Called Off

The sheriffs office has discontinued the search for Clay. We gave one last push on Sunday and grid-searched areas that he might have been. The cowboys showed up with ATVs and horses, while about 50 outdoorsy-types came in with hefty day-packs and dogs. In my group was a friend of his who had flown in from Seattle and his sister. The family and friends are still searching on their own and if they'd like an additional set of eyes this weekend I'll head out with them. The sister seems to think (and many of the SAR folks agree) that he probably fell in the water since we found zero trace of him. It's likely that with the low flow and cold water temperatures that his body is in one of the pools or beneath the ice.

Looking on the positive side (if there can be one in a situation like this) I got flown in by helicopter on Sunday. They flew low and close to the trees and then dropped us in a nice little bald spot. So yeah--that was pretty awesome. I also got to joke around with one of the 'boys' from Homeland Security, play with a SAR dog (his name was Chay-Da, a German Sheppard with an affinity for pouncing on mice), had a Blackhawk helicopter fly right over my head, and bush-whacked through some pretty amazing terrain. Other than a couple of angry-looking blisters and one skinned knee I'm just fine.

This week I'm back in the office, housing sitting/dog sitting for two homes, working in the kitchen on Thanksgiving and then going to a friends afterward, and working in the restaurant on Wednesday and Friday.

Back to work....

Nothing yet

I wish I could say we found him, or at least found something, but we haven't. I was out searching again today and I can't believe that some people have been out every day since this whole thing started. I was there on Tuesday and then again today. It's inspiring to see how people have come together, gotten organized and stayed motivated to keep searching even when things aren't looking good.

We now know that he went hiking on Saturday, so that means he's been in the woods for five nights, with tonight being the sixth. It's looking pretty grim. I'm tired, discouraged and more than just a little pissed off.

S.A.R.

Hi guys,

Our sales guy didn't show up to work on Monday. A trip to the trail head up in Sinks Canyon found his car. I joined the search and rescue group yesterday and covered ten miles on and off trail, though that seems like nothing. The canyon area is huge. We aren't sure if he left to go hiking on Saturday or Sunday. I don't know if it's hit the news or not. The only bit I found so far on the google search is: http://www.montanasnewsstation.com/Global/story.asp?S=7355036&nav=menu227_2

I have to work at the restaurant tonight through Saturday so I'll also be in the office (we didn't get home until right at 5 p.m. and I was spent from the off trail hiking). If I can get off work on any of those nights I might go back out, though at this point people are starting to look and sound a bit grim about the whole thing.

I was really glad to finally get some S.A.R. experience though it sucks that it's someone from work. I don't really know Clay (I've only met him on a couple occasions) but everyone else here has and they're understandably worried. It was amazing to see how quickly everyone was mobilized. There were 50 hikers, a good size group of horse packers and helicopters and planes in the air. We had high winds and sleet though the temperature stayed between 35 and 45 degrees during the day. My group of five was hiking between 8,500 and 9,000 feet though some groups were up above 10,000 feet. It was impressive to see the helicopters flying in that kind of weather. They buzzed us twice.

Clay is a great hiker (his wife says he averages about 15-20 miles a day when he hikes) and is a former park ranger. Basically, this the kind of guy you ask to go find people, not the kind of guy who gets lost.

When I know more I'll post it here.

Monday

When I started my blog I decided that it wouldn’t be the kind that detailed what I did every day—those types of blogs are not only a complete bore but also painfully annoying. Instead I wanted it to be about life; what I was interested in, what had struck me as funny and whatever else had been on my mind. But today I happen to be bored so I thought I’d do a typical day (a good day) to showcase what life is like for me in Wyoming. So, I give you Monday, a fairly normal day that is indicative of my time here.

I start my day by getting up late. Again. I rush around my hotel/dorm/studio room to get ready for work, tripping over shoes and clothes as I go. I grab my messenger bag and a Powerbar and stumble down the stairs to work. Work, by the way, is across the street from where I live so I walk less than a block to get to the building. I reach my desk on time and grab my coffee cup before even turning on my computer. Upstairs in the kitchenette someone has committed the ultimate sin of brewing weak coffee. Really...the nerve. Two of the tech guys from upstairs and I quickly throw out the offending pot and stand impatiently while a new pot (a real pot) brews while discussing the merits of already ground verses whole bean coffee. At least I’m among friends.

