The homeowner was impressed.  He said the cat never let strangers pick him up.  He also said that must mean I have a good character.  

I took the room and moved in.  And lived there for about four years.  I learned that Mickey was adopted at a young age.  He was adopted by the homeowner as a pet for his daughter, whose mother he never married.  His daughter didn't live with him, but lived a few streets over with the mother.  The mother didn't want Mickey living with her because she lived a little further out and heard coyotes howling sometimes.  Go figure.  The daughter used to come over frequently though, to play with the cat.  By the time I moved in though, she was a teenager and was more interested in boys and her friends than her cat.  Even though she never visited Mickey anymore, she was still adamant that daddy couldn't give him away.  She was hoping to take him with her when she went to college, or something to that effect.  My new landlord fed the cat, kept the water full, and maintained a litter box, even though Mickey usually did his buisiness outside, but wasn't super affectionate to the cat.  He'd pet him sometimes, but he clearly wasn't emotionally attached to the cat.  Over the time of my tenancy there, the cat and I became better acquainted.  In fact we became good friends.  Very good.  So good, in fact, it became a source of contention.  The landlord accused me of overstepping my bounds of being affectionate with the cat.  When I first moved in, he allowed me to let the cat in my room. Then he disallowed that.  Then he didn't want me encouraging the cat to come down the hall toward our bedrooms, followed by not letting the cat in at night. That one at least had a fair explanation: the hall floor was wood, and the boards creaked when I walked, so it woke him up when I walked down the hall, and he didn't like losing sleep.  Problem was, Mickey jumped at my window to be let in, so that I was losing sleep.  I swear I didn't teach the cat to jump on my window screen, he just did it naturally.  But it got worse: the landlord soon didn't want me letting the cat in or out at all, regardless of time of day, then told me I was not to look at the cat, talk to the cat, or pet the cat at all.  I was to ignore him completely.  He said I was a good roommate, but I gave the cat too much love, and the cat was coming between us.  

The thing is, the cat wasn't the only problem, the only thing coming between us.  He was just the brown tabby M&M in the bowl.  There were other problems.  I wasn't allowed to check the mail because at one point, he offered to be a residence for a girl he worked with, so she could get her driver's license.  He was hoping to score with her, and this huge favor was sure to put him in good with her.  But the day some of the paperwork arrived, I checked the mail and sent that back saying "Not at this address."  When he found out, he was pissed because I had unwittingly cockblocked him, and forbade me from checking the mail again, except when he was out of town on vacation.  He canceled the HBO because he didn't want me watching smut like "Game Of Thrones," even though at the time, the only thing I ever watched on HBO was the annual Rock And Roll Hall Of Fame induction ceremony.  He didn't care.  He blamed me for breaking the dryer, even though by the time it broke down, he'd owned it for ten years, and made me buy a new one for him.  He drank an entire bottle of wine every night he had off, which wasn't a problem at first, since he worked five nights a week.  But when he cooked on his nights off while drinking, there was a forty percent chance of him setting off the smoke detector at some point.  And toward the end of my tenancy there, he intentionally got himself fired from his job so he could collect unemployment while he tried to start up his own independent work as a dump truck driver.  The problem was, he couldn't get a quality truck.  The only one he could get a loan for spent the majority of the time in the shop, which means he was home most days.  And drinking most nights.

That wasn't the entirety of the problems, and he did have his good points too.  I didn't hate him, but I had to move out of there before I did.  But the cat was the most visible source of friction.  And he frequently promised me that when I did move out, he would want to give me the cat, since he could tell I loved him, and that the cat loved me too.  But as his dump truck woes increased and he got moodier, his commitment to that promise became threadier, to the point where it felt like he was dangling that promise in front of me to keep me in line.  It was too much.  I had to just get out.  I loved Mickey, but I had to move.  But I made sure that the place I moved to would allow me a cat if I decided to get one, just in case.  I moved out, but I thought about Mickey everyday.  I missed him.

