2 Hockey Stories

One year I had missed most of the games played by my older boy's team. At the end of year banquet, which I missed as well, the other moms put a picture of me on a milk carton. 

By the time the younger boy (Hunter) was playing, I was so absent that one of the mothers who ran into me somewhere said, "My son asked me if Hunter HAS a mother.  And he was serious." I did show up for a few games. At one tournament, the team was down by 3 points. I had a job at home and got up to leave. The other parents were astonished that I would leave and mentioned that it was not very supportive. I told them that I had a premonition that if I left, there would be a miracle, and they would win and my kid would score the winning goal and then I would be sad that I missed it. Nobody expected them to come from behind. But they did - and my kid did get the assist on the winning goal. So everyone was happy and they made it into the championship. So I showed up. EVERY SINGLE PARENT asked me - if they are down, will you leave? I said - I had not decided. They were down by a point or two and everyone started asking me if I was going to leave. I shrugged. I didn't have any premonition...so, I sat there...and they lost. My son was peeved. Probably everyone was peeved...after that, the team and the parents wouldn't let me come to any of the games....bizarre. Luckily, I had plenty of other things to do - and my son turned out just fine. 

Hunter's Summer Job

When my son, Hunter, was in college, he had a summer job working for an event planner. I had worked with her for several years and Hunter had been a nanny for her boys one summer while he was in high school. She is a creative genius - seriously, she is the most creative person I have ever met - but working with her can be challenging on a few different levels.

When Hunter agreed to the job, I knew there would be chaos and I decided to keep a little diary. I'm sure it was not his idea to work for Saley. At the time, he had worked for Simon (at a restaurant) but he complained about that job and had expressed an interest in doing something else. I just happened to ask Saley if she was looking for summer help since I knew she did a lot of weddings every summer. She was very happy at the prospect of having Hunter for the summer.

Several years later, I ran across my *diary* and was really happy that I had taken notes. Nobody can remember this many stories.

Enjoy.

At the time, Hunter was living at home and I was working out of a studio that was two doors from our house. This explains some of the calling - when he is at home. When he calls his grandmother, trying to find me, it is because she lived in the duplex where I had my studio and often knew how to find me if I had gone out.

Day one: Monday:
Hunter calls me at the crack of 9 am and asks how he should go about starting his job with Saley.
He has contacted her previously by email and she says he can work for her this summer.
I suggest that he can try one of two options:
1. He can call her and make an appointment to see her.
   A. When he arrives for the appointment, she may or may not be there.
2. He can just drop in
  A. She may or may not be there.
      i. If she is there, she may be in a meeting and he may have to wait to see her.

Later in the afternoon, he calls his grandmother, Wilma, trying to find me and has questions to answer on an application.
Wilma tracks me down, I call him to see what kind of application, and it is for Saley, so it sounds like he must apply for the job with her.
I hope he will still be able to work for her.
He calls me as he is walking into JBenjamin's and I caution him to not let Simon suck him into working.
He says he will be firm that he is not available for the summer.

Day two: Tuesday:
I am at the studio at 7:30 am and he calls to ask what the best way is to get to Saley's warehouse.
I ask if he has ever been there before and he says, "Yes, I worked yesterday."
I wonder why he has to fill out an application after he has started work, but figure, that is just Saley's way.
I tell him to take 63rd to get to the warehouse.
He calls at 8 am and is perturbed because nobody is there.
He wonders if he had the time wrong.
I ask what kind of work he was going to do, he says tear down.
I suggest that tear down is usually something that happens on the site of an event, not at the warehouse.
He says yes, he knows that and he had tried to get clear times and locations from her.
I remind him that he needs to ask her everything twelve times and then call back at midnight to see if she has changed her plans.
He says when he walked in to JBenjamin (on Monday), Simon handed him a check for $250 and told him that he expected Hunter to work every night that week because Simon and Holly were on their way to Napa Valley to drink wine.
I sigh.
He calls at 10 am. Saley wants to know what kind of glue will stick glass to glass. I tell him.
He calls at 11 am. He can't find Colonial Cleaners. I give him directions.
I see him at 5pm as he cruises through, to take a shower and get dressed to go to JBenjamin's.
He says he arranged flowers.
He said there are 10 weddings next weekend.
He said that the work time and place was 8 am at the warehouse, but everyone else was late.

Day three: Wednesday:
He calls me at 9 am and tells me he knows it is not my job to wake him up, but he was supposed to be at work at 9 am.
I tell him it will be no problem, since they are always late.
I run some granola bars over for him to eat while he drives to work. (My studio was two houses from the house. Hunter was living at home that summer - it was probably between sophomore and junior year.
He calls at 10 am needing me to find 505 5th Street in downtown DM.
I find it and give him directions.
He calls at 10:30 am saying he was supposed to MapQuest an address at the warehouse before he left on the deliveries but he forgot, so he would like me to MapQuest an address in WDM, which I do.
He cruises in at 4 pm to get ready for JBenjamin.
He says Saley barked once when he was asking questions.
He got down to the shop to pick up things and did not recall exactly what he was supposed to pick up.
The lady working there cautioned him that Saley is a nazi about people knowing what they are supposed to pick up.
He said...yes, he knows.
She said, "Look, I know it is your first week. You should know that I have seen her make drivers cry."
He laughed and said that he had known her for years, so he was aware of some of the challenges.
He expressed how tired he was having stayed out until 2:30am
I suggested that he might want to get some sleep if he is working both days and nights.