Back downstairs I get started on my day. It’s the beginning of the week and we’re currently between projects in my department so work is slower than usual. But I do have a writing project so I grab the laptop and head to the quiet of the lounge to try to write. But instead of writing I start freaking out about moving to Bozeman and life in general. What am I doing? Where am I going? Should I go to Australia? Maybe try to find an internship in London? And before I know it an innocent google search on what there is to do in Bozeman on the weekend deteriorates into OH MY GOD WHAT AM I DOING WITH MY LIFE!!!!????. This, of course, is quickly followed by another trip to the coffee pot.

So I go back to my desk where I happily dive face first into a pile of old royalty statements and start organizing them on an Excel spreadsheet. God bless Excel where I can organize whole years and everything balances and makes sense. Oh how I love to indulge minor compulsions.

Come noon I’ve calmed down thanks to the complete mental absorption that is royalty statements from the 1980’s combined with a dose of The Be Good Tanyas on iTunes. I meet up with two friends from work and we head off to the new coffee shop to have lunch. Over soup and sandwiches we start talking about the next place to move and the next thing to do. Both women are in the same boat as me so at they can commiserate as well as add a few new dimensions to my worries: Hadn’t I thought about the best way to start saving for retirement? What about travel? Screw retirement. Shouldn’t I be squirreling away my cash for a plane ticket to some exotic locale as opposed to paying off my car? After all, we’re only in our twenties once and time is running out. Right.

After lunch we head back to work and I gladly slam the headphones back on and go straight back to the world of royalty statements. Comfort through organization…

By mid-afternoon my mom is calling to ask if I’d like her to mail me spice cookies (YES, PLEASE!!!!). I try not to sound too desperate for sugary home-backed, 100-year-old family recipes however, my humble gratitude comes out to sound something like “how soon can you get them here????.”

Before I can talk to my mom any further, I’m called away to take some photos for the online store. I borrow a bike and head off with two of my co-workers for City Park. It’s an Indian summer day so the air is warm and the afternoon sun is making the fall leaves sparkle. At the park I take photos of the two “models” wearing shirts and hats that we sell online with the schools logo on them. We take pictures until the camera dies and then head back to the office.

It’s straight back to the Excel sheets for me until 5:00pm rolls around and I’m out the door. I don’t have to work at the restaurant tonight so I drop my bag in my car and decide to walk the five blocks down Main Street to the grocery store. The sun is starting to get low in the sky and the road is filled with people rushing home to dinner and their families. With nearly all the stores in town located on Main Street it’s a pleasant walk and I find myself letting go of my worries just enough to begin to relax.

At the store I pick up some fresh veggies and debate between beef and giving tofu a chance. In the end I decide on the tofu because it’s cheaper and head back towards home. On the way into the hotel/dorm that is my home I spot one of my friends from lunch and she invites me out to the place where she is house-sitting to watch some football. I’m not really a football person (or a major-league sports fan for that matter) but some socializing sounds like a great idea so I tell her to find me before she heads out.

In the kitchen I try my hand at a tofu-veggie stir fry and discover that while it’s not that bad I really would rather have a steak and a potato. Oh well. At least I gave it a shot.

After dinner I meet up with my friend and another guy and we caravan out to the house. It’s a small place with a relaxed sitting room, cable and grill. Another guy meets us out there and the four of us get started on beer and brats while the Packers and Broncos duke it out on the TV. The two boys have brought their guitars and pick and pry at lyrics and chords while my friend and I gossip and discuss safe bear camping techniques (it’s just that kind of crowd). Before long the boys are jamming out and are doing a fairly good job at it, too. The boys only stop to grill, eat, drink, tell funny stories and yell at the TV.

With the smell of onions in the house, a beer in my hand and guitar music permeating the evening my friend and I start talking about our freak-outs and worries about what in the heck we’re supposed to do next. But instead of talking about the rest of our lives with tension, it’s more of a sensible conversation with not nearly as much anxiety as there was at lunch; they’re the same problems, but somehow smaller. At one point she looks over at the boys and says that on nights like these, life is okay for a minute. She’s right.

When the football game ends, guitar music dies down and all the brats have been eaten, I head into the pitch-black desert night and make my way back to town. Back in my little room I hit the mattress, close my eyes, and not a second later it’s Tuesday morning.

Coffee. Want, need, crave....it's all the same.

I'm so excited! I'm sitting in a real, authentic Pacific Northwest style coffee house. Thank GOD! The walls are black. The ceiling is tin. The floor is hardwood. The coffee is organic. The pastries were baked here this morning. They even have a stuffed black crow sitting on a shelf with a book of poetry. Don't you just love it? I do! It's about freaking time this town got a real life coffee house. They even have four different folk bands coming in tonight AND they're playing good Indie music on the speakers as I type this. And did I mention the free wifi? This is my new home.