It's worth mentioning too, that in the struggle to maintain my sanity and sleep schedule, I found a clever way to disobey the landlord.  First off, Mickey figured the need to keep quiet as he moved about the house, and he could walk the floor without creaking.  Also, I could open and close my bedroom door without making noise.  And over the years, Mickey had jumped at my screen so much that there was a huge tear in it.  So, in the last month or so, when Mickey jumped on the screen, I raised the blinds, opened the window, stuck my hands out the hole in the screen, and finally got Mickey to jump into them so I could pull him into my room through the hole.  Then I'd quietly open my bedroom door and let him out so he could get some food, and close the door not to raise suspicion.  Then, when Mickey wanted to go back out, (and this was something he would do when he wanted to come in and cuddle with me), he'd come to my door and lightly scratch it instead of meowing.  He knew I could hear it, and I would silently open the door, and be ready to pretend to go to the bathroom in case the guy was awake and noticed.  If he wanted to go out, I'd open the window and let him out again, and go back to sleep.  It was sneaky, and would have gotten me evicted if caught, but the security deposit was already gone anyway.  I was past caring.  Anyway, after I moved out, and a new person moved in, Mickey continued in this habit, expecting the new guy to know the drill.  Well, the new guy worked for one of the ferry services, and did not appreciate a cat waking him up.  So two weeks later, I got a call from my Mount Vernon landlord asking me if I wanted to adopt the cat.  He daughter's mother still wouldn't take him in, and he had to get rid of the cat or lose a new tenant so soon.  I sprang at the chance, paid a pet deposit to my new landlord, and brought the little fella to his new home, where he lived with me, as my cat, for the next four years until that fateful night last year.

I can't say if Mickey was good with kids, as I never saw him around children.  But he was pretty friendly with humans, especailly after I came into his life and showed him how some humans could be toward cats.  Also, he never brought dead animals in the house until me.  A few times in Mount Vernon, he brought in a mouse or rabbit, which freaked the landlord out.  Once he became my cat, in a new house and a new city, he REALLY became a prodigious hunter.  So much so, that I started keeping empty Pringles cans around to put the dead animals in, to keep their corpses from stinking up the house.  He really became both more independent and more affectionate after I got him out of that house.  We pretty much had a habit of snuggling up on my bed and cuddling at least twice a day: once in the morning when I woke up, and again in the evening at some point.  He drooled when he was happy, and he was happy with me.  When my current roommate moved in, she introduced him to catnip, and he was hooked.  He wasn't too friendly with other cats, but he could be civil, as long as it was understood that he was the alpha.  He was okay with smaller dogs, like my other roommate's chihuahua, but did not like bigger ones.  He also came to appreciate being photographed, both with a disposable camera and a smartphone.  My Instagram account is mostly full of pictures of him still, his various cute poses, and anthropomorphic captions for his expressions.  Independent but very affectionate, he was the perfect cat for me and the lifestyle I had with an insane work schedule.

Mickey was the first cat that was mine, as an adult.  We had barn cats growing up, and some of them definitely were close to me, and many loved to be pet, but Mickey was the first one actually registered to me.  He knew me for 8 years, just over half of his life.  I was hoping to be his pet parent for half of his life, but that would have required him making it to age twenty.  I'm glad to have had the time I had with him and the memories I have.  And I'd like to share a few specific ones now.

One of my favorite early memories with him was when I was in Mount Vernon.  One night I was folding and putting away laundry.  He was still allowed in my room, and I saw him walk in, but thought nothing of it.  As I'm hanging up a shirt, I suddenly hear an insistent, "Mrrrowr!"  I turn around and see him sitting up on my bed, looking at me, and peering, poking his nose forward at me, in an expression that seemed to say, "I am cute and cuddly.  Don't you dare ignore me.  Whatever you're doing can wait. Pet me!"  This would turn out to be his general attitude toward me doing any kind of housework.

Another time in Mount Vernon, he had just come in the house and was meowing while sitting up in front of the refrigerator.  I made sure he food dish was full, and even watched him eat.  After he ate, he sat in front of the appliance again, and resumed his meowing.  As I walked away, he meowed again.  Looked at the fridge, and then at me, back and forth. It had been a busy day, and I hadn't eaten anything, and wasn't really ready for dinner just then, but I realized that Mickey was making sure that I was eating too.  He had had his meal, and now he was going to make sure I ate too.  So I opened up the fridge, got some of my Christmas fudge out, bit into it, and made "MMMM!" noises.  Mickey gave a me a look like, "Yeah, okay, whatever."  And walked away.

When I was beginning to have problems with my gall bladder, I spent a night writhing in pain and had to go to the hospital.  After having maybe three hours' sleep in the hospital, I came home a mess.  I collapsed into my bed and was out within minutes.  Mickey sensed something was wrong, and he climbed onto my bed, and perched himself right on my chest.  He stared at me, and I pet him weakly, best as I could, before passing out.  I awoke a couple hours later, and he was still perched on my chest, watching me.  He hadn't budged an inch.  The second time it happened occurred after the landlord forbade me from letting him in my room.  Since he was home that day, after I got home from the hospital, I went straight to my room again.  Mickey saw me stagger to my room, not well at all.  When I woke up later in the day, I opened my door, and he was sitting right there, standing guard.  He had been there the entire time I was asleep, having been sick.  He was my little guardian.

