What I learned on my summer vacation

It has been an interesting summer.

I believe in one of my previous blogs I mentioned King and I decided I would look for seasonal employment so we could pay cash for the renovations on our travel trailer. We decided he would continued to work the farm -- cutting wood and tending the 50 acres of lawn and woods -- as we completed our caretaker gig. I garden. I don't cut and stack wood. At least not to King's liking.

Cutting wood for the winter is a never ending job. I have not been able to stack wood to King's liking. I don't believe he has figured out my lack of stacking ability is not entirely accidental.

There were a few bumps along to road to finding a job. I believe I mentioned being dismissed from a job while job shadowing because I am a former reporter and the fear was I might sell the "trade secrets" of the business. As if after 40 years of reporting, several Michigan Press Association awards, and just generally working my butt off at my chosen field, I would destroy my reputation by selling my soul to the highest bidder. Despite what people say about the media, most of us do have integrity.

Anyway, I eventually got a job at a small clothing store in the tourist town where King and I live. The shop sells t-shirts and other touristy apparel as well as several lines of women's clothing --  mostly for the more mature female.

And despite negative comments some people may say about tourists and visitors who flock to the lakeshore for the summer, I found most of the customers to be pleasant, friendly, happy to be on vacation and generally in a good mood. After all, who does not love to be on vacation? And in a few short months King and I will be on semi-permanent vacation as well, so I feel a certain kinship with these people. (Although I must confess, we probably won't be buying many t-shirts along the way).

I have often heard local residents complain that the tourism industry does not affect them positively  and only serves to create more traffic downtown and deplete limited parking availability.

Are they right? Yes and no.

In our small community many large industries left the area long ago. Good paying jobs disappeared. And yes I will agree, minimum wage jobs provided by the tourism industry don't come close to the pay of factory jobs. Families can not survive on minimum wage. Seasonal jobs such as mine make a monthly truck payment, or pay for the latest addition to our travel trailer, but we could not live on my income. We never expected to. But tourists do bring thousands of dollars to the community. Roads, schools, parks and other public spaces all benefit from the money brought to the area via the tourism industry. Think about it, hotels, motels, bed and breakfasts, restaurants, t-shirt shops, marinas, charter fishing boats ... all these businesses pay taxes and keep things running in the community. Embrace the crowds folks. I have lived in ghost towns with more boarded up businesses than open businesses. Trust me. It does make a difference to the well-being of the entire community.

So I spent the last half of the summer hawking t-shirts. To be honest -- and it probably sounds hokey -- working a quiet retail job in a sometimes sleepy, sometimes busy little town is something I always wanted to try. I can't say it was on my bucket list, but I have to admit, it was more fun than attending countless staff meetings as I did when I worked for a university and was certainly more fun than covering a county board of commissioners meeting as I did when I was a reporter.

Of course, being in the interviewing business, as I was for so many years, I asked a lot of questions. "Do you live in the area? Where are you from? Have you been here before? Where are you staying? How many summers have you been coming here?"

People love to talk about themselves. If you show a genuine interest in them, they will tell you a lot of things. They will also ask questions of their own: "Have you always worked here?  Where is the nearest bathroom? What do you recommend as a good place to eat? How do I find ______? Where is the lighthouse?"

I was surprised by the number of times I was asked "What do you do here in the winter?" Ummm, dress warm and generally find parking spaces in front of the stores we want to visit downtown. Yes, it becomes much quieter during the winter months. And yes, not all the shops remain open year-round. Yes, this one does. No, I am not the owner.

And I had the privilege of meeting all kinds of ... aahhh ... interesting people. There was an older couple who came into the store and asked to use our restroom. (We don't have a public restroom, but if a customer looks as though they are in dire need of the facilities, we take them through the storage area to our private restroom in the back of the store). As  I was taking the woman to the back she told me they had been at a restaurant and refused to use the facilities there because the sign on the door read, "Unisex." After she was finished using our facility I told her since all the employees in our store used the same facility I supposed our restroom was "Unisex" as well. (I can be snarky).