I'm thinking I need to get him a Garmon. (During the summer of 2010 or 2011 - most people did not have smart phones. Garmons were a device installed in your car for getting directions.)

Day 4: Thursday:
It seemed like a quiet day. I did not hear from him at all. Then at about 5 pm, he calls and says he was doing some spray painting and had paint all over his hands and face and wondered how to get it off. Luckily, I was at the duplex and could run over and help him. Luckily, I have the ServiceMaster kit for removal of pretty much everything. His main story of the day was that Saley had had a meltdown when nobody could find any of the tools they use for cutting the thick flower stems. She told them they were all going to have to go buy a pair of their own so that they would appreciate the value of them and stop losing them. She also wants them to learn the names of the flowers. I think he said she expects them to learn 10 a day or 10 a week...or something like that. He was pretty sure he would not be learning any names of flowers. He said *We worked on hibiscus today? No, that doesn't sound right.*  I said *Hydrangeas?* He said yes...

Day 5: Friday:

I did not hear from him all day. He mentioned that after a set up at Prairie Meadows, Saley invited three of them to go to the opening of a new restaurant. They had delivered flowers earlier in the day. So they went and had wonderful food. Then after a couple glasses of wine, it was suggested they all go to the Royal Mile. He said Saley had her credit card out and was buying drinks for everyone. Jordan Grund came by and said hello. He thought Saley would remember him, but she didn’t. Hunter had a great story about when they were working together and Jordan came back at 11 for tear down and was drunk and knocking over whole stacks of plates <sigh>

Hunter had learned the name of a flower. I can’t remember what it was. Halcion, or something like that.

Day 6: Saturday:

He left early saying that she only asked him to come in at 9, but he had told John that he would come in early to help John. I did not hear from him all day, he got home around 4 and said that he did not have to go back for tear down. He had a few more details on how crazy it is to go out in the evening with Saley on Friday. At the opening of the new restaurant, which is in the Savery, there were some people chatting and they kept asking an Asian girl to do her impression of Saley. She did not want to do it in front of Saley, but was finally persuaded. In the sing-songy Asian accent, she said, “So…you do not like my flowers? Well you can f*** yourself. I am Saley.” Everyone laughed. Later, John told Saley that he thought it was mean to make fun of her. Saley did not think it was mean. Hunter said that maybe they were just making fun of her accent, to which she replied, “Do I have an accent?” I assured Hunter that she knows she is a diva and likes it very much when people recognize that and she can laugh about it.

Then, he tells about showing up early Sat am to help John and John does not show up, so Saley sends Hunter and  Elia to set up pipe and drape at Jester Park. Elia is a really nice girl who runs the warehouse and is very good. She does not usually go out on set up. So, they get out there and find that there are bolts missing to hold everything together. Hunter calls Saley to see what to do and Saley says, “Use your college education and figure something out.” So, Hunter and Elia figure it out. The woman who runs the place was freaking out and screaming her head off. But, Hunter said he handled it and he thought they had it looking pretty good.

Later, he brought lunch for Saley and she said, “That was really not fair of me to send you and Elia out to do the Jester Park job, but, I had no choice.” Up until then, Hunter had not asked her how much she was paying. She brought it up and said that she would pay him $10 per hour for the first month and give him a review and raise after each month. So he was happy with that. Later he asked John how much people make and she is not paying anyone more than $9 an hour. Most people get $8. So, Hunter thinks helping her out at Jester was a good move.

She did not have him come back for tear down at 11 pm. So he stayed out until 4 am. Apparently John is bad about sleeping in and being late. John has worked for over a year. But, Hunter has pretty much bumped him. I imagine John has lost interest in being a good worker. She has three guys that do tear down. That will be nice for Hunter if he does not have to go back for tear down.

Day 7: Sunday:

He slept until 2 pm on Sunday and then took off for Winona. He had to move the rest of his stuff out of the house and into storage. I told him it was Saley’s birthday on Monday and he thought it would be funny to order flowers from Boesen’s. He had asked her what her favorite flower was and she said while she does not have a favorite, she hates carnations.

Day 8: Monday:

For her birthday, I picked her a bouquet of lilies-of-the-valley and took her some chocolate. I arrived at 10 am and she was so happy to be remembered on her birthday. I asked if she needed any help, since Hunter was out of town. She said she thought she was OK. Then she told me that she felt really bad about what she did to him at the Jester Park job. I asked if the bride was happy and she said yes…the bride is always happy. It is the lady that runs the place that is very difficult.

I told her that Hunter was going to call Boesen’s and order her a bouquet of carnations. She laughed.

I got back to my studio about 11 and the phone rang. It was Saley thanking me for the flowers. Then she asked me if I could work this weekend. She has the 10 weddings this weekend and wants me to *manage* a crew. Quality control, checking, straightening. So…this will be interesting. Hunter has to take his statistics course, so I think I should be on call to help. He has to do the homework and pass that class. So, it will be good for me to do a little helping to remember what all there is to do.

Day 9: Tuesday:

Keep in mind, he left on Sunday to get back to his house in Winona to finish removing his stuff and to clean it on Monday so he could return to DSM on Tuesday and work on Wednesday. At 2 pm he calls and says he has not made much progress, so I should not expect him back until late on Tuesday. He calls at 9 pm wondering if I have made anything for supper. He is still an hour and a half away, but will be hungry when he gets home. I assure him he should eat at a restaurant.

