I have officially closed the door on buying a home and opened the door of owning a home. This morning at some point my realtor will call me so I can come pick up the keys to my new home. The buying process was quite a pain. Since not everyone I know owns a home, I will put it all in a nutshell for you, and those that do own a home can chime in or just nod your head and talk to your computer.
I've always wanted to own a home but it has never been very practical. I'm somewhat of a nomad (due to my gypsy blood, just ask my grandmother) and never knew where I would be one year to the next. After wandering a bit, I feel pretty happy up here and think I'll stay awhile. How long? I don't know, seriously. But I've always wanted a house I could truly make my own. Last night talking to my friend Gwen who lives up here, she's going to come over on Saturday and help paint my sunroom/jacuzzi room floor. She asked if she could bring her dog. It was an amazing feeling to: a) have a backyard big enough that the dog can run around on his own and b) not have to clear it through a landlord to allow some one's dog to come over. This is truly a big difference between owning and renting. Outside of code violations and obvious unlawfulness, I am allowed to do whatever the hell I want with my house. I'm the boss. This is awesome.
So upon deciding I would be living up here awhile and that I'm in an area where it's cheaper to buy than to rent, I decided to go house hunting. I'll actually be paying about $150 per month less to buy this house than if I stayed renting. So I think I'm actually going to just keep paying the extra $150 per month and pay it off sooner. I found a house in the local real estate flyer that had an endless pool in the backyard. That was why I went and looked at it. Those things are worth$30,000! The house wasn't anything I could handle fixing up, although it had plenty of curb appeal. The realtor who showed me the place was very nice and accomodating so I adopted her as my realtor and put her in charge of helping me find a place and representing me. The coolest thing about buying a house is that you generally do not pay your realtor. When you buy a house, the seller pays all parties involved on a preset scale so for the buyer, the realtor is free. Very amazing.
So she sent me a listing within my budget and I narrowed 20 houses down to 5 that I wanted to look at. We looked at 5 in a matter of 2 hours and I narrowed my choices to 3. Looked at all 3 again and decided on a 2 bed 2 bath house about a block from where I live now. It was a foreclosed home and the bank had myself and another prospective buyer place bids. The other buyer won and I was out again searching for another home. I broadened my search to Montague and my realtor was excited because she had a house for sale there that she thought I would love. I looked through the pictures of it and was unimpressed but decided to look anyway. We put it on the list of the other 10 that we would be viewing that day. Yes, my realtor is awesome. I have no idea how she kept up with me.
I fell in love with this old house at first sight. The feeling I got inside the house was just amazing. The house had a character that none of the other houses had. I decided to forego looking at anymore and put a bid in. It was accepted which began the slow painful process of actually purchasing the house. After about 6 inspections, a few repairs, a cancelled loan and 2 months later, the house is mine. There's certainly a lot of work to do on the house but I'm so excited to do (most of) them.
I'm really excited to paint and posibly update floors and bathroom tiling. I'm super excited that this house is like a blank slate that I can paint my life onto. I'm not entirely thrilled that the front half of the house has ancient 1900 electrical wiring in it which will catch fire if there's anything lying near it, like insulation (so there is no insulation). That's not any sort of hazard since there isnt anything near it, but because there's no insulation in there, heating bills and efforts (wood stoves) will be pretty rough. There's also no insulation in the floor....who knew floors get insulated? So that's starting to move higher up my list of to-do things. Insulation is fairly important in northern California.
Yesterday I went out and bought a tv (I know, me?) a refrigerator, washer, dryer and looked at some woodstoves. I left my name for the guy to call me back to set up an appointment for him to come measure and look at my house so he can install the woodstove, making sure it's ok to put in that area. I also purchased Dish-Network. CRAAAAZY! Not only will I own a tv (flat 32") but I will also have satellite tv (with free HD for life) to watch on it. Soooo unlike me. Whatever, owning a home is a big thing, and I need access to HGTV for ideas and inspiration. I also needed a bigger screen than my laptop to watch netflix on when friends are around.
Then I called around to set up my electricty, home insurance, trash, water and sewer, and fuel for heating. We have Monitors up here that burn kerosene for fuel. Sounds very primitive but it's actually pretty nice. You set it on a certain temp and it keeps the house that warm. Today I need to measure how much fuel is in the tank since I don't have a woodstove for back-up yet. Up here you don't want to run out of fuel. It's not like San Diego where heat is a comfort thing. This is actually a life or death thing.
Anyway, then I drove out to Montague (about 6 miles from my current place) to sign up for my water and sewer and put down a deposit at City Hall. I didn't even know Montague had a city hall, so it's sort of promising. There's also something like a swimming pool right next to city hall. I don't think it's one of those that you can do laps in. Guess I have to drive up to Ashland for that.
So today I will get the keys to my house, then go over and take pictures and clean it before I move any furniture in. This way I can do before and after pics as well as work a little easier in my home improvement software that I have. My house can "try on" any paint, tiling, window treatments, wood floors, ceilings, fences, etc. before I actually go through and do them. Saves money and lessens the likelihood that I will absolutely destroy something. I'll post pics when I get them and also blog about any updates and repairs I do.
It's almost 8am....I should be getting a phone call any time now......
Thursday, January 13, 2011
Thursday, December 30, 2010
Oaxaca, Mexico 2010
To my pleasant surprise, both myself and my luggage arrived in Oaxaca without too much of an issue. Being quite the jet-setter, I've come to expect delays, canceled flights and lost luggage. Most of the time I prepare for it by stuffing an extra pair of underwear in my purse but I've discovered I'd rather buy a pair wherever I end up than have my extra pair show up in the x-ray machine for some reason. Not that they don't see my unmentionables these days anyway.I arrived very late at night and simply crawled into bed in my hostel and went to sleep. The next day was the 23rd, the day of the infamous Noche de Rabanos. That didn't start until about 5pm so I set about exploring the city. In my mind I had envisioned Oaxaca as a quaint colonial town with a strong indigenous flair to it. I actually wasn't too far off. The historical district of Oaxaca matches my vision, but outside of that, Oaxaca is a bustling city with its own airport, mall and baseball stadium.
All the streets and buildings were decorated for Christmas and looked absolutely beautiful. In the zocalo (the town square) everyone was getting ready for the Noche de Rabanos (Night of the Radishes). It's a pretty large competition that's been going on for 113 years and the prize for the winner is somewhere around $1,000 to $2,000 US dollars. I don't exactly remember the history of it, but people grow these supremely large radishes and carve them and arrange them to make scenes, much like a very elaborate pumpkin carving contest. I ran across a few people demonstrating their rabano ability that weren't entered into the competition.
I went and saw the church of Santo Domingo which is the most prominent and important church there. Of course most cities in Mexico have many churches and this town had at least 5 just in the historic district alone.
I explored the town by foot, buying scarves, jewelry and pottery from the local artisans that had their wares laid out along the street. I wandered into a dizzying indoor market crammed with stalls and people past woven blouses, mezcal, carnes and hats.
I met quite a few friends at the hostel and made a plan to meet my English friend Sarah at Santo Domingo so we could go to La Noche de Rabanos together. Competitors had their tables set up along the zocalo and there was a huge line to get into the corral to walk past these spectacular displays.
As we went along the displays, one of the competitors handed me a radish friend, which I was told later is very rare. I'm sure they were encouraged by what must have been the most awed look in the crowd for I was completely enamored with this whole radish thing. My radish friend sat on a shelf in my hostel room until it began to change color and soften, but it kept me company for a few days.