It's been fun. It's been an education. And despite the days when I was counting the hours until it was time to go home --15 minutes after starting my shift -- it was good.Will I do it again? Probably not.

We told the person who owns the hobby farm where we work we would come back next summer for one last season. Unless things change drastically we will keep our word. Rather than find another seasonal job, I will probably give in and learn to stack wood correctly.


Travel Trailer update: Work is going well on the trailer renovation. I decided to name our future home "The Tree House," because as kids the tree houses we built were made of leftover lumber and other scraps that we could scrounge. And we did our renovations on the cheap with whatever supplies we had on hand, purchasing things only as we really, really needed them.  However, that being said, I am pretty pleased with our progress and I think she looks pretty good.  We have the propane water heater installed and King is waiting for help to make certain it's hooked up correctly. We'd rather not asphyxiate ourselves on the road. After that, all that is needed is a little more paint, some curtains, re-covering cushions and we are done.

The couch in back has been replaced with a permanent bed. We still need to add storage underneath
and I need to recover the former couch cushions, add throw pillows and sew curtains.
(And yes, there is a door to access the water tank under the bed).

The ceiling with the AC unit. We still need to paint everything. Although it is hard to see,
there is a fold-down bunk bed in the back above the regular bed.
We can pull it down (and also convert the eating area) for additional sleeping space
when the grandchildren spend the night with us.

Dirty little secrets

I have a confession to make. I am tired of gardening. Or more correctly, I am tired of weeding. I am tired of preserving food. I'm ready for a break.

I still love to plant seeds and watch them grow. I still love playing in the greenhouse and still love transplanting plants. I just can't keep up.

This afternoon I went out into the garden to pick tomatoes. The plants were loaded down. I picked a  half a bushel. Red, meaty, juicy, really nice-looking tomatoes. There are plenty more still on the vine. The green beans also needed to be picked and the broccoli has bolted. Sigh. I did pick green peppers, pulled a few onions, added a few hot peppers and herbs to my basked and headed into the house. It was hot and sticky outside. The rain of the past few days has brought out the mosquitoes in droves.

By 2 p.m. I was cleaning and sorting tomatoes. I sliced those that are going to be dried in the dehydrator (that's easy) and scalded the rest to loosen their skins. Then they were dumped into cold water and the skins were removed. The canner was pulled out and the jars, lids and rings were placed in boiling water to sterilize them. In the meantime, green peppers, hot peppers, cilantro, onions, a little vinegar, garlic, some lime juice and whatever dried herbs I had on hand from last summer were added to the tomato mixture.

Viola! I had sorta salsa.  Sounds easy, right? All this took until 6 p.m. and then stray tomato juice and skins had to be washed off the kitchen floor. I am a messy cook. What can I say?

Seven pints (yes, seven pints for a half bushel of tomatoes and four hours work) of Sorta Salsa. Mostly it tastes like tomatoes with herbs. If one wants salsa that tastes like salsa, Newman's Own is pretty good. I use my home canned stuff to add to chili or other tomato based food. Chips and Salsa? Not so much.

Sometimes I make tomato juice as well. It takes even more tomatoes to make a quart of tomato juice. Sigh.

Confession time. I'm not certain it's all worth it.

Now I still enjoy making jams and jellies. King likes them too. Who would not like something with a bazillion cups of sugar? I've made low sugar stuff. It's gross as far as I'm concerned and its grossness is one of the few things King and I actually agree upon. He likes my dill pickles and one of our sons likes my bread and butter pickles. I rather like bread and butter pickles as well and why not? They too have a lot of sugar.

So in a few months we will hit the road. Gardening will be a distant memory. We have agreed to come back to work on the farm as caretakers one last summer.

I'm thinking of turning my garden into a soccer field for the grandchildren.