Day 10: Wednesday:

He wakes up and I fix him breakfast. I say, “So, you had trouble getting the house emptied out and cleaned? What were they doing?”  His reply, “Mostly lying down.” He went on to say that not everything got done and he doubted it would. I refrained from making a comment about the joys of trying to get guys motivated.  About 11 am, he called asking where Vet’s Auditorium was. He also wondered how to handle another errand. She had asked him to pick up deposit slips for West Bank and also USBank. But, she had given him a USBank check to deposit into WestBank. So, he was really confused. I assured him to break the task into three parts and not lump it all together.

Goodness. There were a lot of calls today, too many to even count. He had a long list of errands. Flowers to deliver to funeral homes that he could not find. He was sent to get potted hydrangeas only to discover that Saley wanted the hot house kind, with blooms, not the garden shrub kind. He had to return what he had picked up, then try to find the hothouse kind. Eventually, I tracked down Tom Boesen who explained that the hothouse kind have been gone since Easter. He was also sent to get candy out of some kind of *machine* in the bread dept of HyVee. He decided to just buy bags of candy and Saley was disappointed. At one point, I was in Dahl’s, asking to borrow a phone book to look up numbers for him. I must remember to give him the number for directory assistance. [Again- this was before smart phones - when looking up numbers was not as easy as it is these days] If this is the Wed before 10 weddings, I can only imagine 

what Thur and Fri will be like.

Day 11: Thursday:
I notice that the back end of Hunter’s pickup truck is full of beer cans. I ask if he thinks he is going to turn them in for a nickel apiece. He says yes. I tell him you can’t get a nickel unless they were purchased in Iowa and have the stamp. He moans. Obviously he had brought them from the house where he lived in Winona.

10 am Saley’s assistant calls me to see if I can exchange the candy. I go pick it up, return it, buy new candy and deliver it to the warehouse. It takes a couple hours. Saley is happy. At her studio I run into a calligrapher friend of mine who has come across town on his lunch hour to write one word for her. He can’t figure out why she did not ask me to do it. Long story for another time. I tell Saley to call me if there are any other jobs or errands that come up.

2 pm she calls and says that Hunter forgot to buy floaties. I ask her what floaties are. The inflatable rings that little kids wear around their waists in a pool. She needs 3, no wait, make that 6. I find them at WalMart and deliver them. She is happy.

Later Hunter calls asking if the rust building is the Ruan Center and if the DM Club is at the top. I honestly can’t remember if that club is still open. He is peeved that I went out and returned all the candy and then repurchased almost all the same stuff. I assured him that what I selected was different. He said that what he had selected was more what people would actually like. I told him that he was probably right, but that she could care less what people LIKED. She only cared what color it was. He said he understood.

He called at about 6 pm swearing a blue streak because she had sent him to deposit checks in the USBank. He could not figure out how or where to do that. I tried to give directions to where it might be (having no idea which bank is USBank. Eventually he found it. He apologized for swearing.

Day 12: Friday:

He worked from 8 until 1 in the morning. He said it was hectic. At 1 am he had to give Saley a ride back to her car at the warehouse. She said she would go home and have a glass of wine, watch a little TV, take a shower and be back at the warehouse at 3 am to prepare for the day. She says sleep is overrated.

She also mentioned that her husband and boys always want to go camping. She said she had no interest in camping because you have to lug stuff. She said she might consider camping if they took along people to lug her stuff. Like with the flowers. Everybody lugs the stuff, she just does the *pretty part.*

Earlier Friday evening, she was supposed to leave at 6:30 to go to her older son’s high school graduation. By 7 she had still not left. Her husband was texting her as they got through each letter of the alphabet’s last names. A – B – C – Hunter thought she probably got there for the L people and then left and came back to work.

Sometime Friday afternoon, he called asking what the quickest way from Jordan Creek to the warehouse was. I suggested one way. He thought there was a different way. I couldn’t think what it would be. After he hung up, I looked at a map and found it. I should probably carry a map with me at all times. Or get that Garmon.

Day 13: Saturday:
He got up at 8:30, had some breakfast, grabbed his swimsuit so he could hop in the pool to place the floaties that were covered with flowers. About 1pm, he came crashing through the house, looking for a towel. He thoughtfully asked for one that would not matter if he lost it along the way.

Sat and Sunday were a blur.

He worked 17 hours on Sat. Sunday, he was up again at 7:30 am. Saley texted him to go straight to Glen Oaks for tear down. He got home about 9 pm and went directly to sleep. He woke up about noon on Monday and had the day off.

Highlights from Sat and Sun include:

She offered to take everyone out for dinner after all the events were set up on Sat and while waiting for tear down. Some people just went home to rest. Hunter enjoyed his dinner at Mango. Saley bought a bottle of wine, but nobody else wanted wine so she drank the whole thing herself. Later, in the car, she was going to put her credit card in the glove box. Hunter and John told her “No, you will never remember you put it there.” But she did. Later, on Sunday, when she went crazy looking for it, they reminded her where it was and that they had warned her. 

