Load Sixteen Tons…
December 31, 2008
…and what do you get?
In this blog’s short history, I have spent quite a few posts describing a typical morning in the snug little zoo/asylum I call home. Five days a week, these zany mornings give way to their polar opposite, as I drive my battered car to the local sulfur mines for another drab day of tiresome menial labor that will soon be indistinguishable from the day before.
I park as far away as possible, both to delay the actual start of my work day and to keep the other miners from seeing my car. I am one of the few miners to own a car, and some of the other miners chaffed me for it when I first started. Pepe would only call me “rico” for about a month, and Yevgeny didn’t stop making jokes about it until I “accidentally” hit him with a spanner.
I trudge up to the gates and make sure to find my detachment. I am part of Drudge Detail 168. My detachment also has in it Pavel, Pepe and Yevgeny. Our overseer is Grigalt, but we mostly call him “boss” if we don’t want to get whipped. When we are on boring duty, Ilsa the mechanic usually runs the giant steam-borer for us. Boring duty is actually the most exciting duty – this is one of our favorite jokes.
I find my place with my detachment and we crowd into the cages with the other drudges assigned to our tunnel. It is a good tunnel, we rarely have trouble meeting the quota. After a minute or two, the big whistle blows like the sky is screaming at us, and the foreman slams all the cage doors. Then the cages start to go down into the ground. It is not so bad for me, because the cages go so slow you barely notice, but Pepe gets nervous. I try to tell him jokes to distract him. Pavel doesn’t like Pepe, he says that he is stealing jobs from us, but I like him because he doesn’t speak much English, so he is real quiet. Not like that bigmouth Yevgeny. I don’t like Yevgeny at all.
After a while, cages reach the bottom, and Grigalt is there to open the door for us (how does he get down here?) so we can start our shift.
Bookshelf 2008
December 30, 2008
Everybody knows that ‘Bekah is the true bookworm in our household (although Clementine is the most likely to actually eat books). Nevertheless, I plug along, polishing off a book every fortnight or so. I thought I’d list the tomes I have perused this annum and append a short comment to each entry so there is some sort of evaluative/recommendation element to the whole exercise. The list is in chronological order.
1. Gorky Park – Martin Cruz Smith / A well-crafted detective novel with an interesting setting (Soviet Russia).
2. A Farewell to Arms – Ernest Hemingway / I love Hemingway, and this earlier novel may be easier for non-fans to like, as he is still honing his prose down to the incredibly terse style for which he is famous. The story itself is as starkly masculine and brutal as you would expect.
3. 1916 – Morgan Llewelyn / At times I thought this book about the Easter Rising was better researched than it was written, but it stays entertaining while being informative, and what more can you ask from historical fiction?
4. War and Peace – Leonid Tolstoy / What a monster of a novel. If nothing else, Tolstoy was a master builder when it came to weaving together multiple stories to create a rich, layered narrative. Probably the best pure novelist I read this year. If you are planning on reading this, get an edition with good footnotes, and I would also recommend the translation by the Maudes: although I haven’t read any other translations of this novel, I did prefer their translation of Anna Karenina to the other version I read.
5. The Underdog – Joshua Davis / This is a very funny book about a scrawny everyman who decides to try his hand at some of the world’s most unusual sports in order to fulfill his lifelong aspiration of becoming a champion of something.
6. Captains Courageous – Rudyard Kipling / A great coming-of-age story set on a fishing boat. Recommended for fans of The Perfect Storm who wanted a happier ending.
7. The Savage Tales of Solomon Kane – Robert E. Howard / Pulp Fiction! Howard is better known for creating Conan the Barbarian, but his witchhunting puritan, Solomon Kane, is just as much fun to read.
8. Futureland – Walter Mosley / A collection of short stories set in the near future. Most entries are intriguing, and they gradually build up a very convincing world-of-tomorrow that I don’t want to live in.