Sorta Salsa

And we keep working and working and ...

Apparently when people renovate their trailers they also give them names.

I suggested to King we paint "Love Shack" on the back of our trailer. He didn't go for it. "How about Carmen," I suggested. King was watching COPS and gave me a sideways glance that said, "You must be some kind of crazy," but all he said was, "We are not going to name the trailer."

Ok. I can live with calling it "The Trailer." I may even paint "The Trailer" on the back somewhere, inconspicuously, of course, right next to the rainbow colored peace symbol.

This week we got the floors repaired and fixed the gaping space in the back where the side seam meets the back seam. I have to admit, I was pretty proud of our work. King is not a carpenter. The work involved taxed his talents. But it looks pretty good. I just have to learn to leave him alone when he is working on projects. While my father preferred we stand around waiting for him to ask for a hammer or nails, King wants to be left alone. If I hide in the house it suits him just fine.

Anyway, King fixed the structure part of the trailer and it was my job to seal the seam.

After watching countless YouTube videos on how to seal seams I chose to follow one that I thought I might be able to imitate. It required the purchase of a special tape that joins the two sides of the trailer, forming a watertight seam which is then closed with a regular trailer seal. I ordered the tape a few weeks ago

King wanted to know why I ordered the tape long before we needed it. He makes me crazy that way.

"Because I will have it on hand when we need it," I told him. I received another eye roll and sideways glance for my effort. But today, when he decided the seam was ready to be sealed I had the equipment I needed to do it. Who is rolling their eyes now?

This is the finished seal (waiting for the butyl tape) on the back of the trailer. The gaping seam was so bad I never took a "before" photo for fear someone would say, "What were  you thinking when you bought this thing." Oh, wait. Someone did.

This is the front of the trailer that still needs to have the seam repaired. It was the lesser of the repair work needed.

I am also making him crazy looking for a floor covering.

"We are weeks away from that point," King argued. "We need to do the wiring, we need to fix the front seams, we need to get new tires, we need to insulate, THEN we can worry about paint and floors."

Fine. I get it. But I'm ready to get to the fun stuff now. Can't hurt to look.

In the meantime, the gardens still need to be tended. This is the first year I put down shade cloth in the garden. I still have to weed every week, but it is not nearly so time consuming.

Our tomato/green bean/broccoli garden.

Several years ago the gentleman we work for on the hobby farm ordered several cases of lilies. We planted and planted and planted and we still had several boxes of bulbs leftover. In desperation,  I finally planted a bunch around the perimeter of the tomato garden. They have been going strong for years now.

Is this discrimination?

Not sure if this is humiliating or just plain stupid.

After three hours at my new job I was let go. Before coming in I was told to to purchase specific clothes to wear at work. I was told to bring ID and a social security card (preferably my own I would surmise) I was told I was to come in and job shadow/train for a few days. And then, after three hours, I was told I was not going to make it at their store. How does one fail at job shadowing/training?  Seriously. How does one manage that?

Obviously we were not a good fit. It happens. Sometimes people simply do not click.

I wrote about what was to be my next adventure in my last blog: a job at the gourmet food shop in the tourist town where King and I currently live. I mentioned how the operations manager didn't want to hire me (because I am a former reporter and might sell their trade secrets to the highest bidder) but that she told the store manager to "do whatever you want."

After that warm welcome I knew going in I would have a lot to prove. I realized on my first (and only) day when I saw I was scheduled to work just one day that week that things were pretty much predestined.My name was not even on the following week's schedule. Additional staff was not scheduled for my training time, and according to the store manager, that was done purposefully by the operations manager so I would not have the undivided attention of the manager. I didn't know I would have less than three hours to prove myself.

I watched as the manager spoke with customers. I learned how to "suggestive" sell different products. I learned how to take inventory and stock shelves. I helped put parking cones out in the employee parking lot. I re-stocked crackers for samples. I made small-talk to a few customers. However, three hours in I was told I was not going to work out. Apparently the operations manager could tell this by watching me job shadow via a closed circuit camera from a remote location.