On Monday she kept calling Hunter hoping he had it. He at least recalled the last time he saw two other guys using it to fill the gas tank on the truck. He had an interesting story of the guy who has been working for a check at the end of each day wishing he could switch to the every two weeks method where she pays withholding. He said his parole officer wants him to have a real job. Hunter coached him on how to approach Saley. It looked like it was going to work out. I remarked that it is an interesting mix of Saley, the college kid, the guys on parole), the gay guys, the random girls, the older  types that run the front office, the high school kid. Hunter agreed, it was an interesting melting pot. She thought that the ten events had been *flawless* in that they had been able to remedy all the inevitable flaws. He had a lot to say about how clients should not hold the event planner responsible for the weather. After setting up a very nice graduation party for  Max Holmes’ daughter around their pool, it had rained and when they went to tear down, Max was very grumpy about how the party had been a *disaster.* At some point, Hunter had been sent to buy a shop vac that would blow up balloons. Somehow, the one he got was not the right one, but then, nobody had told him what to get. We had a conversation about how to establish what they want before you even head out the door.

Week Three: Tuesday: (since Monday was a holiday)
Quiet day. He made it to 2 pm before he called, needing to know where Christiani’s was. He’d been there before, and knew it was somewhere on the south side, just did not know if it was south east or south west.

Wed

Had the day off.

Thur was the only guy scheduled. Spent the whole day on errands. Did not get everything done. He wanted to stay late, but Saley said, no, she was tired and wanted to come back at 7 am. He called once, wondering if DM Golf and CC was on 50^th in WDM, no it is on the other side of the freeway. He apologized after he figured it out. He’s been there a bunch of times. No problem.

FRIDAY _ Called to ask if there was some trick to getting a padlock closed. I asked if it was a combination or a key. There was swearing. Then he said he got it. Apologized. It’s 9:44 am. They have an extra truck to load today, so that means more than one event. I asked him why he does not know how many events there are. He said he tries to ask Saley, but she just barks that he should be paying attention to what he is doing and not ask questions. It never occurs to her that workers who have some idea about what is going on might do a better job. Why does keeping everyone in the dark seem like a good idea?

I had to drop him off this morning because Hunter’s uncle Don needed to borrow Hunter's truck. I was there when Saley arrived. She came over and told me she needs to pay me for my time last week doing errands. I told her to add my hours on to Hunter’s payslip.

I asked if Hunter was doing a good job and she said she was very happy with how careful he is with details. She beamed. So, I guess they are getting along.

Sat and Sun he worked crazy hours. He was invited to her son’s graduation party and she asked him to help bring some supplies. When he arrived, she was mad as a hornet at her sister who was late with the food. The party was at the family restaurant. Then, she discovered that her sister had not hired anyone to serve and tend bar at the event, so she told Hunter and two other guys she would pay for them to stay and work the party. She insisted that they eat first to insure that they at least got whatever they wanted to eat. He said the food was great.

There were phone calls over the course of another busy week, although, they are tapering off. The funniest one was when he called asking where the *Hessan* Center was. I had no idea what that word might have been and suggested he call an English speaking person in the office to find out where she was setting up. He called back and said Polk County. So, we deduced that it was the Polk County Convention Center. That turned out to be correct. Mostly, I just wish he would make her repeat herself until he knew what she was saying.

He called on Friday, looking for a cell phone number for one of Skip’s friends who used to work for her. They were trying to track him down to work that day. It amazes me that she can’t plan ahead and is forever trying to scrounge up old ex-employees who probably never want to see her again.

Yesterday was Saturday and he worked 7 am to 9 pm. Then had to be back to work at 6:30 am for tear down. He is now on the couch and probably won’t move.

He has found out that he is making more per hour than any of the other workers. So, she must really like him. At least he has sense enough to not tell any of the rest of them how much he is making.

The past couple weeks have had some phone calls. Mostly the same type of stuff. He usually finds the places. I keep reminding him to jot down the directions if he can’t print them out.

He has mentioned that he knows what he wants his own wedding reception to look like. He has his favorite flowers.

He’s learned how to deal with drunks. At one tear down a drunk was giving him a really hard time. He handled it and later the drunk felt bad about giving him a hard time and wanted to come back and help him. He was chilly to the guy. I told him he needed to be careful around drunks because they are prone to just hauling off and hitting guys. He replied that the drunks were the ones who should be careful. He has a real feisty streak.

Last night he dropped his phone in the toilet. Luckily, his phone is the one that I have insurance on. He’ll be getting the new one overnighted to him.

There were many more interesting events. Mostly, it was Saley leaning on him to work more hours. His disposition deteriorated and eventually, he convinced her that he was quitting. We all went out for a final dinner together. Her husband and son joined us. It was a fun evening. Saley ordered many more dishes than we needed. At one point, she asked the server for another glass of wine and the server said that the bar was closed. Saley looked over at her smirking sister and said, “She cut me off. I can’t believe my sister cut me off.” She was still complaining the next day.

So, it was a fun summer. Hunter learned what everyone needs to learn. Go back to college and get a degree so you don’t have to work at low paying jobs like event set-up.

****end of diary

I do not recall how many weeks he worked....I'm just happy that the phone calls tapered off.

skip in india

https://tinyurl.com/skipinindia

Where illegible mail goes to be read

https://www.nytimes.com/2013/05/04/us/where-mail-with-illegible-addresses-goes-to-be-read.html?emc=eta1

SALT LAKE CITY — Inside a plain warehouselike office building filled with rows of cubicles, Melissa Stark stares at the image of an envelope on a computer screen. The handwriting is barely legible and appears to be addressed to someone in the “cty of Jesey.”