9. Musashi – Eiji Yoshikawa / The classic version of Musashi’s life follows Japan’s most famous swordsman on his journey of self-perfection. Driven far more by fascinating characters and relationships than slashing swordfights, this novel has been called the Japanese Gone with the Wind, a comparison I found surprisingly apt.
10. Madame Bovary – Gustave Flaubert / This novel resonated strongly with me this year. Emma Bovary is certainly one of those literary characters who will stay with me for the rest of my life, as I perceive echoes of her struggles in some of my own darker moments.
11. Cryptonomicon – Neal Stephenson / This well-wrought novel follows the intertwined stories of a WWII cryptologist, a badass marine, and the cryptologist’s grandson, a computer programmer trying to establish a data haven. Probably the most exciting book about cryptology and codebreaking ever written.
12. Ivanhoe – Sir Walter Scott / Another version of the Robin Hood legend, wrapped in a tale of chivalry and romance between a knight and his lady (ladies, actually!).
13. Gates of Fire – Stephen Pressfield / This narrative of the famous Battle of Thermopylae provides both the authenticity of meticulous research and the gripping drama of good writing. Probably a better call than seeing 300.
14. The Phantom of the Opera – Gaston Leroux / Much more of a “monster-movie” feel to the original novel, in which the Phantom is nowhere near as sympathetic as in the recent stage and screen adaptations.
15. The Old Man and the Boy – Robert Ruark / Another fine story about growing up, this one set in the rural south during the first half of the 20th century. I guess my reading this year has taught me that the decline of hunting and fishing as occupations for boys in this country has just about killed off any chance they had of growing up right.
16. Look Homeward, Angel – Thomas Wolfe / Thomas (not to be confused with Tom) Wolfe is one of those blessed writers who craft prose like poetry. This book offers a penetrating look into the human soul, complete with all the weakness and wretchedness we know so well, but it also possesses such a keen eye for beauty that its world never becomes as crushingly depressing as Faulkner’s stuff.
17. The Sweet Science – A.J. Liebling / A.J. Liebling was a regular writer for The New Yorker, and he was every bit as polished and cosmopolitan as that implies. Luckily for me, he brought all of his culture and erudition with him when he visited the seamy world of boxing, a milieu in which he was just as comfortable.
18. The Lady of the Lake – Sir Walter Scott / This actually has nothing to do with Arthur’s “lady of the lake”, being instead a tale of inter-clan feuds in the Scottish highlands. A romance, in the older sense of that term.
19. Angels & Demons – Dan Brown / Just imagine The Da Vinci Code, but without the crackling pace that dragged you through the book at breakneck speed. This novel really exposed Dan Brown’s weak characterization and uninspired prose style to me.
20. The Trial - Franz Kafka / A convoluted novel about alienation from society. The sentiments in this book, horrifyingly prescient at the time it was written, are almost commonplace now, leaving little reason to read it unless you are looking for some gratuitous depression.
21. The Amber Room - Steve Berry / This thriller follows two fairly vanilla protagonists as they become entangled in a search for perhaps the world’s greatest lost treasure. The villains of the piece, a deadly pair of rival art thieves each trying to thwart the other as well as the bland heroes, are far more interesting, and make this book well worth the read.
22. Ragtime – E.L. Doctorow / A loose, jazzy narrative that transports the reader back a hundred years to a more vital America.
23. Wild Cards IV: Aces Abroad – Edited by George R.R. Martin / I love the Wild Cards books.
24. The Complete Sherlock Holmes, Volume I – Sir Arthur Conan Doyle / Probably a must read for any fan of detective fiction.
25. Wild Cards V: Down and Dirty - Edited by George R.R. Martin / Such a cool blend of alternate history and superheroes.
26. The Complete Sherlock Holmes, Volume II – Sir Arthur Conan Doyle / I’m right in the middle of this, it’s a pretty good time.