To be honest, I am relieved. Who wants to have to prove themselves over and over and over again?

Three hours in and I am glad I escaped with only wounded pride. I am obviously not cut out for gourmet food espionage. I do wish I had drained several bottles of olive oil on the floor and yelled, "Mazola Party!" at some point during my short tenure. It would have been a better reason for being canned.

Wounded pride or not, life goes on and I will pick myself up and dust myself off. I have already picked up a few more applications but it's a small town and once word is out that I am a spy who will sell her soul to the highest bidder, my odds are slim to none that someone will hire me.

And that is a shame because I am the employee who will work extra hours. I am the employee who will take shifts no one else wants. I am the employee who, after years of interviewing people, can make small talk with almost anyone. I am the employee who knows how to make people feel at ease.

But when all is said and done and I take time to step back and review the events of my gourmet food shop tenure, I have to ask myself: Is this what it feels like to be discriminated against?  For the simple fact that I worked as a reporter I am suspect?  Think about it. Think long and hard about it.

Yes, today I am hurt and bitter. Today I want to press my face against their plate glass windows and blow raspberries all over them (the windows, not the employees). But I am a grownup. I am a better person than the operations manager. I will move on. I will wish them well. Because frankly, they are not worth the effort for anything else. I also realize I don't need to work for a company that is so negative. Rather than dwell on the fact that I could have been a food spy, they could have thought, "Hey, someone with training to write our press releases."

P.S. I learned today the operations manager is blaming the store manager and denying ever having concerns over my previous job. And the store manager already did blame the operations manager. Denial and blame. Kind of like politics.

But I escaped with my life.

Life goes on and rather than participate in gourmet food espionage
I went back to work in my gardens. This is the tomato/broccoli/green bean garden.
 I've never done the weed cover before, I think I'm going to like it.

Cucumber plants. I keep experimenting with dill
pickle recipes.

First time we've been able to get cherries. In the past, when
I worked at the newspaper (where I was NOT a gourmet food spy),
I never got to them in time and the
birds always had a feast.

Young pepper plants.

Raised bed with lettuce.

I love infusing olive oil and vinegar
with basil.

Be careful for what you wish

I start a new part-time job on Tuesday. Hmmmm. Be careful for what you wish.

In my last post I said I would take a part-time job (maybe) if one were offered to me. Well, believe it or not, one was offered.

Earlier this spring I had applied for a job at a gourmet food shop in our little tourist town. I even had an interview/coffee with the store manager at the coffee shop across the street from the food shop. The manager seemed genuinely interested and said they were looking for someone to start before the Memorial holiday weekend. ... And then I never heard from her again.

"Oh well," I said to King. "Guess I'm too old, my reference phone numbers were wrong, or maybe they just went with someone else."

I suppose I could have made more of an effort, but having been in a managerial role many times before it really bothered me when people were annoyingly persistent. So I dropped it. The bulldog reporter in me disappeared with retirement.

Yesterday my cousin and I were shopping in town and she wanted to visit that same little gourmet food shop. The manager recognized me immediately and said she really had wanted to  hire me. Really? Uh huh, sure.

"Our production manager didn't want to hire you because you are a reporter and she thought you might sell our secrets to someone. We had a store just like ours open in South Carolina and our owner had to sue them."

I am flattered. I am offended.

Here is the reality folks: I worked hard to earn the reputation of being a reputable writer. I have won awards that I earned, not by selling myself to the highest bidder, but by working for those awards and reputation. Besides, I cook a little bit. I can go into your shop, look at the ingredient list on your wares and pretty much figure out how to copy what you have. Anyone can. It does not take a special talent. And I do not have the wherewithal  for espionage.  That Dutch Reformed guilt would kill me.