“Is that a 7 or a 9 in the address?” Ms. Stark said to no one in particular. Then she typed in a few numbers and a list of possible addresses popped up on her screen. “Looks like a 9,” she said before selecting an address, apparently in Jersey City. The letter disappears and another one appears on the screen.

“That means I got it right,” Ms. Stark said.

Ms. Stark is one of the Postal Service’s data conversion operators, a techie title for someone who deciphers unreadable addresses, and she is one of the last of a breed. In September, the post office will close one of its two remaining centers where workers try to read the scribble on envelopes and address labels that machines cannot. At one time, there were 55 plants around the country where addresses rejected by machines were guessed at by workers aided with special software to get the mail where it was intended.

But improved scanning technology now allows machines to “read” virtually all of the 160 billion pieces of mail that moved through the system last year. As machines have improved, workers have been let go, and after September, the facility here will be the post office’s only center for reading illegible mail.

“We understand that these remote encoding centers were planned as a temporary fix,” said Barbara Batin, the center’s operations manager, using the facilities’ formal name. “They were created and deployed with the knowledge that new technology would eventually put us out of work.”

But for now, this center operates 365 days a year, 24 hours a day. More than 700 workers stare at images of letters, packages, change-of-address cards and other mail, trying to figure out where they are supposed to go. It is not easy work. With software, a knowledge of geography and more than a little intuition, an operator has exactly 90 seconds to move each piece of mail.

When mail-sorting machines around the country encounter addresses they cannot read, an electronic image of the bad handwriting or faded address is transmitted to operators here who view them and try to fill in the missing information by typing in a letter or a number. Once corrected, the information is returned to the processing plant where the mail is sent on to a local post office, ultimately ending up where it is supposed to go.

“We get the worst of the worst,” Ms. Batin said. “It used to be that we’d get letters that were somewhat legible but the machines weren’t good enough to read them. Now we get letters and packages with the most awful handwriting you can imagine. Still, it’s our job to make sure it gets to where it’s supposed to go.”

Over the years, the Postal Service has become the world leader in optical character recognition — software capable of reading computer-generated lettering and handwriting — sinking millions of dollars into equipment that can read nearly 98 percent of all hand-addressed mail and 99.5 percent of machine-addressed pieces.

That was not always the case. In the beginning, people sorted mail. As the volume and variety increased, the post office turned to automation. But the machines could read only about 35 percent of the mail at first and had trouble with handwritten addresses. So the Postal Service set up the centers, using people to supplement the scanners. At the height of the program, in 1997, the centers processed 19 billion images annually, about 10 percent of all mail at the time, the post office said.

In the last year, this center, and the one in Wichita, Kan., that will close in September, deciphered just 2.4 billion images, or a mere 1.5 percent of the mail, the post office said.

Speed is important. Each worker in this nearly football-field-length room is expected to process about 1,200 images an hour, and they average three seconds an image.

“Not everyone can process all the types of mail that we get,” said Ruth Burns, a group leader who sits in the middle of the sprawling room watching a bank of computer screens. “Some people are better at reading handwriting. Some are better at reading faded addresses. It varies.”

Rita Archuletta, who has worked at the center for 16 years, said she worked only on addresses involving letters, magazines and items listed as “undeliverable as addressed.” She does not do large envelopes, for example.

“My supervisor said my speed was too slow on those,” she said.

Ms. Archuletta said that over the years she had seen her share of impossible letters, like the one addressed to the house “down the street from the drugstore on the corner” or one intended for “the place next to the red barn.” Still, she said bad handwriting was the worst. “And most of the bad scribble seems to be coming from people back East,” she said with a smile. “They really can’t write.”

Natalie Jenkins, who started at the facility a year after it opened in 1994, said that while bad penmanship was a problem, addresses in different languages gave her the most trouble.

“We get a lot of mail from San Juan, and it’s in Spanish,” she said. “The machines can’t read it, so we have to. It does get easier after you’ve been doing it for a while. You start to recognize certain things.”

The saddest letter Ms. Jenkins has seen was addressed to God, apparently written by a little girl whose father had just died. “It broke my heart,” she said.

The best letters, Ms. Jenkins said, are those addressed to Santa Claus. They come in without an address and are sent to a processing center in Alaska, where volunteers answer them.

Back at Ms. Stark’s workstation, the image of an extremely faded letter with no discernible address appeared on the screen.

She zooms in. “Is that a ZIP code in the corner?” she asked, staring at the image for a few seconds.

Finally, she hit the reject button. The letter will be placed in a bin back at the mail processing plant where someone else will try to figure out the address by physically examining it.

“There are some things even we can’t read,” Ms. Stark said as another image popped up.

Might Get Done List

---

From: M Schrock
To: jmwilson411@yahoo.com
Sent: Thursday, January 31, 2013 7:27 AM
Subject: Twenty-six items idea

jmwilson411 (at) yahoo.com

Hi, Jean! I'm not a blogger so I can't post a comment, but I do love the idea of 26 items inside 26 mouths! You should do it! 

Marti Schrock

hi marti
thanks for emailing me.
i really do have it on my list of things i intend to get done this year

let me know if you have a particular favorite animal
and i will do your name for that letter 

i enjoy hearing from people who have found my blog
thanks again for emailing
jean

Artists are seldom psychopaths.