After the displays of radishes come the displays of dolls and scenes made from corn husks and flores inmortales (dried flowers) which are also quite elaborate. I'm not sure if these are part of the competition or just part of the tradition.
After viewing all the displays, we left the crowded zocalo and went to Santo Domingo to try tlayudas. Tlayudas as like pizzas...but not. It's a huge tortilla with beans spread on it for sauce, lettuce, tomatoes, avocados and cheese inside, folded over and baked. Absolutely delicious. Then we went Mezcal tasting, which is another thing Oaxaca is famous for. I guess I'm not a mezcal person. We had some high end mezcals and I could barely choke them down.
The next day I went to a neighboring town called Ocotlan for their market day. I went with a girl named Deborah who is from San Diego. The market was a maze of tarped stalls with clothes hanging all the way up the sides, tables of fruits and vegetables, different assortments of meats draped in display and a variety of pottery. We got pulled into the current of people that were swimming through the crowded market amoung vendors shouting "Que te gusta? Que llevaras?". My nose was distracted by the ever changing smells of seasoned meat, fish and spiced chocolate. We bargained with shop keepers over pottery and flowers. Live chickens and turkeys sat along the walkway with their legs bound so that they couldn't escape, waiting to be picked up for someone's Christmas dinner. Around corners and at heavy intersections, women in woven huipiles and skirts sold chapulines, or chili and lime fried grasshoppers for shoppers needing a quick snack. We stopped into a little stand to get some hot chocolate and spotted Frida Kahlo and had to get pictures with her. Talking to another shop keeper, apparently the woman looked a lot like Frida and didn't even know who Frida was. After some one explained it to her, she decided to milk it a bit. She gets a lot of attention. She did her eyebrows and make up to look even more like her. It's really quite striking.
After the market, Deborah and I went in search of the house of a famous Mexican artist, following very archaic directions from our English friend Sarah. Along the way I spotted a small wooden sign outside of a house that had a picture of a sword and the words "Cuchillera Artistica de Angel Aguilar". I recognized Aguilar of the name of the ceramics place we were supposed to be looking for after the artist's house, but this didn't appear to be a ceramic shop. We both stared at the sign for some time, then peered into the front gate. A voice inside called out "Pasale, pasale" (Come in, come in). I'll have you know I'm not this brave when traveling through a country alone. Deborah and I went inside and an old man led us to the back of a courtyard where some beautiful knives and swords were laid out on red felt. A sword maker stood up from whatever he was doing and said that these were his knives and swords and would we like to get the grand tour? Deborah and I agreed to take the time.
In a rush of Spanish, the man explained that he uses recycled metal from car parts to make the blade of swords, showing us examples along the way. He went on to describe the many things he could use to make the handle such as wood, deer antlers, bull horns, some other sort of antlers I didn't understand and bone. If you like, he can wrap the handle with snake skin or the pelt of an animal. He can even use a deer hoof including the fur. He also uses the bones of tourists for handles. I chuckled a little at this and he went on the explain something about it, motioning to his chest quite a bit. I didn't understand it, but Deborah replied in English "I don't know if I like that" with a bit of humor. I was ready to bolt at any time should this turn into a scene from a scary movie, but the sword maker went on to explain that some people have different beliefs and when their loved ones die, they want a part of them to keep in remembrance. Much like keeping ashes in an urn, some people take the bone of a loved one (how they get it, I didn't ask) and use it for the handle of the knife or sword. He even had one client lose his finger in an accident and was able to keep the bone (sound familiar?). The bone was used to make two little daggers and the owner of the bone was very happy that his finger was still useful. Nice.
The sword maker continued his explanation of how he makes swords and knives and walked us through every single detail. Afterwards, he offered us some flavored mezcals that he made himself. The thought occurred to me that this is the part where the stupid tourist gets poisoned and wakes up chained to a chair in preparation for torture and certain death. But when in Rome... The flavored mezcal was actually quite good and he said that us stopping by had inspired him to continue to work. Deborah bought a letter opener and we left, continuing our search for the artist's house.
Our search took us back toward the market where a band and procession were passing by. Already stirred with curiosity, I gave Deborah a sly smile and said "I think we should join them". People were marching behind the band with big baskets of flowers toward a church. Deborah agreed and we jumped right in and followed them to the entrance of the church. At the entrance to the courtyard of the church, the procession got down on their knees and continued crawling to a mannequin of the baby Jesus. Not having very many options, Deborah and I got down and crawled with them until we saw an out. We jumped up and out of the procession and took pictures while the people offered up their flowers and gifts and kissed the baby Jesus. In between kisses, a man holding the doll would wipe off his face with a baby wipe in order to stop the spread of germs. A modern contribution to this very long tradition I'm sure.
We continued our search until we found the house and went inside and got the tour along with a brief explanation of his life. Then we went and looked at the ceramic shops and had tlayudas and coffee. We ended the day and headed back to Oaxaca on the bus.
Back in Oaxaca it was Christmas Eve and festivities were in full swing. In Mexico, the tradition is to have parades and festivities on Christmas Eve, as well the the procession of carrying flowers to the church to honor Mary and Jesus. Mass is at midnight and then everyone goes home to eat and open presents. This lasts until about 3 or 4 am when everyone finally goes off to sleep. Well we all know I'm not a late nighter, so I just watched the parade with Deborah and then we parted so that she could go spend Christmas with her new host family that she would be meeting that night.
After the parade, the walk back to the hostel was a refreshing solitude compared to the frenzy of the market earlier and parade and fireworks. I enjoyed walking the cobblestone streets in the dark and watched others go about their night. I stopped at a book fair and bought a bought of poems by Pablo Neruda.
Surprisingly on Christmas day, Monte Alban, the Zapotec ruins above the city of Oaxaca, were open, so I went there with another new friend, Rachel. Rachel is from New York. We toured the ruins and sat and talked with some of the vendors for awhile, learning about their lives. I was starving and Rachel was feeling antsy so we parted ways. I got lunch at the museum cafe and Rachel went back to Oaxaca to explore some more. At the cafe I had tamales that were wrapped in banana plant leaves instead of corn husks and it had a deep chocolate mole inside. Oaxaca is also famous for its moles, which they make about a dozen.
After eating I went and shopped at all the vendors lining the parking lot the led to the ruins before getting back on the bus to Oaxaca. The last couple days were filled with shopping at various markets, trying new places to eat and stopping at far too many bookstores. I got a few novels in Spanish, one in English and a new travel journal because mine was filled up. I was surprised to see how much Spanish I could understand and only found myself struggling a little to express myself. My trip was far too short and I'm excited for the next one.
Friday, November 12, 2010
Adventures in Insomnia Part 12
Ok, I haven't really written 11 issues of "Adventures in Insomnia" but maybe I should. I come up with some pretty intriguing thoughts while unable to sleep. I've come to the conclusion that my new neighbors (who moved in at 11:30pm a few weeks ago) don't have the happiest marriage. They don't have the happiest 3 or 4 year old child either.
I've had trouble sleeping for as long as I can remember. Literally. I'm pretty sure it's got some sort of hereditary basis because I remember wandering around the house looking for a snack at 2am to find my dad lying on the couch in front of the television. When I asked what he was doing up he'd say something about not being able to sleep. That fact that I can remember that happening fairly often tells me that I've probably had insomnia for quite some time.