And I can't help but feel just a tiny bit of extra joy in knowing that this used to be the Christian all Jesus rock all the time cafe. There is justice in this world.

Ahhhhh......now I'm going to throughly enjoy my coffee, my internet and my sanity.

Cheers!
NC

PS: To further demonstrate my elation, here is the conversation I had with Jackie while writing this:

14:10] Jackie: hi

[14:10] Chillie625: HI!

[14:10] Chillie625: I'm in a real coffee house!

[14:11] Jackie: ooh! where?

[14:11] Chillie625: It just opened this morning

[14:11] Jackie: haha

[14:11] Chillie625: I'm drinking a real cappuccino!

[14:11] Jackie: in Lander??

[14:11] Chillie625: I'm using free wifi!

[14:11] Jackie: wow :)

[14:11] Chillie625: I KNOW!

[14:11] Jackie: welcome back to the 21st century

[14:11] Chillie625: I'm so happy that I'm blogging about it

[14:11] Jackie: :-D

[14:11] Jackie: that's great

[14:11] Chillie625: NO SHIT

[14:11] Chillie625: I'm actually sitting here alone and smiling

[14:11] Chillie625: God bless coffee

[14:11] Jackie: yeah they actually had an awesome little coffee place in Fairfield, but I think it's since gone out of business

[14:11] Chillie625: and God bless the cute tattooed hippie couple that opened the joint

[14:12] Jackie: didn't have much seating or wi fi

[14:12] Jackie: haha

[14:12] Chillie625: They even painted the walls black

[14:12] Chillie625: I love them

[14:12] Jackie: yeah

[14:12] Jackie: nice!

[14:12] Chillie625: heheheheh

[14:12] Chillie625: so happy

[14:12] Jackie: just what your Jewlic heart desired

[14:12] Chillie625: so so so happy

[14:12] Chillie625: I know

[14:12] Jackie: :)

[14:12] Chillie625: I think I'm going to tear up

[14:12] Jackie: haha

Postcards

Hi everyone. This summer my editor started giving me prompts to help me practice my writing. I was going through them today and found one that I liked so I thought I'd toss it up here. The prompt was "write about postcards". I know it sounds boring but I did have fun with it. Enjoy!

Postcards are bizarre creatures. They are short, small and public. You can’t disclose your innermost thoughts and feelings on them due to both lack of writing space and the painful truth that they can and may be read by anyone, such as the postman, nosey neighbor, disgruntled partner etc....

Postcards are historically for sending cute little notes and one picture of a place you’re visiting back to loved ones at home. Of course they have also evolved to be used for wedding announcements, party invitations, dental appointment reminders, political campaign mailings and to announce the sale at the local chain store. But first they were used as personal correspondence; meant to share a bit of the experience and maybe even entice those left behind to join them. They’re supposed to be upbeat, because if you’re in a new location, shouldn’t you be happy about it?

Be concise, be clear, be friendly and be upbeat. It almost sounds like instructions from an overly cautious mother to her teenage daughter on her first day of high school. But is that really honest? True expression of the self isn’t always happy enough to feel unguarded and public about it, such as on a postcard. I suppose that some friendly, cheery cards are entirely honest (after all, there are legitimately happy people in this world) but what of those who choose to mask their true intentions? And if that is true, that postcards are friendly by nature but not always honest, then shouldn’t we consider all postcards as possible imposters, or liars altogether?

Most postcards, classically, sound something like this: “Dear Mom, Spring break in Florida is great! I have been having a great time on the beach, going to Disney Land and visiting the alligators at the petting zoo. I wish you were here! Love, Chuck.” But what if Chuck, who happens to be the school nerd, has no friends and secretly wishes for death (i.e. the alligator petting zoo), is actually honest on his postcard? “Dear Mom, Spring break sucks. I’m sunburned, bored, and some guy took my wallet so I have no money for food or soda. To make matters worse, I forgot my scalp cream and the heat is killing me. Can I come home early? Chuck.”
Who wants to read that? And who wants to risk having such a humiliating account of one’s Spring Break read in conjunction with a shiny picture of sunny, happy Florida? The two just don’t coincide.

Postcards are usually cheery because they force us to be cheery. Their existence is based on the representation of good times and happy travels. At the very least they force us to examine on paper the image we wish to project to others and to the world. And isn’t that something that we’re always going to be concerned about as human beings anyway? By that account, are we all just walking postcards?

The Next Move

Hi All,

I'm moving to Montana! I got an internship at a magazine and will be starting with them at the tail end of December. I'm totally excited to be heading that way this winter and will have to give out more details as soon as I get them.