Sadly - George and Hunter on list 1
Jean and Ellen are on list 2
Skip - somewhere in the middle - appropriate for a middle child


Highest Rates of Psychopathy:

1. CEO
2. Lawyer
3. Media (Television/Radio)
4. Salesperson
5. Surgeon
6. Journalist
7. Police Officer
8. Clergy person
9. Chef
10. Civil Servant

Lowest Rates of Psychopathy:

1. Care Aide
2. Nurse
3. Therapist
4. Craftsperson
5. Beautician/Stylist
6. Charity Worker
7. Teacher
8. Creative Artist
9. Doctor
10. Accountant

The prevalence of psychopathy among corporate leaders has been reported before, including by AOL Jobs. And recently a study out of the University of Minnesota found that when college students exhibit such behaviors as cheating and lying -- which are considered typical of psychopaths -- they're more likely to do the same on the job. The study found that students' deceptive behavior -- from widening margins on a paper to having a fellow student write a paper for you -- "tends to carry over" into the workplace in practices such as long lunches and falsifying an expense report, Minnesota psychology professor Nathan Kuncel toldBusiness News Daily.

The Wedding Dress Story - only interesting to the bride and groom and MOB

The only mystery is why I had anything to do with the shipping of the dress----

-----Original Message-----
From: Powers, Colin (GE Capital) <Colin.Powers@ge.com>
To: jeanwilson411@aol.com
Sent: Fri, Jan 28, 2011 8:57 am
Subject: RE: fed ex ground tracking no

Truth time – and I’m not sharing this with Ellen.

 

It came yesterday at 4:30pm.  I went to the mailroom immediately – as I was stalking it on FedEx.com.  And they didn’t have it.  I made them look 3 times.  Often, when we get packages, they’ll immediately be put on a cart and delivered.  But I didn’t get anything by the time I left at 6:30pm for a dinner.  I was nervous.

 

I only slept 3 hours last night because I was so worried.  Needless to say, I went straight to the mailroom this morning.  And, aha!, it was there.  My heart can stop pounding.

 

Can’t wait to see the dress and the shoes on May 7!!!  So exciting.

 

From: jeanwilson411@aol.com [mailto:jeanwilson411@aol.com]
Sent: Friday, January 28, 2011 8:50 AM
To: Powers, Colin (GE Capital)
Subject: Re: fed ex ground tracking no

 

i just sat down to email you and ask you to tell me when i could resume breathing
THANK YOU
for knowing that i needed to know
thank you for being you
thank you for goodness....
it would take all day to compile the list
i'll do it on may 9th :-)

 

 

 

 

-----Original Message-----
From: Powers, Colin (GE Capital) <Colin.Powers@ge.com>
To: jeanwilson411@aol.com; Ellen.Wilson@citadelgroup.com
Sent: Fri, Jan 28, 2011 8:39 am
Subject: RE: fed ex ground tracking no

The eagle has landed.

 

Just picked it up.  Everyone can let out a sigh of relief now.  It will be in the warm confines of our home later this evening.

 

Thanks for sending, Jean. 

 

From: jeanwilson411@aol.com [mailto:jeanwilson411@aol.com]
Sent: Wednesday, January 26, 2011 11:44 AM
To: Ellen.Wilson@citadelgroup.com; Powers, Colin (GE Capital)
Subject: fed ex ground tracking no

 

 

045750615037382

even though it is going ground
the tag says that scheduled delivery date is 1 delivery day
so that's fast....

Being Dedicated to Your *Art*

In Jerry Seinfeld’s 2002 documentary Comedian, Jerry walks off the stage and meets a fan waiting in the wings. After introducing himself as a struggling comic, the fan asks Jerry if there’s a time to give up. “Is time running out?” asks Jerry. “Do you have something else you would rather been doing? Do you have other appointments or other places you have to be?” “Not necessarily,” replies the fan. “But you get to the point of, ‘How much longer can I take it?’ I’m getting older. I’m 29. I feel like I’ve sacrificed so much of my life. The last 3 years have been a blur. I see all my friends are making a lot of money. My friends are… you know, they’re moving up, and I’m worried…” “They’re moving up?” blurts Jerry. “Are you out of your mind? This has nothing to do with your friends. No. This is a special thing. This has nothing to do with making it.”

The comic replies, “…did you ever stop and compare your life and go, ‘My friends are all married, they’re all having kids, they all have houses, they have some sort of sense of normality.’” “Let me tell you a story,” says Jerry. “My favourite story about show business: Glenn Miller’s orchestra, they were doing some gigs somewhere. They couldn’t land where they were supposed to land, because it was winter — a snowy night. So they had to land in this field and walk to the gig. And they were dressed — in their suits. They were ready to play. They were carrying their instruments. So they were walking through the snow, and it was wet and it was slushy. And in the distance they saw this little house. And there were lights on in the inside and a billow of smoke coming out of the chimney. They went up to the house and they looked in the window and saw this family. There was a guy and his wife and she was beautiful. And there were two kids. And they were all sitting around the table. And they were smiling, they were laughing and they were eating. And there was a fire in the fireplace. And these guys were standing there in their suits, wet and shivering, holding their instruments. They were watching this incredible Norman Rockwell scene. One guy turned to the other guy and said, ‘How do people live like that?’