While I was still a spry young chicken, not being able to sleep was not that big of a deal. I could get up and read, write poetry, wander the house, watch tv, make a snack or just lay in bed and daydream. Although I guess it wasn't so much daydreaming as dreaming at 3am while completely conscious and alert. As I've gotten older and taken on a job that actually requires a good amount of energy and certain level of alertness, sleep has become a little more important and the insomnia is beginning to take on a less amusing feel to it.
So I miss my old neighbors. Who would think that two mid-twenties ladies with tons of friends would be quieter neighbors than a young man and his wife and cute little girl (ok, she looked cute at midnight the night they moved in but I'm rethinking that initial impression). I believe it was last night that I first heard my neighbors fight. The husband is fond of shouting. Very loudly. We share walls. Inappropriate. The little girl cries fairly often and fairly loud. Did I mention we share walls? The husband was just yelling which caused the little girl to start crying, then there was some fighting and more crying and then some one took off in their only car.
I had my first Ambien CR last night. Also worth mentioning is the fact that my heater took a dive last night. I nearly died in my sleep of hypothermia, but more on that later. I've only recently begun my search for the ever elusive good night's sleep. When I lived in Frazier Park and was extremely unhappy (some of you remember) I could neither fall asleep at night (for several hours) nor stay asleep (waking 3-4 times a night and staying awake for more than an hour each time. Yeah, take a moment to imagine that, will you? However, I only remember about 3 times in the last 10 years that I've fallen asleep at night and woken up to it being morning. Talk about freaky. I've spent the majority of my life being conscious of the night and the fact that I did exist at midnight, 3am, 4am, 4:30am, 5am, and I'll be damned...5:30am.
One of the times that I slept completely through the night was up at Redding. I don't even know what brought it on, I was possibly medicated. Anyway, the strangest thing happened. I crawled up into my bunk one night, got under the covers and fell asleep probably within 15 minutes of going to bed. The next thing I know, I wake up and it's morning. No, not like 2am morning, but after sunrise kind of morning. It freaked me out. I had no memory of anything happening during the night, it was as if I didn't even exist. No wonder I don't sleep through the night. It's disturbing to be missing that much of my life as if nothing happened. How can so much time go by without something happening? We're not talking an hour or two. We're talking 8-9 hours of my life completely unaccounted for!
Consider this for a moment. Most of you are reading this thinking I'm strange for thinking this way. Well imagine what it must be like to almost never have this happen; to spend the majority of your life perfectly aware of laying in bed, staring at the ceiling, listening to the noises outside, letting your mind wander, getting out of bed to get a drink of water, getting back in bed and letting your mind wander some more, getting out of bed to pee, going back to bed, remembering you forgot to take out the trash, getting out of bed to take it out, getting back in bed, getting back out of bed to turn off the porch light, getting back in bed, getting up and jotting down notes about the house you looked at earlier in the week, turning the light off and laying back down to toss and turn for another hour before falling back to sleep only to wake up an hour later and repeat the whole process (minus the trash and porch light). All between the hours of midnight and 4am. Then at 5am your neighbor wakes you up screaming. Yeah. Welcome to the wonderful world of insomnia for those who don't know.
My first attempt at real sleep medication (besides Valerian root, melatonin and warm milk) was a drug called Dalmane. Oh wonderful Dalmane. The first night I took it, it pissed me off. I lay awake except I was much more tired...but still awake. The second night I took it, I actually slept most of the night. Very impressive. I even felt ok the next day, not sleepy or groggy or uncoordinated. That is until I attempted to walk up a snow covered mountain with a drip torch in one hand and a 5 gallon jerry can of burn mix in the other, with my full gear on. My legs were anything but cooperative. When I got home and read up on the Dalmane, it turned out it could stay in my system for up to 72 hours. Seriously? Who would take a sleep medication that stays in your system for 72 hours? Well I suppose people who don't need to do much with themselves. But then again, if I didn't need my sleep and energy, there's a lot I could get done while the rest of the world was sleeping.
So I switched to Xanax, which in itself is not a sleeping pill. It does, however, turn off the mind when it incessantly spins around from topic to topic while I lay there helplessly trying to sleep because I have to be up at 5am to go to work. It doesn't last more than a few hours though, and 2am rolls around pretty quickly. It's disappointing to say the least.
I have begun to sleep pretty well when I'm at home these days. I fall asleep fairly quickly (less than an hour to fall asleep is pretty exciting to me) and only wake up 2 times on average and both times I usually fall back to sleep in maybe half an hour. Strangely enough though, I don't sleep when I'm on fires. When I'm my most tired, my days most demanding, at my most sleep deprived and exhausted, and in my most dire need of sleep... I don't sleep. I ache for bed hours before I lay out my sleeping bag and struggle to keep my heavy eyelids open. And finally! Finally I get to crawl into my nice cozy sleeping bag and get all snuggled in, and...... and lay there awake. To the point of outright rage. I apparently have woken other people up by wandering around looking for a Gatorade at 3am. Ooops. Sometimes I'm tempted to wake one of them up and play a couple games up checkers to see if it helps. I'd probably get my butt kicked. Apparently people like their sleep.
So last night I took one of the samples of Ambien CR that my doctor just gave me (after he informed me that the dosage of melatonin I'm taking should be 6 times higher... I'll give that a shot... only 3 times higher to being with. Let's not get crazy). I fell asleep before I could get halfway through the warning label. I woke up twice during the night (haha, some wonder drug huh?) but felt so groggy that I promptly fell back asleep (ok, not too bad). Then at 4am I woke up again, still feeling drugged and groggy. I closed my eyes and tried to go back to sleep. I was uncomfortably warm under my down comforter so I stuck my arm out from under the blanket and laid it on top. It got so cold so quickly that I jerked it back under the covers and tried to get back to sleep. I rolled around a bit and looked at the clock. 4:15. Grrr. 7 hours after I had taken the sleeping pill. I closed my eyes again and willed myself to fall back to sleep. The grogginess began to wear off. I looked at the clock again. 4:37. Good lord. Nope, go back to sleep.
At this time it occurred to me that my heater was running like crazy. It was pretty cold outside my blanket. Overnight we had winter roll in on us and we've been getting sub-freezing weather every night all week. My heater has been over worked lately. It's got a long winter ahead of it so it better buck up. Finally at 4:43 I gave up on sleep and got out of bed. AAAGGGHHH!!! It was freezing!!! Shivering from cold in my t-shit, pajama pants and socks, I stumbled to the kitchen for a cup of coffee, muttering to myself and swearing at the cold air coming from the vents. I turned on a light and squinted at the thermostat. 64 degrees. That may sound warm to some of you, but when the sub-freezing air from outside is being pumped into your house that has the heat set at 70, 64 degrees is extremely unpleasant. And 64 degrees is so far below your normal body temperature that it just isn't safe anyway. By struggling to get the cover off the thermostat, I managed to get the auxiliary power to turn on and the air warmed a bit. By the time I got back from the gym, it had heated up to a balmy 67 degrees. I turned it off for awhile to possibly re-set it then turned it back on. I figured if it wasn't warm by the time I got home, I'd either call my landlord or build a fire ring on my kitchen floor. Thankfully it appears to be working again.
So tonight I'm trying good ol' fashioned melatonin (at a slightly higher dose) and a snuggly blanket. Hopefully my heater lasts throughout the night and I don't have to get up at 2am to turn my oven on. Let's see how this goes.