Life Going On
December 29, 2008
I guess the phase that comes after numb is the “getting info” phase. It is amazing how much better it feels to be facing a quantifiable problem…
Yesterday was pretty much a total success. ‘Bekah journeyed up to Estes to visit her mother, but the real important visit she had was with her father on the way up. They had a long talk about his diagnosis and general situation, and things don’t seem so bad. Merlyn’s doctor wins the “Best Bedside Manner” award for the phrase “most patients don’t die of Waldenstrom’s, they die with Waldenstrom’s” which suggests that it can be managed for quite a while. Also, Merlyn wins the “John Wayne Memorial One Tough SOB” award for his endurance of bone marrow aspiration, a medical procedure which most regard as excruciatingly painful, but which Merlyn described as hurting “no worse than being kicked in the mouth by a mule”.
The visit to rehab went more or less smoothly, and showed that Phoebe has progressed to the little-known Step Zero of the Twelve Steps: she has stopped trying to escape from the rehab center.
After the group returned, I went over to the house and we spent a nice evening together playing Trivial Pursuit with Abbey and Mahria. Modesty prevents me from naming the winner of the game, which was very competitive, as four smart cookies were playing.
Anyhow, it is Monday, so I will obey my previously-stated intention, and conclude with a preview of this coming week’s posts. I have decided to start writing about books/literature one day a week, so that my education may not prove entirely wasted, but I will try to avoid the shrill proselytizing that marked much of my writing about books during my old Screamsheet days.
Tuesday – My Year in Books
Wednesday – A Day in the Sulfur Mines
Thursday – New Year’s Day
Friday – Lines I Wish I’d Written
Saturday – I Didn’t Forget You, Playlist
Sunday – Miscellany
Events have shown that this will just be a provisional schedule, and may be overthrown at any moment by life happening while I’m making other plans, as it were.
Scattershot
December 28, 2008
Stayed up too late last night. Lack focus this morning.
I think I’ve entered the “numbness” phase concerning all this recent bad news. I want to be helpful or act to better the situation, but at the same time my mind can’t entirely come to grips with it yet, and is trying to avoid thinking about it. This is hard.
‘Bekah has her blog up and running, for those of you who are into birds and birding. Her peerless voracity as a reader is well known, now she has a place to display her skill as a writer.
Have continued to delve into Doyle’s later Sherlock Holmes stories, polishing off about twelve stories and digging into the final Holmes novel. The Valley of Fear.
Downloaded a ton of music to make Christmas presents (all legally, of course; unlike most of my friends, I remain reluctant to pirate music). This has had the unforeseen consequence of vastly enlarging my own personal music library, which I am enjoying mightily. It will be hard not to give everyone music for Christmas next year! Of course, now that I’ve said that, I will feel too guilty to actually carry out my selfish plan…
I received a bit of money for Christmas, which I am considering investing in a cheap mp3 player and one of those docking station/speaker gadgets for it so I can have something besides country music to listen to out in the shop The only station our ancient radio gets is 99.1, and while I enjoy some country music, too often contemporary country boils down to the same four messages: he/she done me wrong, pickup trucks are good, Jesus is good, family is good. I don’t think any of that stuff is objectionable, I just need a little bit more variety. I think working on cars would be a lot more fun if there was Springsteen playing, but I don’t want to be one of those little creeps you see shuffling around with their ipods plugged into their heads all the time.
‘Bekah is heading up for her first visit with her mother today. She is nervous. I would be too. From what she says, her mom was not one of those people who acknowledged her problem and went into rehab willingly. I pray that this visit goes well, and that the next few weeks in rehab, if they do nothing else, can move Phoebe to accept the need for change in her life. She has a great team waiting to help her up the mountain, but they shouldn’t have to haul dead weight, much less someone who is clawing and scratching at them…
Workin’ for the Man
December 27, 2008
The other day a young couple came in to buy a car. They seemed like nice folks, but since my job generally doesn’t involve interacting with people, I didn’t really spare them much thought before returning to the menial tasks which more regularly occupy my time. Shortly thereafter I was called into the office by my father, who explained that he had a job for me. It seems that the couple had been interested in the car for a while, and had even taken it to their own mechanic to be looked over. This worthy fellow, anxious to earn his fee, had alleged a slight pulsation in the brakes which “could be a cause for concern”. The couple had therefore agreed to purchase the car on the condition that it had a quickie brake-job beforehand.