”

Mary Fields

Mary Fields began her life as a slave in Tennessee in 1832, the exact date is unknown. Mary’s mother Susanna was the personal servant to the plantation owner’s wife, Mrs. Dunnes. The plantation wife also had a daughter who was born within two weeks of Mary, and named Dolly. Mrs. Dunne allowed the children to play together. Over the years Mary was taught to read and write and the two girls became best friends. At sixteen, Dolly was sent to boarding school in Ohio and Mary was left all alone.

Mary’s father worked in the fields on the Dunnes’ farm. He was sold after Mary was born. Mary’s mother wanted her daughter to have a last name, so since her father Buck worked in the fields, her mother decided her last name should be Fields. So thus Mary Fields came to be. After Mary’s mother passed away, Mary became the head of the household at the young age of fourteen.

After Dolly went away to boarding school, The Civil War began. The slaves were left to fend for themselves. It was during this time that she learned many life survival skills. She learned how to garden, raise chickens and practice medicine with natural herbs.

Around the age of 30 Mary heard from her dear friend Dolly. Dolly was now a nun and was renamed Sister Amadaus. The Sister asked Mary to join her at a convent in Ohio. Mary immediately began her twenty-day trip from Tennessee to Ohio. Mary remained with the Ursuline Sisters for many years – even when Dolly relocated to the St. Peter’s Mission in Montana. Mary never married and she had no children. The nuns were her family. She protected the nuns.

Mary wanted to follow her friend to Montana, but was told it was too remote and rustic. However, that all changed when Mother Amadaus became ill with pneumonia and wrote to Mary asking for her support and healing. Mary wasted no time and departed for Montana by stagecoach in 1885. At 53 years old Mary started her new life in Montana. Mary helped nurse Mother Amadaus back to health. The sisters were all in amazement of this tough black woman. Mary was no stranger to rolling a cigar, shooting guns and drinking whiskey. She grew fresh vegetables that were enjoyed by the Sisters and the surrounding community. Mary was forced to leave her beloved mission and the Sisters after a shooting incident. Mary shot in self-defense, and was found innocent, but had to find a new home.

Wells Fargo had the mail contract during that time and was looking for someone for the Great Falls to Fort Benton route to deliver the U.S. Mail. It was a rough and rugged route and would require a person of strong will and great survival skills to maneuver the snowy roads and high winds. Mary immediately applied at the ripe age of 60 years old. It was rumored that she could hitch a team of horses faster than the boys half her age and due to her toughness, she was hired! Mary became the first African American mail carrier in the United States and the second woman. Mary was proud of the fact that her stage was never held up. Mary and her mule Moses, never missed a day and it was during this time that she earned the nickname of “Stagecoach,” for her unfailing reliability.

The townspeople adopted Mary as one of their own. They celebrated her birthday twice a year since she didn’t know the exact date of her real birthday. Mary Fields was known as Black Mary and Stagecoach Mary. She was considered an eccentric even in these modern times. She was six feet tall and over 200 pounds. By the time she was well known in Central Montana, she had a pet eagle, a penchant for whiskey, baseball (which was a new sport at the time) and a heart as big as the gun she was famous for carrying. Mary wore a buffalo skin dress that she made herself – you might say she drew attention wherever she went – even in a small western pioneer town. Mary was a local celebrity and her legend and tales of her adventures were known by surrounding communities and neighboring states.

Mary retired her post in 1901 and passed away in 1914. She is buried at Highland Cemetery at St. Peter’s Mission. Her grave is marked with a simple cross.

random photos

French Alps

Owl

Looking for a cartoonizer program

This is a test to see what this looks like on computer and on phone.

Original size

how to decline

here is a handy way to decline holiday parties:


I am somewhat sorry to say that I will be unable to attend your haute holiday gala. I will be climbing Mt. Kilimanjaro and thus compelled to miss out on the warmth and joy that always fill your parties. Once the holidays are past I hope to have a good long visit with you and find out all the party highlights. Please give my sunniest, "Hi there and hello," to your party guests. My best wishes for a happy and utterly Norman Rockwellian holiday.

Remember to wear your mittens.

funny letter

a wonderful place to surf:

http://www.brainpickings.org/index.php/2013/08/05/lewis-carroll-apology-letter/


From the endlessly delightful Funny Letters from Famous People (public library) — the same gem that gave us the best resignation letter ever written, courtesy of Sherwood Anderson — comes Carroll’s charmingly hyperbolic apologetic letter to Annie Rogers, a young friend and photography model whom he accidentally stood up in 1867.

My dear Annie:
This is indeed dreadful. You have no idea of the grief I am in while I write. I am obliged to use an umbrella to keep the tears from running down on to the paper. Did you come yesterday to be photographed? And were you very angry? Why wasn’t I there? Well the fact was this — I went out for a walk with Bibkins, my dear friend Bibkins — we went many miles from Oxford — fifty — a hundred, say. As we were crossing a field full of sheep, a thought crossed my mind, and I said solemnly, “Dobkins, what o’clock is it?” “Three,” said Fipkins, surprised at my manner. Tears ran down my cheeks. “It is the HOUR,” I said. “Tell me, tell me, Hopkins, what day is it?” “Why, Monday, of course,” said Lupkins. “Then it is the DAY!” I groaned. I wept. I screamed. The sheep crowded round me, and rubbed their affectionate noses against mine. “Mopkins!” I said, “you are my oldest friend. Do not deceive me, Nupkins! What year is this?” “Well, I think it’s 1867,” said Pipkins. “Then it’s the YEAR!” I screamed, so loud that Tapkins fainted. It was all over: I was brought home, in a cart, attended by the faithful Wopkins, in several pieces.
When I have recovered a little from the shock, and have been to the seaside for a few months, I will call and arrange another day for photographing. I am too weak to write this myself, so Zupkins is writing it for me.
Your miserable friend,
Lewis Carroll

wider view

another article from robert genn, reprinted with permission:

