Wednesday, November 16, 2011
Sunday, October 30, 2011
The Horned Avenger: Chapter 2
There were certainly times when he wished that he could go back to being just "Melvin". Things were much simpler back when he was younger. According to his mother's accounts, he was named after his father, which would technically have made him Melvin Jr, but he didn't mind the fact that most people didn't know that. Maybe it would have been different if he had known his dad, but he had no memory of him at all, not even fleeting ones. When he was very young, his mother would tell him that he looked just like his father, but strangely this included both before and after he grew his horns. When his hair was short, he looked like his dad, but the same was true when his hair was long. Sometimes, Melvin wondered if his mother had really known his father or if it was a one night stand or something more tawdry.
In any case, Melvin had always been a "mama's boy" growing up. He lived with his mom in a small dusty stall that she rented from one of the local farmers. It wasn't much but it kept the rain out, unless you made the mistake of sleeping in the north east corner, and even the minimal straw was better than the cold ground when it came time to sleep. It was a little small, probably six feet by four feet, but at least it had a yard. In the spring time, they even had a view of some grass off in the distance. Legend was that there used to be grass in their stall, but that was years ago if at all. The neighborhood was okay too, although it could be a little loud. It must have been a pretty sprawling housing area, because when he looked left and right, he could see other goats in their little yards. Occasionally he could hear his mother talking to them but he couldn't make out what they were saying. It was almost like it was a different goat dialect and she would never answer his questions about those conversations.
Melvin often wondered how his mom made the money for rent. When he woke up, she was often gone and the time of her return varied. The best that he could glean was that she worked for the farmer in some capacity. He wished that she would teach him more about her job so that he would have a skill of his own, but she would always find a way to change the topic and since she was normally tired, he didn't press her on it.
Melvin loved his mom. She had always tried so hard to take care of him and more than anything else, it was the memory of her face that he clung to when the hardships associated with his multiple personalities threaten to destroy him. He wished he knew where she was and how she was doing. The last time he had seen her was when he was only three (Author's note: Goats calculate their age in month's and not years as this forces them to focus more on life's passage).
(To be continued)
In any case, Melvin had always been a "mama's boy" growing up. He lived with his mom in a small dusty stall that she rented from one of the local farmers. It wasn't much but it kept the rain out, unless you made the mistake of sleeping in the north east corner, and even the minimal straw was better than the cold ground when it came time to sleep. It was a little small, probably six feet by four feet, but at least it had a yard. In the spring time, they even had a view of some grass off in the distance. Legend was that there used to be grass in their stall, but that was years ago if at all. The neighborhood was okay too, although it could be a little loud. It must have been a pretty sprawling housing area, because when he looked left and right, he could see other goats in their little yards. Occasionally he could hear his mother talking to them but he couldn't make out what they were saying. It was almost like it was a different goat dialect and she would never answer his questions about those conversations.
Melvin often wondered how his mom made the money for rent. When he woke up, she was often gone and the time of her return varied. The best that he could glean was that she worked for the farmer in some capacity. He wished that she would teach him more about her job so that he would have a skill of his own, but she would always find a way to change the topic and since she was normally tired, he didn't press her on it.
Melvin loved his mom. She had always tried so hard to take care of him and more than anything else, it was the memory of her face that he clung to when the hardships associated with his multiple personalities threaten to destroy him. He wished he knew where she was and how she was doing. The last time he had seen her was when he was only three (Author's note: Goats calculate their age in month's and not years as this forces them to focus more on life's passage).
(To be continued)
Sunday, October 16, 2011
The Horned Avenger: Chapter 1
The arid wooden planks of the cell seemed to be closing in on him a little more every minute as he sat in the corner wondering what he was going to do next. Being in isolation was really beginning to cramp his style and mess with his routine. As his ears perked to scan the sounds all around him, he felt his first sense of calm. The only noises were the skittering of rats in the walls. It sounded like Monica may have had another litter of pups and she was running back to their distant squeaks along the rafters. He could tell it was her because of her distinct gait. It hadn't been that long ago that they had first met when she was being assaulted by a cat and he had intervened. She would carry her battle scars the rest of her life, but she had made it back to her family that night and every night thereafter, at least so far.
None of them knew that he was the Horned Avenger. That secret had to be maintained. It would be far too dangerous if anyone knew. Coco, his on-again-off-again lady love, had come close to catching him coming in late from one of his many adventures, but he had played it off masterfully by distracting her with some special mix that he just happened to be holding. For almost two years now, he had inhabited this complex web and he had to admit that it was exhausting work.
The caregivers, of course, knew none of this. To them he was just Melvin. His meek persona was a perfect foil to them finding out what was really going on. No one would ever suspect sweet little old Melvin with his slow strut and sleepy eyes. They would never dream that he walked the way he did because of the custom "sub-fur" holsters that he had strapped to each hip or that his sleepy eyes were the result of his nightly vigils. No, lucky for Melvin, the caretakers were too absorbed in the barn cleaning to see what was really happening.