One time, where I live now, I went away to convention for three days.  I came home and he was missing.  He hadn't been seen since the morning of that day.  I was a basket case the entire next day, which thankfully I had off.  I looked everywhere I could think, called out for him, nothing.  Then, 10:00 that night, I thought I heard a meow outdoors.  I thought I was hearing him all day, but I figured this was worth one last look.  Sure enough, it was Mickey coming home!  I picked him up, and snuggled him.  He didn't leave my room that night.  

Many of the other memories I have of Mickey are ones that happened frequently: snuggling on the bed, jumping on the arm of my chair, interfering with my typing on the computer, his flopping on the ground when I came home, his trilling meow when he came in with a freshly killed animal, him coming back in the bathroom window while I was in the shower, his soft eyes telling me he loved me, brushing his fur and getting so much out of it, and so forth.  So much mundane happiness that I treasured every time (unless the animal he brought in was still alive!), that I still miss very much.  I'll always love him.  I nicknamed him "Mwuss" for the Disney parody pun of "Mickey Mwuss."  He was a very unique cat, to the point I liked to say "There's only one Mwuss."  Indeed, there will never be another like him.  

I still hope against hope he'll show up, but in all likelihood, he is gone.  He was a wonderful fur baby.  I wanted to wait a full year to mourn and give him a chance to return.  I don't know if I'll get another cat just yet, but I do know that I'll wait until after New Year's just because we're entering our busy season that can include 14-16 hour days.  No time to home a new cat.  I'll at least wait until then.

Goodbye Mickey.  You weren't just a good cat; you were the best.  

Character matters (my attempt at quarantine thoughts)

We're not even halfway through this year, and it's already a safe bet that this year will be primarily remembered for the effect that COVID19 will have had on our planet, in all areas: the atmosphere, hydrosphere, lithosphere, biosphere, and also human society, in all of its facets.  I shudder to think what in the world would have to happen for this pandemic to be the second or third thing people remember most prominently about this year when we look back on it.  Which brings us to the fact that this is also a presidetial election year here in the United States Of America.

Back when the Democratic party still had too many candidates to host on one stage on a single night for debates, people were already picking their favorites to support.  Like others, I had my favorites, mainly two that I was solidly behind.  As discussion ensued over all the candidates, I distinctly remember being chastised for my reasons supporting those that I did.  I said it was because of the general assessment I had of their characters, and not necessarily the positions on the issues they were taking.  I was told that I was wrong for using a candidate's character as a metric for whether or not I support them.

Sometime later, I got into another discussion on Facebook regarding President Trump.  It's no secret that I do not support him.  In discussing with Trump supporters, though, I repeated my objections to Trump were based on his character, who he is as a person.  I soon received a reply from a Trump supporter that my belief that character in a person is paramount was laughable.  I was told I should care more about the economy and what the president has done for it, as reflected by the Dow Jones Industrial Average and the NASDAQ, rather than his character as a person.

I was hearing it from both Trump supporters and Trump opposers: it's wrong to support a candidate because of who they are as a person.  Normally, if a person is hearing it from both sides of the aisle, there's probably good reason to pause and seriously reconsider.  After all, a person can be of good character and still be a lousy leader.  But when one flips it around and asks if a person of bad character can still be a terrific leader, I have to wince, making a face even as I type these words, and confess that I don't think so.  It's no secret that a person of terrible character can be an effective leader, an efficient leader.  But that doesn't inherently mean they're a good leader.  History is full of examples of leaders who could get the job done, and maybe even respected a mite for such, but are nevertheless regarded as villains in the scope of human history.  Just because a leader can get an agenda pushed forward doesn't mean they're a good leader.

So what makes a leader good?  How are we even defining "goodness"?  Those who know me know that my faith strongly directs me in this regard.  For the sake of the readership who don't share my religious views, I shall attempt to make it as universally applicable as possible, but going forward, I'm not sure how successful I'll be in that regard.  But just as C.S. Lewis started Mere Christianity with the underlying assessment that people will admit that they don't always behave the way they feel they should, I think that we can corrollate to that statement that there is within a society a general agreement upon what is good character and what is not.  A general agreement, mind you.  Not every person will agree upon every detail, but if your mentality is even one iota more flexible than "My party, good; them, bad," if you believe it's possible to assess a person's character without first knowing their political affiliation, then there will most likely emerge within a society a general consensus as to what is good character or poor, based on the social mores.  We agree that killing people is bad, so much so that we codify that into law.  To what extent we believe it is not always universal, capital punishment for example.  But in general, killing is bad, as are stealing, assaulting, and so forth.  It gets murkier when it comes to things that aren't specifically codified into law, though exploiting loopholes also tends to render a tally mark in the negative column.  But overall, a sense of altruism for one's own societyand the fellow members thereof, a condemnation of prejudice, and the ability to improve one's self without exploitation of others will typically result in one being regarded as having "good character," and in a leader, that is what I look for.