Accordingly, I was to be dispatched to bring the car to our mechanic, who would attend to it while the couple sat down with my dad to do the paperwork. Then Pop came up with the bright idea that one of the couple could follow me over in their car and bring me back to the dealership after I had dropped the car off, ensuring that I could be toiling away in the back instead of lounging around the mechanic’s shop and shooting dice with some of the wrenches (in the summer we stand out front and wolf-whistle at pretty girls that pass by, but it’s too cold for that in December).
“My husband will be glad to go,” said the wife, without pausing to consult the fellow in question. As we headed out the door, I thought “Huh, his wife’s totally the boss of him – just like my marriage.”
Once we were outside, he said “My car is kind of trashed-out, I hope that’s alright.”
“It’s okay,” I told him, “you should see the inside of my car!”
Anyhow, we hopped in our respective vehicles, and he followed me over to the mechanic without incident. After I went in and settled matters, I came out and headed over to the guy’s car. As I approached, I noticed a small terrier was riding shotgun. Since it wasn’t restrained in any way, I carefully edged into the car to keep it from bolting, and soon wound up with it sitting on my lap.
Again, I was struck by our similarities: the dog was apparently allowed to ride around in the car without being buckled-in or harnessed, just like Clem, the spare tire around her middle indicated that she was spoiled like Clem (albeit in a different way, Clem would never let herself get out of fighting trim, but she accepts a constant stream of toys), and she was a friendly little terrier who snuggled right into me after licking my face, just like Clem (although she did not go for the nostrils, as Clem is wont to do).
On the way back I noticed that he was listening to one of the radio stations I have been trying out as alternatives to The Mountain. I remember feeling vaguely comforted by the thought that there was this other guy, same age and demographics as myself, with a pretty wife who bossed him, but whom he obviously adored, and a little dog who probably also had him trained pretty well, driving around in a trashed-out car listening to the same radio station as me. It kind of validated my lifestyle, y’know?
Once we returned I had no additional contact with the couple until I was called in to clean up the mess their little dog had made on the floor. “She gets so excited in new places,” the husband explained sheepishly - Yet another parallel between our pets.
Once the couple had left, Dad came back into the shop to get some lunch out of the fridge, and we wound up talking about the deal.
“So, they buy that Explorer?” I said, flipping up the hood of what Pop calls “the Goddam Mercedes”, a trade-in that has turned out to have more than its share of maintenance problems.
“Yep,” he replied, washing his hands in the sink.
“We make out okay?” I asked as I went to work on the various screws and struts that hold in the battery, which was pronounced deceased earlier in the day.
“We sure did,” said Dad, then, hit by a residual pang of used-car-salesman guilt, he added ” ‘course, that’s cause we bought that car at such a good price: we still gave them a good deal on it, too.”
I attached my lifting-strap to the battery and heaved it up out of the engine before replying. “Well, that’s good,” I said, “because they seemed like nice people.” I always take Dad at his word when he reassures me that we haven’t taken advantage of someone, it makes life easier.
“Well, she was pretty nice,” Pop said, “but he was kind of weird.”
I barked a short laugh as I set down the dead battery and disengaged my strap. “I thought he and I had a lot in common.”
“I didn’t mean weird,” my Dad said instantly, “I meant quiet.” I got a pretty good chuckle out of that as I hooked my strap onto the new battery and lifted it up…
Christmas Day
December 26, 2008
Christmas has come and gone once more, this time in the midst of a torrent of wrack and ruin. Still, the day itself provided some uplifting moments which were badly needed to keep up morale.