I've had trouble sleeping for as long as I can remember. Literally. I'm pretty sure it's got some sort of hereditary basis because I remember wandering around the house looking for a snack at 2am to find my dad lying on the couch in front of the television. When I asked what he was doing up he'd say something about not being able to sleep. That fact that I can remember that happening fairly often tells me that I've probably had insomnia for quite some time.
While I was still a spry young chicken, not being able to sleep was not that big of a deal. I could get up and read, write poetry, wander the house, watch tv, make a snack or just lay in bed and daydream. Although I guess it wasn't so much daydreaming as dreaming at 3am while completely conscious and alert. As I've gotten older and taken on a job that actually requires a good amount of energy and certain level of alertness, sleep has become a little more important and the insomnia is beginning to take on a less amusing feel to it.
So I miss my old neighbors. Who would think that two mid-twenties ladies with tons of friends would be quieter neighbors than a young man and his wife and cute little girl (ok, she looked cute at midnight the night they moved in but I'm rethinking that initial impression). I believe it was last night that I first heard my neighbors fight. The husband is fond of shouting. Very loudly. We share walls. Inappropriate. The little girl cries fairly often and fairly loud. Did I mention we share walls? The husband was just yelling which caused the little girl to start crying, then there was some fighting and more crying and then some one took off in their only car.
I had my first Ambien CR last night. Also worth mentioning is the fact that my heater took a dive last night. I nearly died in my sleep of hypothermia, but more on that later. I've only recently begun my search for the ever elusive good night's sleep. When I lived in Frazier Park and was extremely unhappy (some of you remember) I could neither fall asleep at night (for several hours) nor stay asleep (waking 3-4 times a night and staying awake for more than an hour each time. Yeah, take a moment to imagine that, will you? However, I only remember about 3 times in the last 10 years that I've fallen asleep at night and woken up to it being morning. Talk about freaky. I've spent the majority of my life being conscious of the night and the fact that I did exist at midnight, 3am, 4am, 4:30am, 5am, and I'll be damned...5:30am.
One of the times that I slept completely through the night was up at Redding. I don't even know what brought it on, I was possibly medicated. Anyway, the strangest thing happened. I crawled up into my bunk one night, got under the covers and fell asleep probably within 15 minutes of going to bed. The next thing I know, I wake up and it's morning. No, not like 2am morning, but after sunrise kind of morning. It freaked me out. I had no memory of anything happening during the night, it was as if I didn't even exist. No wonder I don't sleep through the night. It's disturbing to be missing that much of my life as if nothing happened. How can so much time go by without something happening? We're not talking an hour or two. We're talking 8-9 hours of my life completely unaccounted for!
Consider this for a moment. Most of you are reading this thinking I'm strange for thinking this way. Well imagine what it must be like to almost never have this happen; to spend the majority of your life perfectly aware of laying in bed, staring at the ceiling, listening to the noises outside, letting your mind wander, getting out of bed to get a drink of water, getting back in bed and letting your mind wander some more, getting out of bed to pee, going back to bed, remembering you forgot to take out the trash, getting out of bed to take it out, getting back in bed, getting back out of bed to turn off the porch light, getting back in bed, getting up and jotting down notes about the house you looked at earlier in the week, turning the light off and laying back down to toss and turn for another hour before falling back to sleep only to wake up an hour later and repeat the whole process (minus the trash and porch light). All between the hours of midnight and 4am. Then at 5am your neighbor wakes you up screaming. Yeah. Welcome to the wonderful world of insomnia for those who don't know.
My first attempt at real sleep medication (besides Valerian root, melatonin and warm milk) was a drug called Dalmane. Oh wonderful Dalmane. The first night I took it, it pissed me off. I lay awake except I was much more tired...but still awake. The second night I took it, I actually slept most of the night. Very impressive. I even felt ok the next day, not sleepy or groggy or uncoordinated. That is until I attempted to walk up a snow covered mountain with a drip torch in one hand and a 5 gallon jerry can of burn mix in the other, with my full gear on. My legs were anything but cooperative. When I got home and read up on the Dalmane, it turned out it could stay in my system for up to 72 hours. Seriously? Who would take a sleep medication that stays in your system for 72 hours? Well I suppose people who don't need to do much with themselves. But then again, if I didn't need my sleep and energy, there's a lot I could get done while the rest of the world was sleeping.
So I switched to Xanax, which in itself is not a sleeping pill. It does, however, turn off the mind when it incessantly spins around from topic to topic while I lay there helplessly trying to sleep because I have to be up at 5am to go to work. It doesn't last more than a few hours though, and 2am rolls around pretty quickly. It's disappointing to say the least.
I have begun to sleep pretty well when I'm at home these days. I fall asleep fairly quickly (less than an hour to fall asleep is pretty exciting to me) and only wake up 2 times on average and both times I usually fall back to sleep in maybe half an hour. Strangely enough though, I don't sleep when I'm on fires. When I'm my most tired, my days most demanding, at my most sleep deprived and exhausted, and in my most dire need of sleep... I don't sleep. I ache for bed hours before I lay out my sleeping bag and struggle to keep my heavy eyelids open. And finally! Finally I get to crawl into my nice cozy sleeping bag and get all snuggled in, and...... and lay there awake. To the point of outright rage. I apparently have woken other people up by wandering around looking for a Gatorade at 3am. Ooops. Sometimes I'm tempted to wake one of them up and play a couple games up checkers to see if it helps. I'd probably get my butt kicked. Apparently people like their sleep.
So last night I took one of the samples of Ambien CR that my doctor just gave me (after he informed me that the dosage of melatonin I'm taking should be 6 times higher... I'll give that a shot... only 3 times higher to being with. Let's not get crazy). I fell asleep before I could get halfway through the warning label. I woke up twice during the night (haha, some wonder drug huh?) but felt so groggy that I promptly fell back asleep (ok, not too bad). Then at 4am I woke up again, still feeling drugged and groggy. I closed my eyes and tried to go back to sleep. I was uncomfortably warm under my down comforter so I stuck my arm out from under the blanket and laid it on top. It got so cold so quickly that I jerked it back under the covers and tried to get back to sleep. I rolled around a bit and looked at the clock. 4:15. Grrr. 7 hours after I had taken the sleeping pill. I closed my eyes again and willed myself to fall back to sleep. The grogginess began to wear off. I looked at the clock again. 4:37. Good lord. Nope, go back to sleep.
At this time it occurred to me that my heater was running like crazy. It was pretty cold outside my blanket. Overnight we had winter roll in on us and we've been getting sub-freezing weather every night all week. My heater has been over worked lately. It's got a long winter ahead of it so it better buck up. Finally at 4:43 I gave up on sleep and got out of bed. AAAGGGHHH!!! It was freezing!!! Shivering from cold in my t-shit, pajama pants and socks, I stumbled to the kitchen for a cup of coffee, muttering to myself and swearing at the cold air coming from the vents. I turned on a light and squinted at the thermostat. 64 degrees. That may sound warm to some of you, but when the sub-freezing air from outside is being pumped into your house that has the heat set at 70, 64 degrees is extremely unpleasant. And 64 degrees is so far below your normal body temperature that it just isn't safe anyway. By struggling to get the cover off the thermostat, I managed to get the auxiliary power to turn on and the air warmed a bit. By the time I got back from the gym, it had heated up to a balmy 67 degrees. I turned it off for awhile to possibly re-set it then turned it back on. I figured if it wasn't warm by the time I got home, I'd either call my landlord or build a fire ring on my kitchen floor. Thankfully it appears to be working again.