That definition right there is a solid beginning place as to why I believe good character is paramount in a leader.  Good character will generally seek the betterment of the greatest number of people while making every effort to not harm those in the minority.  When our leaders our sworn into office, they take oaths that essentially affirm that to lead is to serve.  It is perhaps a great detriment to our nation that we lost the vision that all government employees, including the highest tiers of management, are public servants.  To lead is to serve the people, and a leader with character will strive to improve that section of the nation that is their purview, while taking care to not harm others.  It is also worth noting that requiring some level of sacrifice does not always constitute "harm," though skilled sophists will often try to either conflate the two to prevent having to make any sacrifice, or separate the two too far  to justify harm inflicted on others.

There is perhaps no greater test of a person's character than to bestow upon them the mantle of leadership.  The old axiom states that power corrupts and absolute power, absolutely.  This is also why character matters so much in those we elect.  Power can change a person, but a person of character will usually be trustworthy with it.  Now, not every person has the gift of leadership, but as stated earlier, someone who would be a terrible leader can still be a good person.  In the case of the presidency, this is where a person's history of other positions held comes into play.  Opponents of Mike Bloomberg never stop beating the drum of his "stop and frisk" policy until he finally withdrew from the 2020 race.  Both parties wanted Eisenhower to run as their candidate in 1948, based on his leadership of the Allied forces during World War II.  Critics of the Trump candidacy in 2016 pointed to his multiple declarations of bankruptcy as inability to run a business properly, which should have, in their opinions, signaled that he was unfit to lead a nation.  So whether it's political, military, or economic leadership, a candidate's history of leadership is another important component to determine whether they should be president.  Even then, examining how good of a leader they were then can also provide insight into their character, to see if having power did indeed corrupt them.

That's not to say I don't care about the issues when it comes to politics.  If I believe both candidates to be generally good people, it will come down issues.  However, I would also submit that a stance on an issue might also provide insight into a candidate's character.  Do they support or oppose something, and why?  Is it important to people who oppose capital punishment that a candidate oppose it because they believe execution is an abhorrent and draconian penalty, or is it enough for them to oppose capital punishment because it is more fiscally draining than lifetime incarceration without the possibility of parole?  Why do they oppose net neutrality?  Why do they support the right to die?  Or is enough to know they simply do?  Not for me.  Character matters when it comes to issues, too because one can say they support or oppose a measure, but once elected and tested, when pressed on it, they could renege on it.  Again, it will matter why.  Bernie Sanders dropped out of the presidential race, saying he didn't want people risking infection of COVID19 by going to public polling places in states where voting by mail wasn't happening.  Did a leader have to compromise, to table a pet project for something that proved to be more important?  Did they have a change of heart?  Did new data come to light?  Heavy is the head that wears the crown, but a leader of character will seek to do what is ultimately best.

Most topically tied to my thesis here, sometimes the most pressing issue of a presidency will prove to be something that arises out of the blue.  The terrorist attacks on September 11, 2001 was a defining moment of George W. Bush's presidency.  The response of President Bush to those attacks will most likely be that which he is most remembered for, whether viewed positively or negatively.  In the case of President Trump, the response to the Coronavirus pandemic, and its effect on American society will almost certainly serve to be the defining moment of his presidency, especially if he loses his reelection bid.  All of the things that supporters and critics alike believe about him as a leader and as a person will most likely be summarized in the handling of this emergency.  His attempts to erect a massive wall along the southern border will be secondary.  Sadly, the children in cages have already been forgotten in the wake of this pandemic.  The debacle of his impeachment will be a footnote, partially because everyone agrees its conclusion was foregone.  His choices of Supreme Court appointees will likely have longer-lingering effects, but won't be remembered as vividly.  It's possible that this event in history will also obscure the whole narrative pushed by his critics that he is essentially a puppet of Vladimir Putin's.  The current pandemic was something almost universally unforeseen, and the issues that matter most to us have almost gone completely by the wayside to focus on public health.  But even Donald Trump does not wield power over the world of microbiology and cannot bid this virus cease.  But the content of his character should have forewarned us that his handling of the situation would be disastrous and slipshod.