Speaking of morale, I’d like to digress for a moment. The other day I posted about Merlyn’s diagnosis. I had been putting on a brave face for ‘Bekah, and hadn’t really let myself react to the news emotionally until I had slipped away the next morning and was sitting in front of the computer. I had myself a good cry as I wrote that post, and quite a bit of emotion got into it. Now, I am unlikely to be mistaken for an old-school man’s man, but I was raised to keep my feelings to myself in true tough-guy fashion, and I am a little ashamed that I had my vulnerable moment on the internet in front of literally thousa…well, hundr…umm… several people (if my traffic stats are to be believed). Some good has come of it, however. Someone I have never met before came to the site, I can only assume by flagging or searching for “Waldenstrom’s”, and left a comment on that post which did a lot to move me past the “shock and despair” phase of the process. Thanks again, Fionna.
‘Bekah and I began our Christmas Day by finishing our advent calendar, a tradition to which she introduced me during our first holiday season together. Then it was time for me to finish Merlyn’s belated birthday present, on which I went a little crazy to make up for being about half a year late with it. Then it was over to the Paulson house for Christmas Morning.
Apart from her other qualities, Rebekah’s mother is one of those moms who have a mania about Christmas going according to some private plan, which makes things tense around the Tree at the best of times. This led to the bizarre situation of Christmas being more relaxed in many ways with Phoebe absent in a rehabilitation center. There are few people more low-key, genuine, and just plain good than ‘Bekah, Merlyn, and Abbey, and we had a pretty nice time. It was kind of a bittersweet glimpse of the mellow Christmases that might have been (or might yet be?).
The general levity of the situation was increased considerably by your humble scribe, who was in rare form. For example, Rebekah received a pair of seriously effective binoculars as a gift. Now, I have never cared much for binoculars, on the principle that anything too far away to see should probably just be left alone. But ‘Bekah seemed to get a big kick out of looking through them, so I asked if I might take a gander as well. I took my glasses off before she handed me the binoculars, and when I held them up to my eyes they improved my vision some, but nothing like ‘Bekah had experienced, so I said something non-committal and handed them back. As ‘Bekah continued to describe what she could see through them, however, I began to have the horrible suspicion that I had looked through the wrong end of the damn things. I asked for another chance, checked carefully before I took my specs off this time, and when I put the binocs to my eyes I was astounded at the difference. I admitted my mistake to general amusement, but I wasn’t done there.
A short while later I saw a flash of reddish fur among the shrubbery in the back yard. Knowing that the Paulson yard is haunted by foxes, I pointed and exclaimed “Ooh, fox!” When we all turned to look, however, it quickly became apparent that what I had seen was the reddish tail of a big brown squirrel. I felt like one of ‘Bekah’s students, holding up a triangular block and proudly saying “Circle!”
Ah, well, as we burros say: you can’t be a donkey without making an ass of yourself sometimes.
After Christmas at the Paulson’s we headed over to Greeley for the Ross-Lee Christmas. This was, I think, a tremendous success. It didn’t hurt that Mom and Bryan masterminded the whole thing, and that they are so good at staging get-togethers that they could easily make a profession of it. It was like being inside a giant group hug for four hours (metaphorically, of course; actual group hugs tend to be really awkward and break up as soon as they are allowed to). I never would have thought, as an angsty, rebellious adolescent, that some day hanging out with my family this way would be my idea of utter bliss.
What an exhausting week. In Hell on Tuesday, Heaven on Thursday, and back to the sulfur mines three-quarters of an hour from now…
Merry Christmas to All…
December 26, 2008
…and to all a good night.
Hellbound Train
December 24, 2008
I wrote a preview of coming posts yesterday, and I’m going to break it today. Please forgive me; in the interim the sun has fallen out of the sky.
I recently declined to treat the question “What is Love?” in any kind of serious way, but today I am going to answer the question “What is Hell?”. Hell is when the thing you fear most in the entire world actually happens to you and is even worse than you imagined.