That was the problem. Without easy access to the full barn area, it wasn't possible for him to make his constant patrols. Sure, he could get out if he needed to, but then his secret may be revealed. That would be disastrous. There were way too many souls who depended on him, even if they didn't realize it.
As he thought about his conundrum, he stifled a brief chuckle. Superman had it easy. He had only two alter egos; Superman and Clark Kent. It was the same with Batman and all the others. But, here in his world, the real world, it was far more complicated. He didn't have their Kryptonian bloodline and he wasn't born with the proverbial silver spoon in his mouth. In order to fund the heroic exploits of the Horned Avenger, Melvin had to create a third alter ego; the Goatfather. The Goatfather was the main man in the Sheep and Goat Barn, the Original Gangster, who made his fortune in the black market. If you needed a fix of Top Goat or a little extra forage pellets, he was the one to go to. Every sheep and goat knew this, even the geriatrics since it is hard to keep secrets on the Farm. 
None of them knew that he was the Horned Avenger. That secret had to be maintained. It would be far too dangerous if anyone knew. Coco, his on-again-off-again lady love, had come close to catching him coming in late from one of his many adventures, but he had played it off masterfully by distracting her with some special mix that he just happened to be holding. For almost two years now, he had inhabited this complex web and he had to admit that it was exhausting work.
The caregivers, of course, knew none of this. To them he was just Melvin. His meek persona was a perfect foil to them finding out what was really going on. No one would ever suspect sweet little old Melvin with his slow strut and sleepy eyes. They would never dream that he walked the way he did because of the custom "sub-fur" holsters that he had strapped to each hip or that his sleepy eyes were the result of his nightly vigils. No, lucky for Melvin, the caretakers were too absorbed in the barn cleaning to see what was really happening.
That's not to say that there hadn't been any close calls. In the last few months, his skirmishes had left him with some major injuries. He had to draw on all of his drama and counter-intelligence training in order to convincingly play those off as "accidents". It was hard for the humans to believe that even goofy old Melvin could be that clumsy.
(To Be Continued...)
Sunday, October 2, 2011
The Pariah Gambit
It was only supposed to be a short stop off on the way home to pick up some groceries, but things never quite go as smoothly as you would like. After walking past the item you were looking for three times, one of the employees pointed out where it was. Maybe it was just your internal monologue taking over, but you could swear that there had been a smug gleam in her eye when she pointed to it. Maybe she had watched you walking back and forth and thought that this was her chance to show her superiority. Then, just like always, you found yourself in the slowest moving of all the lines. "Express my ass", you said under your breath as you moved to the next line just in time for the cashier to place a lane closed sign on the conveyor. The only other open lane beckoned to you since you couldn't exactly reverse course having invested yourself in your initial misfortune. "Price check", said the third cashier, and you resolved yourself to another loss.
Having finally paid for your one item, you walk out to the parking lot. Bucking the recent trend, at least you remember where you parked. As you approach your car, you see a tall thin young man standing behind your car. His clothing is somewhat retro chic, but even from a distance it appears a little musty. You can almost taste it, but the word for the smell eludes you. You expect that he will dismiss himself as you get closer but he does not. You click your unlock button on your remote expecting that the chirp will break him out of his apparent trance, but it fails to do so. As you get within ten feet, he speaks in a somewhat smarmy and exotic accent. "Nice bumper sticker". "Oh, thanks", you say, now more than ever hoping that this interlude is coming to an end. "Do you really want it?" he asks. Well, at least now you know which bumper sticker he is talking about. He has apparently been eyeing your "World Peace" sticker. "Sure, who doesn't", you reply as you reach for your door handle. "If what you say is true, I have a proposition for you", he says, and you find yourself reaching for his outstretched hand despite all of the objections of your conscious brain.
As soon as your flesh makes contact with his cold skin, your reality melts away and you find yourself in the "dream sequence" so prevalent in the media. The colors aren't quite right and there is a general haziness around the edges. You try to look around, but it is clear that there is a particular scene that you are meant to observe. In front of you, in what appears to be a deserted park, you see a picnic table. The ground around it is scattered with what appears to be leaves, but these are all green and not the typical fall bouquet, Across the table from each other, you can see two figures. The first is instantly familiar as your new "friend" from the parking lot, but the second is not known to you. He has a paternal appearance and is evidently the older of the two. You ponder whether he is your host's father, but then your attention is drawn to their conversation.
"God, it feels like we have been playing forever", says the younger man. You hadn't noticed this before, but his words suddenly make you aware that there is a chess match in progress between the two. The older man seems to reflect on the comment, but says nothing in reply. Slowly, your vantage point begins to shift. Soon, you are no longer watching from the sidelines, but instead you are seeing the scene from behind the eyes of the younger man. As he speaks his next words, you have the weird sensation that these foreign words are coming out of your detached mouth. "It is clear that I have the advantage, but I am tiring of the game." "Your" gaze is drawn to the board where you see that there are indeed more black pieces than white. Across the table, you see your opponents weathered face more clearly now as he seemingly acknowledges this imbalance without looking down at the board. You can see in his eyes the acute awareness of his losses. Even the best chess masters lose pieces, both pawns and greater pieces, through deliberate sacrifices and errors, but there is a pain in his visage that transcends that. He looks as if he is about to speak when you hear the next words from inches below your line of sight.