The TV show South Park has an episode that basically said every election we will ever have will be about choosing the better of two bad choices, the lesser of two evils.  I don't know if that's entirely fair.  I'm not expecting perfection.  No one is perfect, and no one's character is without flaws.  I've got my laundry list of flaws too.  For example, these past two years in my life have revealed to me just how much I dearly need to work on developing patience in life and with people.  That's just the tip of the iceberg for me, and I don't believe it's my place to assert if I'm a person of good character, either.  I suspect the sentiment of  "giant douche versus turd sandwich," as the aforementioned television episode deemed it, stems partially from the primary process where we inevitably weed out candidates that we may have much more strongly preferred, those with much better content of character.  It may also come from the notion that politics is inherently a dirty business, and you can't be good and be good at it at the same time.  All that said, I've been voting in every presidential election since 2000.  For 2000, I didn't like Al Gore's character because he was too closely associated with the Bill Clinton presidency, and I REALLY didn't like Bill Clinton's character.  I wasn't strongly swayed by George W. Bush's performance history as a governor, but at the time, I did feel he had a good character.  In 2004, I was impressed with Kerry's character, and still thought well of Bush's, so it came down to issues for me there.  2008 was a year I thought we really got the best candidates from both parties, in terms of content of character.  I liked both Obama and McCain on that front, but I was upset with Obama's removing his name from my state's primary ballot because the primary date was moved up.  I wasn't thrilled with Romney's character in 2012, but I didn't have an intense dislike for him either (though some of my friends did).  2016 was the first presidential election in my adult life where I really felt we were given the worst of both parties.  Those who've known me the longest can attest to this, especially my long-standing and intense distrust of Hillary Clinton.  But I still voted for her, because I thought Trump's character was even worse.  I still do, especially in the wake of COVID19.  I felt Hillary Clinton simply wanted her plaque, her name encased in amber and etched in marble.  I believed she only cared about being remembered as the first woman to be President of the United States Of America.  That said, once elected, inaugurated, and officially achieving that title, I believed her presidency would have been most aptly described as "perfunctory," as opposed to the adjectives of "malevolent" and "opportunistic" that I hold for this current administration.  I believe she would have handled this unforeseen tragedy much more efficiently and with greater integrity.

If we could have known ahead of time how long he would procrastinate before springing into action, how he would downplay its severity to the point of prevarication, how he would make unsubstantiated medical claims and then try to gaslight the American public on his semantics or his seriousness of those suggestions, how he would try to force medical professionals to lie and support his claims, etc., would we still have elected him?  I worry about that.  Paradoxically, I feel the greatest failure of the Hillary Clinton campaign, aside from taking swing states in the Rust Belt for granted, was that it focused entirely on ad hominem attacks upon Donald Trump, while offering little of substance on the issues that could have enervated more potential voters to actually show up at the polls.  But more than that, her attacks on his character ultimately fell on deaf ears because there are far, far too many people whose political socialization has them wholly subscribed to the idea that a candidate's party affiliation defines their character.  Too many cling to that simple, yet fallacious dichotomy that one party is one hundred percent pure, and the other is one hundred percent putrid.  Our country will suffer as long as that dichotomy is deemed accurate.  As Stevie Wonder and Paul McCartney sang, "there is good and bad in everyone."

This pandemic should be a wake-up call for America.  Political agendas don't matter when everyone is at risk.  There is little profit to be gained from the death of an entire population; it's bad for business.  There are things that cannot and should not be corraled by party affiliation.  And lying about it will only make it worse.  Disbelief will not stop infection: this isn't the Star Trek episode "Spectre Of A Gun."  And apparently, in this case, neither does belief, as the Lord has seen fit not to spare those who as an interpretation and statement of their faith, defy medical advice and gubernatorial orders.  We are coming up on a presidential election, folks.  The impetus for this entry was spurred primarily by Joe Biden's status as the last candidate in the Democratic primary race.  I am deeply troubled by his character too.  With the exception of Mike Bloomberg, there was no candidate I wanted more vehemently to drop out of the race than Joe Biden, and now he's the only one that remains.  I don't know if I'll actually be able to bring myself to vote for him.  I know I won't be voting for Trump.  Trump's abject lack of character radiates more powerfully with every press conference pertaining to this pandemic, spreading moral cancer throughout the actions of his party's members, and America as a whole.  But Biden is only slightly better.  I believe Tara Reade, and all the other victims who've spoken up about Biden's behavior.  I said it on Facebook, but I'll say it again here: we now have a 100% chance of electing a corporately owned, socially regressive, sexual predator to the presidency this year.  The year may be 2020, but our vision as a nation sure isn't.