In 1984, Edward O. Wilson introduced the "Biophilia hypothesis." His idea was that there's an instinctive bond between humans and other living systems--animals, plants, etc. Leaning on the earlier work of Erich Fromm, Wilson defined Biophilia as "the urge to affiliate with other forms of life."

More recently, Bob Stone, a researcher in Birmingham, UK, has done some amazing experiments in hospitals and nursing homes. He puts large flat-screen terminals near patients' beds. The 24-hour imagery on these screens mimics the actual time of day, including sunrise and sunset. The scene might be a fairly static beach or woodland view with the occasional passage of birds or animals. Audio completes the picture.

Guess what? Patients cheer up, become more alert and engaged, have lower blood pressure, and act happier. Believe it or not, this phony environment even works a bit better than pushing people out into familiar gardens in wheelchairs.

In another experiment, this time in the USA, children with ADHD were subjected to actual greenery. Measurable amounts of calm, focus and improved concentration followed after about 20 minutes. They're calling it "Green therapy."

Plein air painters have known about this sort of thing for some time. The "event" of outdoor work somehow soothes the savage breast--after a couple of hours even problematic people can be positively mellow. As an antidote to the sweaty anxiety that many painters have in their studios, green therapy calms and centers quicker and cheaper than a Zen master. Brilliant for the artist's soul; over time it also improves quality.

I know of sunless painters who toil below screaming projectors and dictated deadlines. I've shouted down their stairways to get them out and into the greenery. Funnily, in a world of rugged individualists, it's probably fear that keeps them in their caves. Like the old folks of Birmingham, they get some sustenance from their reference material. Back in the UK, one lady, bedridden and virtually silent for two years, was totally perked up by her seaside-mimicking terminal. "Get my hat," she called out. "I need to take a bus to the sea. Is there a bus?"

Best regards,

Robert

PS: "Unlike phobias, which are the aversions and fears people have of things in the natural world, philias (such as Biophilia) are the attractions and positive feelings that people have toward certain habitats, activities, and objects in their natural surroundings." (Edward O. Wilson)

Esoterica: I'm laptopping you from a sport-fishing boat off the west coast of Vancouver Island. Over the inter-boat radio, my buddies are completely concerned with fish. Back at the lodge, dinner-table conversations can be positively fishy. Captains of industry, these guys hardly mention their offices or factories. I'm the only one supplementing fishing with painting. My advice: Take a bus to the sea while you still can. Hey, gotta go, there's a coho on my line.

working a puzzle

another nice article from robert genn, reprinted with permission:

A fellow painter told me her whole approach was intuitive. "Bob, it's not that your ideas aren't intelligent," she told me, "but I just don't need to know all that stuff." After telling me once again she paints how she feels, she went on to say that she wasn't feeling all that motivated. Later, I was wondering if it might be me un-motivating her.

Then I was remembering the many painters over the years who reported poor motivation and who also just happened to be from the intuition camp. Looking into old emails I found statements like, "It feels too easy to be worthwhile," "I can't be bothered anymore," "I don't know where I'm going," "All I paint is chaos," and "What's the use?"

That night I happened to be in an airport departure lounge. I couldn't help but notice a fellow traveller abandoning her half-completed crossword puzzle on the seat beside her. She had that internal smile that betrayed her satisfaction.

That was when my banana ripple fell off its cone. It's not only finishing the puzzle that satisfies, I realized, it's going word by word that brings the joy.

In painting, I use the puzzle system. I commit myself to one stroke or another at the beginning, then look around to see what my next move might be. Thus, I go from move to move--working out the puzzle--until it's either completed or abandoned.

The puzzle system starts with the proposition that you may not know what to do. The nice part is that, deep down, you have the feeling that you can figure it out. The system draws heavily on the skills of focus and concentration, as well as your accumulated knowledge of techniques and processes. A logical order may be desirable but, as in the case of the recently mentioned ice-cream cone, things can go this way or that. In other words, plenty of opportunities for intuition develop during the game. Further, the process is both additive and subtractive. Things you thought you needed turn out not to be needed; and things you didn't know were needed are suddenly seen to be needed. Balancing it all is quite an art.

Best regards,

Robert

PS: "Painting is the passage from the chaos of the emotions to the order of the possible." (Balthus)

Esoterica: If you decide to play this sort of game, if only as a test, you'll find there are challenges. Thinking is needed. As things go this way and that, you may, for example, need to dig for reference you hardly anticipated. Constantly asking the question "What could be?" may take you onto unfamiliar ground--maybe an odyssey of walking among the stars. The byproduct of this sort of structured but exploratory art-making is exhilaration. Thus joyfully obsessed, you may just happen to find yourself motivated. As far as I can see, the work is more like play. "Ludere ludum" said the Roman poet and philosopher Kjerkius Gennius (36 BC), "Play the game."