So tonight I'm trying good ol' fashioned melatonin (at a slightly higher dose) and a snuggly blanket. Hopefully my heater lasts throughout the night and I don't have to get up at 2am to turn my oven on. Let's see how this goes.
Sunday, November 7, 2010
Panettone
I'm now reading the book "Julie and Julia" which is now a major motion picture. Some of you know that I've been recently inspired to start cooking again now that a)I'm home and b)I can buy fresh foods without the worry of them going bad and c)after eating months of camp food, I'm fairly sick of sub par food-stuffs. The fact that all summer I actually ate something that could legally be called "food-stuffs" should tip you off right there. Not only is camp food greatly processed, fake and not so very delicious, I ate enough MRE's to have my innards permanently preserved. You could bury me in the ground as-is and I wouldn't rot for hundreds of years.
So I've re-learned the absolute joy of cooking, and cooking real food. Frozen dinners don't count. I even bought a cute little apron to inspire me. The book "Julie and Julia" has inspired me even more. In case you aren't aware of the plot, little Julie, living in New York, not exactly happy with her life, decides to take on a project of cooking every single meal in Julia Child's cook book "Mastering the Art of French Cooking" and blogging about it. No, I won't be chronicling every meal I cook. It worked for her because she was learning French cooking which is the French way of making something very simple, very difficult to make. I'm sure it's delicious. But I have no plans of killing my food, gelling anything out of calves feet or breaking apart the hip bone of a cow to extract the marrow. Like I said, I'm sure it's delicious but I'd rather go buy it... or not. Anyway, so nothing much exciting happens when I cook, but if it does, I'll write about it. For your enjoyment. Did I ever tell you guys about the few times I was cooking while extremely tired and actually reached into the oven and pulled out the pan... with my bare hands? I think maybe I did that twice, and both times had to do with extreme exhaustion. One of the times it managed to travel to my brain fast enough to let go before I got it out of the oven. The other time I wasn't so lucky. The nerve impulse traveled from my hand to my brain so slowly that I managed to pull the pan completely out of the oven only to drop it on the open door of the oven. As I recall, my dad or brother was standing there watching in amazement. Anyway, that hasn't happened in years.
I bought a loaf of Panettone at the store since it reminded me of the loaf I was gifted in Naples, Italy. It's the Italian equivalent of our fruit cake, but much lighter and I think normal people actually eat it. I was looking at things I can do with Panettone after finding a recipe for panettone and ice cream in my new Italian cookbook. The thing is, I love to cook, but I don't so much like to bake. I also have been completely against buying ice cream since I bought my own ice cream maker. It's just not allowed. But I haven't made ice cream in months. I may have to do something about that. I found some recipes for bread pudding made from panettone, but then again I don't bake. Baking really brings me no joy and no inspiration. I also found that I can make french toast with panettone. That didn't look particularly inspiring either. I'm wondering if I can just soak it in some Kahlua or something? I suppose there's only one way to find out.
Actually, instead of using Kahlua, I'm using Amarula, which is Marula fruit cream liquor. I don't know what a Marula fruit is but the mini bottle that I have has a picture of an elephant on it and says it's a product of South Africa. So this little treat is now an eclectic mix of Italy and South Africa. You cant really go wrong with that.
Woo! That's a lot of alcohol. Just dumped it right over the panettone. Maybe I should go back to the ice cream idea.
Yesterday I made a salad of grilled asparagus rolled in pancetta with mozzarella cheese, drizzled with balsamic vinegar and salt and pepper. Then I made sauerkraut with kielbasa and potatoes for dinner. I forgot how good sauerkraut is on a cold rainy day.
I'm hoping my motivation to work out kicks in sometime soon. This winter weather has me wanting to do nothing but cook and eat, which could have some disastrous consequences.
So I've re-learned the absolute joy of cooking, and cooking real food. Frozen dinners don't count. I even bought a cute little apron to inspire me. The book "Julie and Julia" has inspired me even more. In case you aren't aware of the plot, little Julie, living in New York, not exactly happy with her life, decides to take on a project of cooking every single meal in Julia Child's cook book "Mastering the Art of French Cooking" and blogging about it. No, I won't be chronicling every meal I cook. It worked for her because she was learning French cooking which is the French way of making something very simple, very difficult to make. I'm sure it's delicious. But I have no plans of killing my food, gelling anything out of calves feet or breaking apart the hip bone of a cow to extract the marrow. Like I said, I'm sure it's delicious but I'd rather go buy it... or not. Anyway, so nothing much exciting happens when I cook, but if it does, I'll write about it. For your enjoyment. Did I ever tell you guys about the few times I was cooking while extremely tired and actually reached into the oven and pulled out the pan... with my bare hands? I think maybe I did that twice, and both times had to do with extreme exhaustion. One of the times it managed to travel to my brain fast enough to let go before I got it out of the oven. The other time I wasn't so lucky. The nerve impulse traveled from my hand to my brain so slowly that I managed to pull the pan completely out of the oven only to drop it on the open door of the oven. As I recall, my dad or brother was standing there watching in amazement. Anyway, that hasn't happened in years.
I bought a loaf of Panettone at the store since it reminded me of the loaf I was gifted in Naples, Italy. It's the Italian equivalent of our fruit cake, but much lighter and I think normal people actually eat it. I was looking at things I can do with Panettone after finding a recipe for panettone and ice cream in my new Italian cookbook. The thing is, I love to cook, but I don't so much like to bake. I also have been completely against buying ice cream since I bought my own ice cream maker. It's just not allowed. But I haven't made ice cream in months. I may have to do something about that. I found some recipes for bread pudding made from panettone, but then again I don't bake. Baking really brings me no joy and no inspiration. I also found that I can make french toast with panettone. That didn't look particularly inspiring either. I'm wondering if I can just soak it in some Kahlua or something? I suppose there's only one way to find out.
Actually, instead of using Kahlua, I'm using Amarula, which is Marula fruit cream liquor. I don't know what a Marula fruit is but the mini bottle that I have has a picture of an elephant on it and says it's a product of South Africa. So this little treat is now an eclectic mix of Italy and South Africa. You cant really go wrong with that.
Woo! That's a lot of alcohol. Just dumped it right over the panettone. Maybe I should go back to the ice cream idea.
Yesterday I made a salad of grilled asparagus rolled in pancetta with mozzarella cheese, drizzled with balsamic vinegar and salt and pepper. Then I made sauerkraut with kielbasa and potatoes for dinner. I forgot how good sauerkraut is on a cold rainy day.
I'm hoping my motivation to work out kicks in sometime soon. This winter weather has me wanting to do nothing but cook and eat, which could have some disastrous consequences.
Wednesday, November 3, 2010
On Mental Stability
Every once in awhile I get an inkling that I might not be as mentally stable as I like to think. Today it occurred to me that I may have actual paranoia or anxiety. I was relaying a few stories to the guys at work about thinking some one wanted to kill me. The guys joked about it to the point that I realized that this happens quite often. I started to think about it and wondered if I was more paranoid than the average American. Here's a couple of the things that got me thinking:
1. Whenever I come home, I check in the closets, behind all the doors and behind the shower curtain to be sure that no one is there. Actually the shower curtain probably gets checked several times while I'm home, just in case some one crawled in there while I wasn't looking.