Character matters.  It is paramount in our candidates because those candidates may become leaders, and we need leaders with character.  Once we are able to take to the streets again, we must do so and demand better of our politicians for our nation, for our future.

Character matters.

Recapping 2019.

So I've toyed with the idea a few times.  But I thought it might be nice to do a recap on the year that was 2019.  We're over halfway done with this dumpster fire that is Donald Trump's (first and hopefully last) term in office, which means of course, there is so much going on with the race to supplant him on the Democratic side.  Brexit may or may not be happening after all.  And just today, insurgents are storming the American embassy in Baghdad. 

It certainly seems like bad news all around.  The world going to hell in a hand basket.  But that's also been the way of the news at least as long as any of us have been alive.  "If it bleeds, it leads" has been an axiom at least as long as I was a student of the media.  There have been positive, heartwarming stories too.  I don't recall any of them of course, other than maybe Greta Thunberg being named "Person Of The Year" by TIME magazine, especially when there have been so many worse people who've either had the spotlight during this year, or continued to be a huge part of the news cycle throughout the year.  Seriously, whether you believe in climate change, it's at least good to acknowledge those who are trying to encourage better stewardship of our Lord's creation.

But I'm not trying to fill this post with political ramblings.  This post is really meant to be more narcissistic than that.  What have been my highlights and low points?  I went back through my Facebook feed to refresh my memory of this year, and you know what?  That was pointless.  It appears I really do just use Facebook for entirely vapid purposes.  And to share pictures of Mickey.  Tidbits and witticisms throughout the year, shared memes, and hopefully an occasional philosophical nugget.  But yeah, pretty depressing to go back through your Facebook feed throughout the year and see how meaningless your life really is.  And now I'm depressing myself.  The point is, even if you followed my Facebook feed diligently, you might still not know things going on in my life, because I don't feel like I'm able to share more intimate bits about myself on social media.  I can't share my faith because I have so many atheist and agnostic friends, I can't share my politics as much as I'd like because I have conservative friends and family members, and I'm nowhere near as liberal as the rest of my friends, either.  Until Trump sewed up the primary, most political pundits would have identified me as either moderate or slightly conservative.  I really don't watch many of the current TV programs because they don't interest me, and I'm past the age of paying attention to new music, though once in awhile I make an effort to try.  I don't have the time or energy to stay up on the world of cinema anymore either, those I did see Avengers: Endgame, and the Spider-Man movie after that, as well as a few others.  I'm really trying hard not to become one of those people who live in the past and make their entire Facebook feed shared memes from various nostalgia pages.  No kidding, folks, that's annoying.  People who live in the past do so because they have no future to look forward to.  But I'm meandering down rabbit trails again

So, with no holds barred, here are some of the peaks and valleys regarding my life this year.  I've tried to be chronological, but I'm sure it's not quite accurate.

In January, I was still fuming and grumpy about still being an RCA--Rural Carrier Associate.  A sub.  Yeah, I shot myself in the foot on that one back in 2018, but that doesn't mean I can't still scream in pain and be mad about it.  Because of the holiday season, they held off putting the route up for bids again, and I had to wait.  Finally, in January, it went up for bids.  I bid on it, was the winning bidder.  And then I had to wait while management gave me the runaround about when I was officially a regular carrier.  They were trying to get a couple weeks out of me without me being the regular, and I wasn't having it.  So, I finished the month delivering on my primary route, out on the Lummi reservation.

February 2, 2019.  I'm officially a regular carrier.  I have my own route.  And on my first day, I have a new hire shadowing me.  I'm already getting a primary sub!  Woohoo!  The day went okay; I found out that being a local product, she knew several people who live on my new route.  Sadly, she didn't remain my sub very long.  Management thought she was struggling a bit too much, and that my route was too hard for her, so they put her on another route.  Soon thereafter, she quit due to managerial harassment.  Nothing actionable, but that's the best word I could come up with for it.

Sadly, the joy of making regular did not last terribly long as tragedy struck my family.  My cousin Daniel died about a week or so later of a heart attack.  He worked at a local hospital, had a heart attack right on the job, and couldn't be revived.  He's the first of our generation of the family to die.  It was a shock, to be certain.  I really don't have much else to say that hasn't been said already about it, so I'll move on. 