Cheers,
Nicole

The Girl in Pearls

I wrote this one last month and have been debating whether or not to post it. But, for those of you who do read my blog, I thought I'd share. So here ya go...

The ghost of who I used to be has been nagging at me a lot lately. The girl who had an apartment, a cat, a car payment; the girl who wore suits, makeup and pearls. That girl. The one I was so glad to leave behind and say goodbye to is starting to protest her absence.

It’s strange to have her over my shoulder. I anticipated that she would be long gone, left behind in a pile of boxes, second hand furniture and moth balls all mixed together in a soupy mess in a storage unit. But she’s still here, bugging me, asking me when I’m going to come home and settle back into a ‘normal’ working life.

I suppose she’s on my mind because at half-way through my internship I am already thinking about my next career move. Right now I live in an old hotel that’s much like a dorm, work three jobs, wear blue jeans to work and listen to NPR. It’s almost like going back to college. In leaving that old life behind and starting over with an internship I have both digressed and moved forward. It’s a bizarre feeling.

Last week I had an interview for an internship with a publication. It was disappointing in every way. There wasn’t a single thing about it that I could use to gain experience. The worst part was that I had always admired the magazine so going to work there would have been a dream. But, it wasn’t anything I was looking for.

“You have to think about what you want your life to be like before you go back to school” my boss said to me. She’s right. I have to ask what I want life to look like and be like before I can consider my next move. I just didn’t expect to be thinking about my old life.

Somehow, that girl, the one soaked in perfume and peals is on my mind as a possibility; almost as a choice. When I was in my senior year of college I found myself trying to figure out what I wanted to do with my life through shoes. Which did I want to put on in the morning: high heels or hiking boots? I chose hiking boots but ended up in heels. I hate heels.

I think back to where I was a year ago today. I see myself hurrying into a large, black office building wearing a drab wool suit. My hair is barely past shoulder length and straight as a board. I’m wearing nylons even though I can’t stand them. I have a large black purse inside which I hide a cell phone, lip gloss, unpaid bills, a scarf and maybe a lunch of low-calorie flavor deprived food. I don’t like looking at me like this, but that’s how I looked. I have pictures to prove it.

It’s fall in Eugene so the air is crisp. The trees along the riverbanks are starting to turn orange and gold while the evergreen trees needles seem to be darkening in color. Pumpkins are on sale at the supermarket. It’s my favorite time of year. I even have a boyfriend and I’m starting to think there might be a future with him. Silly me. I always wonder that, though this time the guy is perfect, not a flaw about him other than that he snores very loudly, sweats profusely and is sometimes a bit too timid for my taste. Other than that, he’s perfect on paper. Life, a year ago today, was text book.

But then, with the coming of November it all fell apart again. And of course it did—that life wasn’t working for me. And neither was that identity.

That’s why I’m thinking of her without contempt—a year ago today I was happy. Not on the whole when I was living there, just for this one season in 2006. It was just for that one brief time that things were okay. Not great. Not what I always planned or wanted. Just okay. Comfortable. A quiet place to live, trails to go running on after work, a cat to snuggle with at night. For three months, it was okay. Then it all turned back to not being okay, clearly reminding me why I wanted out of that life to go do something bigger and better.

She was almost content. Stable. There were no ifs, maybes, choices or even possibilities for her. Of course I’m thinking of her—my life is the direct opposite of hers and is filled with uncertainty right now. This is a good thing and I am grateful for it. I guess it’s just nice to fantasize about stability every once in a while when things are uncertain.

Frenemies

I’ve been confused a lot lately. Well, I’m almost always confused (just ask Robin) but these days I’m more mixed up about the fundamentals rather than just the random every day.

I’ve been thinking a lot about mean people. Bullies, bitches and bad apples. Why are they here? What good purpose could they possibly serve? I know it’s almost too existential to tackle (I might as well ask what is the meaning of life) but somehow I feel the need to pound this one out. Or at least pick at one type of mean people: the frenemy.

Because this is a new addition to the English language it has yet to be found in Webster’s Dictionary. Instead you can find a variety of definitions online but essentially the easiest way to sum it up is to say that frenemies are the same as false friends. They are people who will always bring you down, are completely without redemption but are integral to your life or they are people that you have to be nice to (such as colleagues) even though you are at war. They’re a pretty complex group of people.

I know the concept of a frenemy is not new but the term certainly is, at least to me anyway. It’s kind of stunning to be able to put a name on what they are and helps to somehow understand the whole dynamic. Still, mean people who are friends? It’s somewhat of a contradiction in terms.