2. I absolutely refuse to live in a big house because I have to be able to hear if some one comes in through a window or is moving around in another room.
3. If there is a car behind me for awhile, I assume they are following me and I drive around in circles until they turn.
4. I'm afraid to go run or hike in the woods because I might be shot by a hunter mistaking me for a deer. As well as I may be attacked by a person or wild animal.
So I was wondering if maybe I had true, legit paranoia. I googled it. Wow, there are some crazy people out there. Maybe I'm delusional, I don't know, I'll have to look that up too. But I am so very far from having clinical paranoia that we might as well be opposites. I read this stuff and think: people actually think this way?
Looking up stuff under anxiety wasn't very helpful either. So I googled "looking behing the shower curtain". You would not believe how many people actually do this on a regular basis. I'm just glad there's drawers under my bed or I'd have to look under there too. Apparently this is all "normal". I just thought I was being ridiculous. Turns out I'm just being cautious. I mean it happens, right? People come home and they don't know there's some one hiding in their closet. Then they go to sleep and the person comes out and kills them. Seriously. It happens. Not just for movies anymore.
But as it turns out, a lot of people check behind the shower curtain for the boogey man. That and it's been proven that I have a very active imagination anyway.
1. Whenever I come home, I check in the closets, behind all the doors and behind the shower curtain to be sure that no one is there. Actually the shower curtain probably gets checked several times while I'm home, just in case some one crawled in there while I wasn't looking.
2. I absolutely refuse to live in a big house because I have to be able to hear if some one comes in through a window or is moving around in another room.
3. If there is a car behind me for awhile, I assume they are following me and I drive around in circles until they turn.
4. I'm afraid to go run or hike in the woods because I might be shot by a hunter mistaking me for a deer. As well as I may be attacked by a person or wild animal.
So I was wondering if maybe I had true, legit paranoia. I googled it. Wow, there are some crazy people out there. Maybe I'm delusional, I don't know, I'll have to look that up too. But I am so very far from having clinical paranoia that we might as well be opposites. I read this stuff and think: people actually think this way?
Looking up stuff under anxiety wasn't very helpful either. So I googled "looking behing the shower curtain". You would not believe how many people actually do this on a regular basis. I'm just glad there's drawers under my bed or I'd have to look under there too. Apparently this is all "normal". I just thought I was being ridiculous. Turns out I'm just being cautious. I mean it happens, right? People come home and they don't know there's some one hiding in their closet. Then they go to sleep and the person comes out and kills them. Seriously. It happens. Not just for movies anymore.
But as it turns out, a lot of people check behind the shower curtain for the boogey man. That and it's been proven that I have a very active imagination anyway.
Sunday, October 31, 2010
The Laundromat Chronicles
This story starts on a brisk and windy Halloween evening, a couple hours before dark. Freaks and goblins were already out and about but I blame that on three things: it was Halloween, it was Yreka, and I was at the Laundromat.
As I pulled into the parking lot, I saw a tall skinny man with two dogs starting to come toward my vehicle. As I got out, he approached me and asked for money, stating that he was homeless. I'm definately one to give money to homeless people, but not when I'm in a position where I would have to open my purse and wallet. If the money is in my pocket and in easy reach, it's not that big of a deal. I told him sorry, I couldn't. He pressed me for a just a little bit, whatever I could spare. I told him no, I'm sorry again, and went to the other side of my vehicle. I went inside and put my laundry in the washing machine and went back to my car to take out the recycling. Watching for the man again, I walked across the parking lot to the recycling bins. After sorting it all out, I returned to my laundry to wait for the time to put it in the dryer. Normally I take off and come back in 20 minutes to switch it out. I didn't this time because I figured it wouldn't take very long and I could get it all done as soon as possible.
Some of you are aware of my stalker from the gym. He hasn't been very successful at stalking me since he called my work looking for me and they told him they didn't know who I was. He got my name wrong anyway. So there I was, choosing a magazine from the table, when a man walked in. It was my gym stalker, low and behold. I pretended I didn't recognize him (because I wasn't totally sure at first). He looked at me and then walked around to the washers and looked at them. He looked back at me. I pretended to read my magazine. He looked at the washers again. I looked up and he looked at me and said "Do you know how much these cost? I mean to run them?". I told him I did not. He walked out. I pretended to continue reading my magazine. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a dark grey extended cab pick-up. Before I could stand up to take a better look or get a license plate number, he was gone.
I figure he was driving by, saw me at the recycling bin and saw me walk into the laundromat. He must have been thinking "That's the girl from the gym!". So he thought he'd get a closer look. He needed some lame excuse so he asked about the cost of the washing machines, hoping to get me to talk. After he left I looked at the machines and they said in huge numbers $2.00- in black, outlined in red. On each and every machine. Red and black, staring him in the face. He knew how much the machines were, he could read. Which unfortunately means that now he might realize what my vehicle looks like.
So I called my good friend, Gwen to let her know what just happened. As I was talking to her, a man in a Dolphins jersey walked in with a cigarette in his mouth, a gun in his hand and a Bank of America zippered pouch in the other. He shook the gun around and said something about a laundry stick up. Then he sort of sauntered out. I went on with my conversation with Gwen. After I got off the phone with her, he came back in and apologized for scaring me. I nodded and said I figured with it being Halloween and all... He said he was working on his new place, he's opening up a pet store right next to the laundromat. I should come there, he'll beat Medford's prices. I told him I didn't have any pets but that I would spread the word. He said his grand opening will be on Veteren's day. His buddy is going to barbeque. There's going to be free food as well as free adult drinks in the back. "Awesome." I said. "Yeah, so tell everyone, bring your friends".
I went to my car to get the dryer sheets and he stood outside his shop, gun still in hand, saying how he's doing his decorating, getting all ready. "How exciting for you." I told him. "Yeah, and we're gonna have like a club in the back, where me and the guys can hang out and stuff. It's gonna have it's own back door... cause sometimes it sucks going to the bar and all. We'll invite the girls sometimes too." Hmm. So there's going to be a petshop next door to the laundromat that has a man cave/night club in the back. Eureka. No, not quite. Yreka. You betcha.
After stuffing my clothes in the dryer, I drove home, taking all sorts of side streets and driving past my place 3 times, just to make sure I wasn't being followed by the gym stalker. I drove past the police station and then back home. On my way home, a cop in front of me lit up some hoodlums that were probably pestering some little kids for their candy. I've got my candy all ready to hand out, but I still have to head back to the laundromat for my clothes. Hopefully they're still there and the gym guy didn't come in and steal my underwear. That would suck.
As I pulled into the parking lot, I saw a tall skinny man with two dogs starting to come toward my vehicle. As I got out, he approached me and asked for money, stating that he was homeless. I'm definately one to give money to homeless people, but not when I'm in a position where I would have to open my purse and wallet. If the money is in my pocket and in easy reach, it's not that big of a deal. I told him sorry, I couldn't. He pressed me for a just a little bit, whatever I could spare. I told him no, I'm sorry again, and went to the other side of my vehicle. I went inside and put my laundry in the washing machine and went back to my car to take out the recycling. Watching for the man again, I walked across the parking lot to the recycling bins. After sorting it all out, I returned to my laundry to wait for the time to put it in the dryer. Normally I take off and come back in 20 minutes to switch it out. I didn't this time because I figured it wouldn't take very long and I could get it all done as soon as possible.