Anyway, the manager said she still wanted to hire me and the production manager happened to be there at that very moment and maybe I could talk to her? Um, no, I am here shopping with my cousin.

"Just let me bring her out here to meet you."

Okay. My honest face is going to win her over, right?

So I met the production manager who shook my hand, turned, and as she walked away said to the manager, "Do whatever you want."

And with that warm welcome I have a job that starts on Tuesday. Yea?

Hey, it's a seasonal job. In my original interview I was up-front and said I would be leaving in December for parts unknown. I was told January through March were slow times, so it worked well with their schedule.

I can now pay for our trailer renovation with cash instead of credit. That works.

A brand new beginning

After my sister passed away in April my focus began to change.

The night before she went into the hospital I stayed with Donna at her apartment. She was in a lot of pain, but we had  opportunity to talk. She knew her prognosis was not good. Two things she said have stayed with me. The first was: I should have had a colonoscopy. (Mine is scheduled for a few days from now). The second was: I should have retired last year.

Ahhh regrets. We all have them. The coulda, shoulda, woulda game. It gets us nowhere.

So King and I are moving forward and making changes. Some may be good. Some may be bad. But it seems to be better than doing nothing and maintaining the status quo.

Our decision to make changes started long before Donna was diagnosed with cancer. Sometime this winter King and I decided enough was enough and I left my job.

I had been working as a page designer at a newspaper hub. (For the uninformed, a newspaper hub is a place where many newspapers are designed and laid out. For example, a newspaper in Marion, Indiana is actually put together in St. Joseph, Michigan. It saves money and makes the bottom line look good. Personally, I think it is a bad idea. But I should not say much because for three years it paid our extra bills. And it seems to be the way things are going in the newspaper industry. Today very few newspapers are actually put together by the reporters and editors who covered the meetings, attended the sporting events or took the photos of the house fire).

Although newspaper hubs are Satan's spawn, it was not a bad job. It was simply a job. I took it because after working years as a reporter and editor we needed to move to the west side of the state to be near my parents. It was very much an entry level position. I knew going in I would miss reporting. But it was a job. In the newspaper industry. The people I worked with, for the most part, were a fun group. I truly had no complaints.

But I am not a copy editor. I am a writer. The two are not necessarily related. I don't see type-os ... at least not until they are in print. I am not technologically savvy. I am not a page designer. I don't have an eye for layout. I don't know how to make fancy illustrations. I can barely Photoshop a photo. I am a writer. Period.The reality is just because one can write does not mean one can design newspapers or edit other people's copy, or turn 40 word headlines into succinct five word headlines. I was a warm body in a chair with an extensive newspaper background. That is why I was hired. Experience. Just not the right kind. The young, recent graduates I worked with could out-design me on my best day.

I am also grandmother. Because of work I missed out on countless soccer games, family picnics, choir concerts, dance recitals, t-ball games and Christmas gathering. Newspapers don't take holidays. Readers don't care if someone has to work Thanksgiving, Mother's Day and Easter. They simply want their newspapers delivered to their doorstep. (And as an old reporter, I can attest even THAT is changing).

Through no fault of the company or the people I worked with, I was miserable. It was simply a job because we thought we needed the extra income. In reality, we have been broke most of our marriage. We make do. We adjust. So when King suggested I retire in February rather than the following December I jumped at the opportunity. It was time to go. I was already counting down the days. The journalism I embraced in 1974 as a stary-eyed college Freshman is long gone. I am old(er) and change is difficult. Besides, King was tired of my whining and bitchiness.

If a part-time job were to fall into my lap, I might take it. Maybe.

So it is on to a new chapter in our lives. And this blog is taking a new turn.