The thing ‘Bekah fears most in the world is losing her father. Last night we learned that he has been diagnosed with Waldenstrom’s Macroglobulinemia, a rare and exceedingly difficult to treat cancer, which is the worst thing that I have ever heard in my life.
It is hard to see a loved one experience the kind of keening, heartbreaking grief that has entered ‘Bekah’s life so suddenly, and this would be an awful situation even if I disliked Merlyn, but that’s not the case. I often refer to him as the best man I know, and whenever ‘Bekah and I talk about him, whether ‘Bekah is telling stories of the mischief he managed growing up in Minnesota, or reminiscing about her own childhood (especially the times when she failed and transgressed: these are the true tests), or even just describing some of his quirks (his affection for the movie Tremors for example, or his long-running feud with CSU’s parking authority), the conversation typically concludes with the following exchange:
“Rebekah?”
“Yes?”
“I love your father.”
He’s basically my hero. For a while now I’ve felt like I’ve been letting him down by not attaining the kind of career which would mean more material security for his darling daughter, but I try to make it up to him when I can. Early on in this blog’s existence it became obvious that I was writing it primarily for Merlyn. When ‘Bekah tells me “Good post today, it made papa chuckle” my day is made.
Last night ‘Bekah asked me “How are we ever going to live through this?”
All I could think about was how, when a big ship goes under, it generates a suction that can pull swimmers and lifeboats down with it. How great is that pull, I wondered, when a mountain falls into the sea?
“One day at a time” was what I finally said.
Coming Attractions
December 23, 2008
I’ve decided to write a preview of what I will be posting about each week. I did that a while back, and I noticed that it helped me focus a little bit more, so I’m going to give it a try from now on. I meant for it to be every Monday, but yesterday it seemed like ‘Bekah’s brush with the law took precedence.
So here goes:
Tomorrow: Christmas eve! I’d like to post a story about my father and I at work. It cracks me up, but who knows if anyone else will find it funny…
Christmas: I’ll probably cop out and just write “Merry Christmas” or something…
Friday: I’ll still be excited from seeing all my loved ones, so I’ll just relive Christmas.
Saturday: It’s been a while since I’ve done a “Day in the Life” piece, so I’ll pick it up with an account of life in the sulfur mines.
Sunday: Maybe its time for a “Year in Review” piece. Right now I’m thinking of trying to keep this upbeat, but I guarantee nothing: it’s been a rough year in some respects.
A Grudging Retraction
December 22, 2008
Yesterday morning was the appointed time for a major cataclysm in Clan Paulson. Rebekah, who had decided not to attend (she is generally averse to earth-shaking changes), was entrusted with dog-sitting duty for the duration of the affair. Of course she was late leaving the house and, not wanting to let down the team, was speeding towards her destination a good ten miles an hour over the limit when, for the first time in her life, she experienced firsthand the vigilance of our local constabulary (A group I typically refer to as Los Puercos).
To make matters worse, ‘Bekah was not only doing 40 in a 30, she was on her cell phone, not wearing her seat belt, her plates had expired a few months back, and the driver’s side mirror was dangling by a cord after some careless asshole had clipped it with his car one day while backing out of the driveway. She was pretty much a ticket-writer’s dream.
Well, ‘Bekah held it together reasonably well, I guess, until he asked why she was in such a hurry. Then she more or less disintegrated. When he heard what was going on, the officer did something that I have trouble fitting into my worldview. He looked, I can only imagine wistfully, at that $170 ticket…and he let her go.
As a gesture of respect and appreciation, I have decided to remove the two shots I have taken at policemen in this space, and to take it easier on them in the future, now that I know there is one good one.
Ironically, this isn’t an unprecedented predicament for me, as I was forced to offer a similarly grudging respect to psychiatrists after witnessing the vast amount of good that Dr. Watanabe has done for Rebekah. As far as I’m concerned, these two guys are carrying the entire good name of their respective professions.
P.S. I guess being late for an intervention is about as good an excuse as you can have, though, especially a few days before Christmas.
