I've lost it

Yup, it's gone. The "it," that which gave me a flair for writing, is gone. I'm not sure where it went, but it disappeared somewhere after my first disastrous Geology midterm and a bout of insomnia.
It's not like I don't have ideas. I have so very, very many. I even wrote one short entry entitled, "To the girl with "crack" in my Geology class," but it just didn't seem to have the humor I was looking for. I just didn't "feel" it.
I had personal dilenmas I could discuss, politics, family, my life has actually been very interesting the last couple of months. Definetly not fun or exciting (unless you like disaster and retribution stories).
I have, in my defense, written stories and produced photos for The Commuter. Here is my article about the college's decision to close the photography lab
And I even offered up my opinion on illegal immigration, which actually made me think hard about it for the first time.
So, I am not entirely brain-dead, I've just lost my spark and I am fishing around in the dark trying to find it.
As my fingertips hit each key, I can feel them inching closer to finding "it".

The Commuter Does San Diego

Last weekend I traveled with the rest of the Commuter staff to San Diego, California, to attend a college journalism conference. Despite my anxiousness at leaving my family and other responsibilities behind, it turned out to be a trip I will never forget, and for all the right reasons.

I always wanted to drive through the Siskiyou Mountains and see Mt. Shasta. The brilliant red soil, green ferns, and towering trees that lined I-5 were much different than the clay-packed flat landscape that surrounds the Willamette Valley. We stopped for a break in the amusingly and ambiguously named Weed, California (a logging town named for it’s founder, Abner Weed). The view of Mt. Shasta covered in snow and surrounded by brilliant blue sky was unforgettable.

Sixteen and a half hours after leaving Albany, we arrived in San Diego at 3:30 a.m. Too exhausted for sleep, the occupants of our van crawled out into the 70-degree air to look at the landscape of palm trees and skyscrapers silhouetted by the city lights and nighttime sky.

The next morning it was difficult for those of us who made it to the keynote speech to stay awake. After lunch my friend and co-worker MaryAnne played guitar by the pool. The weather was better than I remembered it could ever be in my birthplace, warming my skin as I closed my eyes and listened to MaryAnne’s beautiful voice carry across the breeze.


After attending a series of classes about the future of journalism and the importance of developing new ways of communicating in our Internet-charged society, I learned a few important things:
There is little to no money in journalism, i.e. get a side job.

There is no set future for journalism, and few ways to pay for it.
The Commuter has the least-paid staff with the best newspaper in the country. Hands down.

I have more confidence than ever in our newspaper. We were original, the others were cookie-cutter. We had magazine-style covers, the others were generic black and white. We also generated all of our own content, and never rely on other news outlets for material. For our under-funded newspaper and barely compensated staff, we have a lot to be proud of. This trip proved that to all of us.

After four days of learning about our future careers, unpaid or not, it was time to come home. Some of us were ready for our own beds, or missing our families. I was ready to stay forever. Having grown up in southern California, I realized how much I missed the palm trees and sun. I missed the fancy cars and well-manicured landscape. I missed the authentic Mexican food. I missed everything about California. Ok, not the traffic, it’s true. I also wish my fellow Californians would learn how to use their blinkers when driving, because I never saw one used once the entire drive each way.

After arriving home at 4 a.m., I was too tired to sleep. I looked at my photos and regaled my husband with stories. When I finally woke up the next day, I missed my friends who had been on the trip. I wondered where they were and if they wanted to go to the pool or the Mexican restaurant across the street. I wondered where my assistant was and why she hadn’t made me coffee yet. Then I remembered that I was back home and this was my real life. I put on my make-up in the mirror and smiled at all the memories I had from this trip. The Commuter staff grew closer as friends and co-workers, and we became better journalists. Although the return to reality was tough, the thought of applying everything we learned to our paper, and our newfound confidence in what we do, is exciting and fulfilling.

Chinese acrobats aren't just for kids

My new-found photographer friend, who works for a local newspaper, invited me to tag along on one of his assignments. I was thrilled to find out it was a performance by a group of Chinese acrobats. Not since I traveled to China have I watched a performance so thrilling and downright fun. A pleasure for adults and children alike.

Oh! Possum!

I came home the other night and these guys were sitting on my fence. I love animals (especially Opossums), and grabbed my camera from the backseat. I slowly opened the door and began creeping towards them.



Then I noticed something weird. They weren't running away, but just staring at me forlornly. I started talking to them and they perked up and tried to move towards me, but only fell off the fence instead.

I wanted to put them in a big warm box and care for them overnight, but my husband wasn't about to let two opossums in the house, the insensitive jerk. These little guys had lived underneath our house for years and now they needed us, or at least that was how I saw it.

I called the local veterinarians, and despite the fact that every website said they cared for wild animals, each doctor told me to call animal control.
Well, I hate the police. A lot. And anyone associated with the police.
And I wasn't about to let animal control come to my house, take my (yes, my) opossums and potentially euthanize them. All on the American tax-payer's dollar. They were in my hands only, it seemed.

So I spent the next few hours with two sick opossums, trying to make them feel a little better and giving them food and water. After a while they crawled off on their own.