In early June King and I purchased an old... very old... travel trailer. It needs a tremendous amount of work. But when one pays only slightly north of $500 for a trailer, one should expect a lot renovations.  And oh my goodness is there a lot of work to be done -- and a slightly large learning curve to go with it. With the help of Google and You Tube we will figure it out. So far we are taking the selective learning route. If there is something that seems to be inordinately difficult we pretend it does not need to be done. I am certain there will be do-overs. And I am certain any savvy renovators out there who are reading this are rolling their eyes.

For us, there is nothing like diving in without testing the water. No regrets.

Our 1978 Shasta travel trailer. Built the year our second oldest son was born. It will need new
tires. The frame is good. We will either remove the awning or replace it.
I'm thinking I'd rather have a separate screen house than an awning.

Our dining room before. You can see some of the water damage on the ceiling.

Our living room before.

Our dining room during demolition. There is quite a bit of wood that needs to be replaced.

We removed the peel and stick tiles to see how much
damage there was to the floor. A lot.
Notice the cardboard in the upper left corner? The previous owner
said he had replaced the back panel. We neglected to ask what type of material
he used. Ahhh. Live and learn.

This is the back of the trailer where the living room was. That is a water tank that was under
the bench. After we pull it out to replace the floor we will see if it can be salvaged
or if we need to replace it. As it is, the only thing keeping that
tank from falling through the floor is somebody's imagination.
Obviously more wood framing needs to be replaced.

Another heartbreaking goodbye

Last month our family said our final goodbye to one of our sisters. I seldom put real names into my blog, but today I will.

Donna passed away at the end of April after being diagnosed with colon cancer three weeks prior to her passing. Although the original prognosis was "treatable but not curable," no one thought she leave us so quickly.

Donna was a good and kind and generous soul. She was probably one of the most loving persons I know. She will be missed more than words can express.

It was so sudden. She went into the hospital for a cancer-related surgery. The news was grim, but we were still planning her release from the hospital. We were getting things in order for Hospice care one day and the very next day we were holding her hands as she died. There are so many things one thinks they will say as they watch death approach but those words will not come and one watches helplessly and prays her pain will end soon.


We all knew her time was limited. Her son and our older sister were flying in to stay with her, but she started slipping away before they could arrive and my younger sister and I held the phone to her ear as she told them she love them one last time.

"Don't cry," she said to her son. "It is what it is. I love you."

Donna, who had watched far too many John Wayne death scenes, remained with us to the very end. She did not simply slip into a coma and fade away. Her last words were "Hold my hands." And then she  spoke some more words of wisdom known only to her. Her hands grew cold and then she was gone.

Donna's instructions for her funeral were fairly straightforward ... there was to be none. The night before she went into the the hospital she gave me specific instructions. I think she knew she would not be coming home. "I want to be cremated. No funeral. No visitation. No memorial service. Call Digger O'Dell for the arrangements. And call Social Security right away... I should have retired last year."

That was Donna. Very pragmatic. Very succinct. Very anal retentive. She had her ducks in a row and from a final arrangement standpoint things were easy.

But they are not easy. The realization she is gone hits at the most inappropriate moments. Some silly little thing will happen during the day and I will think to myself, "I will have to tell Donna about that." And the memories come flooding in and the tears start to flow.

King has been very supportive through all of this. He doesn't tell me to "snap out of it" when I mope around the house. We go for walks together. He watches as I pace restlessly, looking for something, someone, or some solace.

The other night he and I were lying together in bed and the tears started again.

"No one wants to get cancer," he said. "She didn't deserve to go that fast. But she DID have cancer and if she hadn't died in the hospital she would be lying in a hospital bed in her apartment right now. I don't think anyone would have wanted that. Least of all her."

We will always miss our sister. There will always be that empty space that will no longer be filled by Donna. But King, in his infuriating pragmatic way, is absolutely right. One can not change the past. One should not wonder what might have been (if only she had had the colonoscopy the doctor told her over and over again she needed) as it does no good. We can only move on. Miss her incredibly. Celebrate her life. And learn this life lesson...Life is too short to not do the things we want to do.