After becoming a regular, I finally decided to settle down and officially become of a member of the church I'd been attending for some time.  I'd held off because as a sub, I was subject to working Amazon Sundays, and I wanted to be sure that phase was over before officially joining that church.  Slight hitch: my membership from my previous church could not be transferred.  That's because my previous membership had been with a church in East Lansing.  Back in Michigan.  I'd been living in Washington state for seven and a half years now, and it took all that time to find a church that I was comfortable actually transferring my membership to.  Part of that had to do with my expecting to marry and settle down with my then-girlfriend sooner rather than never, and that church would have been a mutual agreement between the two of us based on where we ended up living together.  Well, after breaking up with her in 2016, that was no longer a consideration.  And I'll say this right now: "shopping" for a church SUCKS!  It sucks so much harder when you're a single, adult male with no kids.  I tried attending one of the bigger non-denominational churches for awhile.  I wasn't happy there, though.  First off, I don't like "praise concert" worship services, where they just sing a bunch of upbeat, modern, artistically fallow praise songs, and have a 20-minute keynote address from the preacher.  I just never got a "spiritual high" from that environment.  But I wanted to make it work.  Because socially speaking, that's where I fit in.  That was the church single adults went to, it seemed.  I even tried plugging into the small groups' scene there.  I attended an informational session there, about the groups in the church that were forming.  I was frustrated and disappointed when I found out the majority of the new groups were either for newly married couples, single moms, or just women period.  There was only one group for men, but I didn't like the approach they were taking, and besides which, I didn't want to be in a "men only" group.  Why does the church have to suck so badly at being a place where couples can form?  Y'all want more babies in your church, but you won't do a darn thing to help initiate or facilitate that process.  Methinks the local churches really need a crash course in preaching Song Of Solomon again.  But I'm getting off-track.  I found a small group that was open to everyone, where I ended up being the only uncoupled person (of course), but I left that church because in addition to hating the worship format, I also took exception to their theology on baptism.  I firmly believe in infant baptism, and nobody is going to tell me my baptism as a helpless baby is meaningless or heretical. 

So I kept worshipping at a church in the denomination I grew up in, and decided to finally become a member, but my membership in the church in East Lansing lapsed several years ago.  So, I had to meet with the elders of this church, give them my faith story (seriously, I hate sharing my faith story, because it's the most boring, white bread, milquetoast faith story EVER!), and be approved by the council.  Which happened.  So, I now officially have my membership in a church again, where I am an active member.

And active is right!  Shortly after being made an official member, I was recommended for the office of deacon in the church.  There ended up being three candidates and two positions to fill.  So, one candidate would miss out.  Our church does the casting of lots, and neither lot fell to me.  I was not to be a deacon.  It was a little saddening, but overall, I'm not upset about it so much as I am crestfallen.  Back in East Lansing, I was searching so hard in some way to be an active member of the church there, to be more than just a seat filler, but every door shut in my face.  This felt like the vicious cycle beginning anew.

In the meanwhile, with my hobby of the Rock And Roll Hall Of Fame, they had a great ceremony, inducting seven acts: the Cure, Def Leppard, Janet Jackson, Stevie Nicks, Radiohead, Roxy Music, and the Zombies.  Both Janet and Stevie encouraged the Hall to induct more women.  The call to induct more women became a huge rallying cry in the hobbyist community throughout the year.  What really helped kick it off was a fantastic piece by Evelyn McDonnell called "The Manhandling Of Rock 'N' Roll History," which is still an awesome read.  Evelyn would later appear on the "Who Cares About The Rock Hall?" podcast to talk about the underrepresentation of women in that institution, wherein she uttered a definition of rock and roll that I thought for absolute certain would be the highlight of my entire year.  She was lamenting a little bit, and said rock and roll is not just "long-haired white guys wanking off with Les Pauls."  Still gold, and still very relevant, as this year's ballot has only three women on it.  It's still a problem, and the community of those who have made the Rock And Roll Hall Of Fame their hobby, we're still largely scathing about it.  Even now, I would still place that quote as the second greatest thing that has happened to me this year.

Back on the work front, I got a new primary sub.  He had one ride-along with me, and then I never saw him again.  There's a rumor that he had an accident during his vehicle training, but it has never been confirmed.  In our union, I was unanimously elected chapter president again, which meant I'd be doing my "Goodwill Tour" of the post offices either in or tangentially connected to Whatcom County.  I did not go to the state convention this year, however.  When I returned from state convention last year, I came home to find Mickey had disappeared.  Thankfully, he turned up the next night, but that was a scary thirty or so hours for me, as I worried about him.  So, I decided I was staying home and keeping him company.  He's curled up and asleep on my bed right now. 