Two days later, no noxious smells are coming from anywhere near my house, so I assume they made it home and are recovering. Hopefully in a few days they will be lounging on my back porch with my cats, like usual.

Oh, and for anyone who is afraid of opossums, check out the website of the National Opossum Society, which states they are relatively harmless and friendly animals. And they are also America's only marsupial.

Life brings challenges and lessons in equal measure

Recently my husband became very ill with pneumonia and bronchitis. On our second trip to the doctor, blood samples were taken to see if any unknown condition was causing him to have a prolonged recovery. He recently lost a considerable amount of weight and is currently, according to the doctor, "severely underweight."

Shocked, and knowing how much my husband eats, I knew something was wrong. We discussed two previous events my husband had endured where he experienced full body paralysis, numbness, heart palpitations, and breathing problems.

The last event, one week ago at work, resulted in him leaving work in a wheelchair, and being lifted by his boss and placed in the back of my car. For the rest of the night he was unable to move well, in extreme pain, and unable to even put a spoon to his mouth.

We were told we would get the test results the next day.

Two days later I received the call.
"The results show the symptoms of Grave's disease, or hyperthyroidism. We've made him an appointment for Tuesday morning, and we will need him all day for testing."

"What are you looking for?" I asked.

"Malignant nodules." The doctor answered.

I didn't like the word malignant, and it was ringing in my ears.

Panic was pounding the inside of my skull. I didn't know what I would tell my husband, I didn't want him to worry too much. I thought about the tests needed and dreaded knowing what they would cost us. I worried about missing school and work, and wondered if my husband would even be well enough to attend school this term.

Luckily I had some wonderful people give me some great advice. One of them was my music instructor, James Reddan.

"Be with your husband now. What's more important Rock N' Roll or your husband?"

"Duh!" I thought. "It's time to stop worrying about the little stuff and take care of what's, or in this case who's, important."

After a little more encouragement from Mr. Reddan, I was feeling a lot better.

I took my husband to his favorite restaurant, and I didn't worry about the $20.

I didn't worry about the slow traffic, and I didn't worry about how much gas was in the tank.

I realized I can't worry about what the doctors will say next week, or what the test results will determine.

What I can do is have a positive mind-set and be there 100 percent for him.

Because he is what is most important to me.

Home Depot has no humanity

I have never had a job that expected me to come into work when sick. Any boss with sense knows that a person who stays home gets well faster and doesn't infect other employees. But not Home Depot.
The local Home Depot, where my husband unfortunately works, allowed an employee to return to work despite the fact she had bronchial pneumonia, and was told by her doctor to stay home for two weeks. She was not asked by management to inform others of her condition, or to wear a mask. Instead, she used my husband's desk phone, worked closely with customers, and handled computer equipment available to all employees.
Two days later my husband was sick, and shortly after that he was diagnosed with pneumonia and bronchitis. He was so sick he cried in his sleep, and couldn't get out of bed for almost a week. He ended up going to the hospital, and because we have no health care (HD's is a joke), we will be paying for it for a long time.
Finally, because he had no sick time and we were hemorrhaging our remaining funds, my husband returned to work. Soon after his arrival he was brought to the office and told management was revoking his holiday pay (from New Year's) because he was sick, even though he was not sick on New Year's.

Rationally, my husband explained that he got sick from BEING at work. You don't contract pneumonia out of thin air, but Home Depot thinks that you do. He was forced to apologize to the woman who had pneumonia first, because she felt the way he looked at her was accusatory. But wait, there's more.

Our local Home Depot HAS NO HEATERS. That's right, a few weeks ago our high temperature was 12 degrees, and it was hardly any warmer inside the store. Each day I watched my husband leave for work wearing layers of sweaters, jackets, scarves, socks, and hats. Employees were not even allowed to mark down heaters off the shelves to keep warm.

And so, my husband sat for weeks shivering in the cold, exposed to a highly infectious illness, and...lo and behold...he came down with it. But Home Depot punished him for it. They punished him by revoking his holiday pay, the punished him by forcing him to apologize for looking angry (he just looks sick to me...), and they punish all employees by offering little or no sick time.

My husband receives four hours of sick pay a month, in exchange for working full-time. What a pathetic "benefit." Sure, those 4 hours he had will help on his measly paycheck, but it would take ten months of saving sick hours to make up for this sudden, Home Depot induced illness and the week of work it caused him to lose. And it isn't like they are going to help with the medical bills.

The heart of this problem is employee benefits. My previous job gave me two days a month, and more if I had a doctor's note. Whatever I needed to be healthy and happy. My husband's co-worker would not have come to work with pneumonia had she any sick time available to her, then no one else would have become ill.

Bob Nardelli, former CEO of Home Depot, resigned in 2007 with a $210 million severence package after he tanked the company's stock. Despite this, the company can't reach in it's deep pockets to help out it's real employees. Home Depot is worse than Wal-Mart, and the managers, executives, and CEO's should be ashamed, but that would take humanity.

Snow, snow go away...

As close as I wanted to get...






I don't think I'll be using this pumpkin for pie...