Like most people I would imagine, there are a few frenemies in my past. There was the girl who I was friendly with in college but when it came to class and grades we were clearly competing for the higher mark. For example, I would do well, and she would say something to cut me down. Then there are the people, though not many, who were my friends but every time I was with them I felt awful; criticism, snide remarks and subversive behavior took the place of where kind words, relaxed conversation and companionship should have been. I look back and find that moving on from them was much like procrastinating about taking out the trash. Before you know it the mess is overflowing and causing a stink and you wonder why you just didn’t do it sooner. I know that sounds harsh but it’s really how my brain looks at it.

However, I should point out people aren’t perfect. You could have a friend who is going through a rough time and for the moment they might ‘vent’ on you. Or you could simply have a friend in your life who is just a perpetually cranky person. The difference between a true friend who is just persnickety and a frenemy is found when cruelty rears its ugly head. Instead of dealing with the competition, poor attitudes or just plain cranky behavior this other person is intentionally causing you harm.

But, for me at least, the trash has been taken out and I’m certainly better for it. Life is good. Life is one giant joyful playground. And we’re not here all that long, so with all the wonderful things to do and fabulous people to meet, why on earth would we waste our time with people who are bad for us?

In the meantime, I will wish them well (really—I mean that) and move on.

Hiding Out

It’s interesting to me how people put up barriers between themselves and others. Some people will simply be reserved, quiet and reveal little about their personal lives. Others might avoid eye contact or cover their mouth when they smile. Some might even hunch down a little in their cubicles, hiding in their holes like prairie dogs, peeping over the edge only to investigate strange tidbits of conversations or the smell of food. Typically I’m not usually like this. I like talking to others and finding out what their lives are like. I like making that connection. People may reveal more about themselves if you share a bit of yourself with them first. Sure this openness has gotten me into trouble a few times, but hey, it’s who I am.

I like being an open and unguarded person. I say what’s on my mind, happily chat with others in the hallway and talk up customers at the restaurant where I work. But lately I’ve found myself retreating a bit and feeling the need to put some distance between myself and others. I’m not sure why. It could just be that I’ve had a lot on my mind and very little time outside of work to really mull all of it over. Strangely, I’ve been finding comfort hiding behind my glasses. I know…not really that much of a mask, but my thick black specs have been my method of separation lately.

I started wearing the glasses a couple weeks ago when my eyes were getting too dry for contacts. I think it might have been an allergy thing but when my eyes started to get a bit better I found myself reaching for the glasses as a matter of preference. There’s something about having my eyes barely concealed that makes it feel like I’ve stepped back a bit and put some distance between myself and the world. It’s nice, albeit slightly odd. At least I’m not walking around wearing sunglasses indoors. That’s when I would really start to worry.

By having taken this step back I’ve started to really notice how others establish their own barriers. It’s fascinating. I wonder how much of it is conscious and how much is just reflex that they’re not aware of. There is the one woman who is as prickly as they come. Everything about her tone of voice, lack of eye contact and physical distance that she keeps from everyone else screams for others to leave her alone yet it’s all done very subtle. There are also a few guys walking around who never remove their hats though with that I’m not sure if it’s a way to hide their eyes or their receding hairlines. And of course there’s a variety of hunched shoulders, furrowed brows, vigilant floor watching, lowered and unconfident voices and even some cocky strutting. I wonder if any or all of it is a means to separate and detach or if these traits are just characteristics of these people.

When I studied abroad I chose to travel alone. I had found that when being a solo traveler locals were more apt to approach me for a conversation or even a brief walk around town. A lot of the kids in my program couldn’t fathom traveling alone. They worried about getting lost, not having anyone to eat dinner with, or take their picture in front of some statue. I traveled alone almost all of the time when I was abroad and I never had any of these problems. In fact, I would venture to guess that I had better cultural experiences than they did. There was always someone to help me when I got lost, take my picture when necessary (and in the case of one group of Asian tourists, they insisted on being in the picture with me), and always someone to chat with. In Ireland people would see me sitting alone in a pub and immediately approach to find out who I was and why on earth I was all by myself. To them, being alone was just too strange. Didn’t I know it was unhealthy to eat alone?

Going alone actually meant being more surrounded by others. I was approached rather than being the one who initiated the conversation. I wonder if that’s a bit of what I’m doing now; stepping away and just allowing what I need to find me instead of me trying to find it. Sure, the glasses are really only a prop, but at least they’re reminding me to be quiet and still, to listen, watch and digest whatever comes my way