Some of you are aware of my stalker from the gym. He hasn't been very successful at stalking me since he called my work looking for me and they told him they didn't know who I was. He got my name wrong anyway. So there I was, choosing a magazine from the table, when a man walked in. It was my gym stalker, low and behold. I pretended I didn't recognize him (because I wasn't totally sure at first). He looked at me and then walked around to the washers and looked at them. He looked back at me. I pretended to read my magazine. He looked at the washers again. I looked up and he looked at me and said "Do you know how much these cost? I mean to run them?". I told him I did not. He walked out. I pretended to continue reading my magazine. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a dark grey extended cab pick-up. Before I could stand up to take a better look or get a license plate number, he was gone.
I figure he was driving by, saw me at the recycling bin and saw me walk into the laundromat. He must have been thinking "That's the girl from the gym!". So he thought he'd get a closer look. He needed some lame excuse so he asked about the cost of the washing machines, hoping to get me to talk. After he left I looked at the machines and they said in huge numbers $2.00- in black, outlined in red. On each and every machine. Red and black, staring him in the face. He knew how much the machines were, he could read. Which unfortunately means that now he might realize what my vehicle looks like.
So I called my good friend, Gwen to let her know what just happened. As I was talking to her, a man in a Dolphins jersey walked in with a cigarette in his mouth, a gun in his hand and a Bank of America zippered pouch in the other. He shook the gun around and said something about a laundry stick up. Then he sort of sauntered out. I went on with my conversation with Gwen. After I got off the phone with her, he came back in and apologized for scaring me. I nodded and said I figured with it being Halloween and all... He said he was working on his new place, he's opening up a pet store right next to the laundromat. I should come there, he'll beat Medford's prices. I told him I didn't have any pets but that I would spread the word. He said his grand opening will be on Veteren's day. His buddy is going to barbeque. There's going to be free food as well as free adult drinks in the back. "Awesome." I said. "Yeah, so tell everyone, bring your friends".
I went to my car to get the dryer sheets and he stood outside his shop, gun still in hand, saying how he's doing his decorating, getting all ready. "How exciting for you." I told him. "Yeah, and we're gonna have like a club in the back, where me and the guys can hang out and stuff. It's gonna have it's own back door... cause sometimes it sucks going to the bar and all. We'll invite the girls sometimes too." Hmm. So there's going to be a petshop next door to the laundromat that has a man cave/night club in the back. Eureka. No, not quite. Yreka. You betcha.
After stuffing my clothes in the dryer, I drove home, taking all sorts of side streets and driving past my place 3 times, just to make sure I wasn't being followed by the gym stalker. I drove past the police station and then back home. On my way home, a cop in front of me lit up some hoodlums that were probably pestering some little kids for their candy. I've got my candy all ready to hand out, but I still have to head back to the laundromat for my clothes. Hopefully they're still there and the gym guy didn't come in and steal my underwear. That would suck.
Saturday, October 30, 2010
Update
Well it's been forever since I've posted and even longer since I've sat down to do any real writing, so I figured I'd hop on here and share the latest and greatest. Fire season is officially over and we're into the winter season. I think this year I will create an awe-inspiring recruitment video for people wanting to work year round, full time. I've got some great pictures of a large bonfire created by extra brush and junk from around the station. I also have a short video of getting one of the engines stuck in the mud, and then un-stuck along with interviews from onlookers. I feel like people should be more informed on their decisions to either become or not to become a permanent year round employee.
Just yesterday I got lost in the woods. Seriously. Awhile back I read a book called Deep Survival (very good book)that differentiates between the characteristics and patterns of people who survive while lost in the woods and people who do not. Surprisingly, I had more traits of the people who do not survive in the woods. Many of you may be shocked to hear that... then again, some of you may not. A particular pattern of people who do not survive being lost in the woods (or out at sea, or whatever the trial may be) was that the person, upon realizing that he or she is lost, does not back track to a point where they knew where they were. This may have something to do with stubbornness and not wanting to "waste time" back tracking. I don't know, really, but it's complete and utter foolishness.
One of the guys and I were sent out into the wilderness of Oregon to check brush piles we had burned a couple days prior. It was no big deal because it had been raining for several days, we just needed to be sure they weren't going to "get away" (as if). Being such a low complexity task, a small area to be checked, and the fact that we were expecting more rain, I brought nothing but a jacket, a radio (the kind you talk on), a cell phone, my helmet (trees ya know) and the keys to the truck. No gear, no compass, no GPS, no map, no food, no water (it was very damp and cold out there... and there were several streams anyway). Very low danger in my opinion.
As I started out towards an unfamiliar area that was burned (I had burned piles on the other side of the mountain) I had a thought that I should GPS the location of the truck, as is customary when leaving our vehicles and heading out to a fire. Since I had left mine at the station, I quickly dismissed the thought and went on my way. I finally came across some freshly burned piles that were rather drenched. I finished my route and called over the radio to the other guy who was checking the other side. He said he was on his way toward me, so I started toward him. We would meet in the middle and head back to the truck and back to the station. Quick and simple.
Well not really. It wasn't long before I noticed I hadn't seen any piles. So I shouted to locate my coworker. When I didn't get a response, I asked him over the radio to "give me a hoot". I heard nothing. So I kept on going, thinking I'd hear him eventually. After not hearing him for awhile, I figured I had gone too far and started back the way I had come. But then I thought how mean of me it was to walk back the other way when he was supposed to be walking towards me. He'd end up having to walk further than me. So I turned around and went back the other way. After some time, I started to think that it was possible that I was lost. We weren't far from the truck so I decided to walk down the mountain, find the road, and just walk back to the truck and meet the guy there.
I heard something big rustling behind me. I turned to see the branches of a tree swaying rather wildly. I asked my coworker over the radio if that was him or a big animal in the bushes. He asked if I heard his shout. I definately did not, which meant it was definately an animal. I backed away into the other direction, making sure I wasn't followed. I made my way down the mountainside and came across a road. I followed the road to a stream. We had crossed a stream on our way out there... unfortunately, this stream was flowing the opposite direction. I figured it was either a different stream or it was after a bend in the stream. I turned around again to head back to where I thought the truck was. I called to my coworker and asked him over the radio to call back. He didn't hear me and I didn't hear him.
It was at that moment that I realized I was actually lost. Like, for real. I thought about that chapter in Deep Survival about back tracking to the point where I actually knew where I was. I looked at my watch. That would take forever. And if we took forever, my boss would find out that I had gotten lost and I'd be forever embarrassed. I walked on. I couldn't be far from the truck. I told my coworker that if he met me on the road, I might be able to hear him better. After walking some time, I came across a network of dirt roads that I had never seen before. Now I knew for sure I was lost. I got a small little inkling of dread, but knew I wasn't in any danger yet. But we were fast approaching the point where we'd have to let some one know that I was lost. I found another stream, this time going in the correct direction. I radioed to my coworker to go back to the truck and hit the sirens. Surely I would hear that. I waited in place until he got to the truck. I heard nothing. At this point it occurred to me that he could be messing with me and not really hitting the sirens, and possibly following me around to see if I would panic when I got lost. Since we were on a channel where others could potentially hear our conversation, I asked him to switch to our secret squirrel channel.