After not being chosen to serve as deacon in my church, another opportunity arose.  The Gideons had called up our pastor, asking if there were any men who might be a good fit for their ministries.  My pastor said that he basically prayed through the church directory and contacted the men whom he'd felt inclined to contact, and I was one of them.  I, on the other hand, did not feel such an inclination.  While I did pray about it, I didn't feel led towards enlisting in their numbers.

Back to the work life, I got a third primary sub.  This one... this one was a disaster.  Everyone kept saying she was like a female version of me, so we should get along great!  Now I have to wonder how well people actually know me.  I mean, people thought that because she likes to make jokes, and so do I, we must be the same person, practically!  Taking no account of different styles of humor, this was what people seemed to be thinking.  Giving no heed to introversion versus extroversion, we were lumped together.  Believe me, we are very, very different.  After a few disastrous days of her working with me, being in the vehicle with me, and struggling with basic concepts that include "follow the mail" and "don't call the person teaching you how to do your job names," I asked for her to be reassigned.  When they talked to her the next day, she chose to quit instead.  While it was a rough time, it was also a learning experience.  I thought I was a pretty patient person, most of the time, but this incident made it clear that I have some work to do in this area.  Also, I have to find new ways to teach.  Socratic method didn't work, letting her try to figure it out didn't work, and I wasn't going to keep giving her the answers every time because then she'd never learn for herself.  I'm actually considering becoming an On the Job Instructor.  Maybe this little incident means I shouldn't, but I'm not completely discouraged yet.

In the personal life aspect, I had a huge setback, in that a friend broke off contact with me.  She unfriended me on Facebook and threatened to block me.  It started as a joke about "calling demons to torment" her (the joke she made), and ended up in a fight over religion.  I tried to give her room, but what I could not and would not do was let her have a "safe space" to say everything hateful she had to say about God and His character, without rebuttal.  I couldn't do it.  I believe that there is simply no hiding place from the Kingdom's throne, and thus her slander could not go unchecked.  I tried to keep it from getting out of hand, but once she started unloading, I couldn't restrain myself either.  What started as a joke ended a friendship.  I wish the best for her, and I hope she's doing well.  Last time I saw her, she was dealing with a lot of problems, but I've given her space and don't know how she's doing now.

In the church life, I was asked to be part of two teams.  One was a short-lived committee to help determine the next direction to go in and books to study in the adult Sunday school curriculum.  I agreed to that one, and we've decided we really want to focus on the subject of prayer during the first half of next year.  After that, maybe something with evangelism, still not quite sure.  The other team I'd been asked to be a part of is the Vitality Team.  It's an ever-changing body with a revolving door of people on it, changing annually, to try to find ways to help our church grow and remain vital in the community.  We've had some ideas; they're meeting with a certain amount of resistance, both in terms of logistics and in terms of enthusiasm from the congregation for them.  Right now the only thing we have solid support for is reviewing and improving our church website, and possibly also welcoming brochures.  It doesn't seem like much, but we've also just started meeting.  We started in October, so we're really just getting underway.  I feel a little discouraged, as some of my ideas just keep getting put on the back burner, but there'll be time to discuss these ideas too.  There's still a lot of time left in this term of the Vitality Team.

Speaking of things just starting in October, the final piece of amazing news is that I have a girlfriend now.  I haven't changed my relationship status on Facebook yet, but we are officially calling ourselves "boyfriend" and "girlfriend."  Her name is Carol, and she currently lives in Mount Vernon, but it's so far out in the sticks, it's practically Clear Lake.  There's a spiritual spark between us.  We've been on a few dates, and basically are spending our Sunday afternoons together.  She and I are very different people, but so far, we're getting along amazingly, and are constantly smiling when we're together.  Where this will take us, I don't know, but I'm strapped in for the ride.

So that's my review of personal things in this past year.  Over the past summer, I lost fifty pounds, which is amazing.  I've since put ten back on, but I've managed to level off.  Maybe next year I can improve on that.  We'll see.  I intentionally omitted one piece of work-related news for reasons I do not feel I should disclose either.  But other than that, yeah.  I still have a darling fuzzy buddy to curl up with and help get me out of bed in the morning.  I have the same roommate as I had last year.  No new fights with any airb'n'bers.  Some conflict between the landlord and our neighbor, sadly.  Who knows how that will end, though?  All in all, though, it's been an okay year on the personal front.  2019 was probably a better year for me than 2018, but I'm hoping this next one will be even better.

Happy 2020 everyone.  Fuck Trump.

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.