After switching, I asked if he was truly running the sirens. He was. He tried pointing me to landmarks, asking if I could see the smoke on the hillside. I could not. I asked if he had a map. Maybe I could describe the terrain features I was seeing and he could guide me in. I turned on my cell phone and saw I had reception. I considered calling my boss, but knew I'd never live it down. I decided to head north. It felt right. I came along a fence with a Forest Service boundary sign. That was a good omen. My coworker had been unable to find a map. So I checked out the Verizon Wireless navigator on my phone. I opened the file and uploaded it (for $2.99). It told me I was in Ashland, OR. I wasn't quite (or maybe I was?). I called my coworker and asked if he had a GPS. When I asked my phone about my location, it gave me my coordinates in latitude and longitude. If my coworker had a GPS, he could punch that in, and it would point him to exactly where I was. He did not have, and could not find, a GPS.
Walking towards another road, I tripped over some barbed wire on the ground and fell so hard it knocked my helmet off. Out loud I scolded myself, saying this was definately not a time to get hurt or go unconcious because neither of us knew where I was and I had the keys to the truck (actually a good thing- this way he couldn't leave me behind). After clearing a couple of ridges, I asked him to hit the siren again. This time I heard it. I was so thankful. I started walking toward it and found another road. After finding the road, I found where we had started burning days earlier. I was so happy to be found again!
On the way back to the station, we talked about it and laughed, as well as tisked ourselves for not bringing gear or compasses or GPS units. I was just glad I hadn't panicked and called my boss. We stopped at the gas station on the way home and I got a well deserved Blackberry Oreo milkshake. I told my coworker how I have this innate ability to get lost no matter the situation or where I am. City, woods, swimming pool: I've gotten lost in all of them. Thankfully this one was fairly uneventful and dispatch did not have to send out a search party for me. However, I'm glad to say, if they did, at least I had my GPS coordinates and they would have found me fairly quickly. But I would certainly never live it down.
Just yesterday I got lost in the woods. Seriously. Awhile back I read a book called Deep Survival (very good book)that differentiates between the characteristics and patterns of people who survive while lost in the woods and people who do not. Surprisingly, I had more traits of the people who do not survive in the woods. Many of you may be shocked to hear that... then again, some of you may not. A particular pattern of people who do not survive being lost in the woods (or out at sea, or whatever the trial may be) was that the person, upon realizing that he or she is lost, does not back track to a point where they knew where they were. This may have something to do with stubbornness and not wanting to "waste time" back tracking. I don't know, really, but it's complete and utter foolishness.
One of the guys and I were sent out into the wilderness of Oregon to check brush piles we had burned a couple days prior. It was no big deal because it had been raining for several days, we just needed to be sure they weren't going to "get away" (as if). Being such a low complexity task, a small area to be checked, and the fact that we were expecting more rain, I brought nothing but a jacket, a radio (the kind you talk on), a cell phone, my helmet (trees ya know) and the keys to the truck. No gear, no compass, no GPS, no map, no food, no water (it was very damp and cold out there... and there were several streams anyway). Very low danger in my opinion.
As I started out towards an unfamiliar area that was burned (I had burned piles on the other side of the mountain) I had a thought that I should GPS the location of the truck, as is customary when leaving our vehicles and heading out to a fire. Since I had left mine at the station, I quickly dismissed the thought and went on my way. I finally came across some freshly burned piles that were rather drenched. I finished my route and called over the radio to the other guy who was checking the other side. He said he was on his way toward me, so I started toward him. We would meet in the middle and head back to the truck and back to the station. Quick and simple.
Well not really. It wasn't long before I noticed I hadn't seen any piles. So I shouted to locate my coworker. When I didn't get a response, I asked him over the radio to "give me a hoot". I heard nothing. So I kept on going, thinking I'd hear him eventually. After not hearing him for awhile, I figured I had gone too far and started back the way I had come. But then I thought how mean of me it was to walk back the other way when he was supposed to be walking towards me. He'd end up having to walk further than me. So I turned around and went back the other way. After some time, I started to think that it was possible that I was lost. We weren't far from the truck so I decided to walk down the mountain, find the road, and just walk back to the truck and meet the guy there.
I heard something big rustling behind me. I turned to see the branches of a tree swaying rather wildly. I asked my coworker over the radio if that was him or a big animal in the bushes. He asked if I heard his shout. I definately did not, which meant it was definately an animal. I backed away into the other direction, making sure I wasn't followed. I made my way down the mountainside and came across a road. I followed the road to a stream. We had crossed a stream on our way out there... unfortunately, this stream was flowing the opposite direction. I figured it was either a different stream or it was after a bend in the stream. I turned around again to head back to where I thought the truck was. I called to my coworker and asked him over the radio to call back. He didn't hear me and I didn't hear him.
It was at that moment that I realized I was actually lost. Like, for real. I thought about that chapter in Deep Survival about back tracking to the point where I actually knew where I was. I looked at my watch. That would take forever. And if we took forever, my boss would find out that I had gotten lost and I'd be forever embarrassed. I walked on. I couldn't be far from the truck. I told my coworker that if he met me on the road, I might be able to hear him better. After walking some time, I came across a network of dirt roads that I had never seen before. Now I knew for sure I was lost. I got a small little inkling of dread, but knew I wasn't in any danger yet. But we were fast approaching the point where we'd have to let some one know that I was lost. I found another stream, this time going in the correct direction. I radioed to my coworker to go back to the truck and hit the sirens. Surely I would hear that. I waited in place until he got to the truck. I heard nothing. At this point it occurred to me that he could be messing with me and not really hitting the sirens, and possibly following me around to see if I would panic when I got lost. Since we were on a channel where others could potentially hear our conversation, I asked him to switch to our secret squirrel channel.
After switching, I asked if he was truly running the sirens. He was. He tried pointing me to landmarks, asking if I could see the smoke on the hillside. I could not. I asked if he had a map. Maybe I could describe the terrain features I was seeing and he could guide me in. I turned on my cell phone and saw I had reception. I considered calling my boss, but knew I'd never live it down. I decided to head north. It felt right. I came along a fence with a Forest Service boundary sign. That was a good omen. My coworker had been unable to find a map. So I checked out the Verizon Wireless navigator on my phone. I opened the file and uploaded it (for $2.99). It told me I was in Ashland, OR. I wasn't quite (or maybe I was?). I called my coworker and asked if he had a GPS. When I asked my phone about my location, it gave me my coordinates in latitude and longitude. If my coworker had a GPS, he could punch that in, and it would point him to exactly where I was. He did not have, and could not find, a GPS.
Walking towards another road, I tripped over some barbed wire on the ground and fell so hard it knocked my helmet off. Out loud I scolded myself, saying this was definately not a time to get hurt or go unconcious because neither of us knew where I was and I had the keys to the truck (actually a good thing- this way he couldn't leave me behind). After clearing a couple of ridges, I asked him to hit the siren again. This time I heard it. I was so thankful. I started walking toward it and found another road. After finding the road, I found where we had started burning days earlier. I was so happy to be found again!
On the way back to the station, we talked about it and laughed, as well as tisked ourselves for not bringing gear or compasses or GPS units. I was just glad I hadn't panicked and called my boss. We stopped at the gas station on the way home and I got a well deserved Blackberry Oreo milkshake. I told my coworker how I have this innate ability to get lost no matter the situation or where I am. City, woods, swimming pool: I've gotten lost in all of them. Thankfully this one was fairly uneventful and dispatch did not have to send out a search party for me. However, I'm glad to say, if they did, at least I had my GPS coordinates and they would have found me fairly quickly. But I would certainly never live it down.
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