"I have a proposition for you". Having just heard these words yourself in the parking lot, you are starting to wonder if your new acquaintance is a car salesman or a greasy politician, but he continues. "I am willing to cede the game to you if there is one among your creation who will take my deal". The older man shifts his gaze from the table to your eyes and you can see that he too is tired of the game and there is an apparent opening for this concept. When he speaks, his voice has a somewhat unnatural, but not unnerving timbre. "And what is this deal of which you speak?"
The younger man goes on to layout the deal.
Unending world peace will be granted if but one person, hereby referred to as the pariah, will accept the following conditions:
In a stomach wrenching transition, you find yourself suddenly back in the parking lot with a slight itching sensation all over your body. Your hand is no longer clenched in the strong handshake, but the man is still standing in front of you. He explains that he and God had agreed to some additional terms and that he had been required to offer the deal to ten people as a test of humanity's progress. You are, in fact, the tenth and final person to be asked, the previous nine having declined the deal. You are advised not to make any rash immediate decision, but instead to take the rest of the day to think it over and to meet back in this parking lot in twenty four hours. With that, you part company and spend the next twenty three and a half hours in alternating incredulity, denial, and sober thought.
Do you take the deal? If not, you can stop reading here and skip to the part in red text at the end. If you do take the deal, you show up in the parking lot the next day as directed. You even park in the same spot. By now your commitment is such that you wouldn't want to screw it up by not explicitly following directions.
The Devil arrives right on time. For all of his reputed faults, he is at least prompt. He seems sincerely surprised to see you there and is taken aback at first. Once he has gotten within customary speaking range he asks whether you are sure that this is what you want to do. "Yes", you say and he takes your hand as if to seal the deal - except something else happens.
Suddenly you are back in the deserted park looking out through the Devil's eyes. God is speaking now in his sombre voice. "I have faith in the innate goodness of my creation. While free will has allowed for many flaws and contagious outbreaks of immorality, they are basically good when faced with grave situations." He clears his throat and the table shakes violently. "Besides, the faithful would recognize that their eternal reward for such a sacrifice would far outweigh the finite suffering that would be inflicted upon them."
"Yes", says the Devil, apparently having anticipated this response. "That does seem to stack the odds in your favor, if such a person does indeed exist. Why don't we up the ante."
While the suffering of the pariah is guaranteed on Earth, his eternal disposition will be determined by the flip of a coin:
In either case, if the pariah accepts the deal, all other humans that have ever lived will have a heavenly eternity in the company of friends and loved ones (Including pets) and none will have to suffer eternal damnation.
The next twenty four hours seems a lot longer than the first and this forces you to imagine the concept of eternity. You cannot really wrap your mind around this. Do you accept the deal? If you don't please skip to the section in red at the bottom of the story. If you do accept, you find yourself back in the same parking lot the following day.
As you mill about in the minutes before your meeting, you wonder if the parking lot cams are picking any of this up. You wonder what security must be thinking as they see you and this stranger in the same spot for three consecutive days. You find yourself suddenly self conscious. Maybe they don't see the stranger and just figure that you are a crazy person with an outstretched hand who likes to talk to himself. You are suddenly snapped out of this when the Devil arrives. He seems even more surprised to see you today. He reaches out to take your hand but today it seems like more of a formal greeting than "sealing the deal".
It takes a couple seconds of hand to hand contact before you are back in the park. It is apparent that you are picking up exactly where you left off yesterday. You look down as you/the Devil take a coin from your pocket. You spin it to show that it is a normal coin and not a trick. The coin is flipped with a high trajectory and lands on the back of the Devil's hand with a smack that sounds like a rifle shock. You want to squint your eyes, but the Devil never squints and you see what he sees. It has landed on tails.
Do you still take the bargain?
One of the things that I enjoy about my job is the time that it gives me to think. The other day I was reflecting on the concept of selflessness. I like to think of myself as generous and kind and I would aspire to be selfless as well. In order to aspire to it, I felt the need to really define it. Dictionary.com defines selflessness as "having little or no concern for oneself especially with regard to fame, position, money, etc.; unselfish". This was a little too abstract for me to wrap my head around, hence the "Pariah Gambit". As it progresses, it transcends some of the ways that we may traditionally view this and ends in true selflessness. Anyone who takes the full bargain would truly be able to give everything for others without expecting any karmic rewards. I guess I have a long way to go!
Having finally paid for your one item, you walk out to the parking lot. Bucking the recent trend, at least you remember where you parked. As you approach your car, you see a tall thin young man standing behind your car. His clothing is somewhat retro chic, but even from a distance it appears a little musty. You can almost taste it, but the word for the smell eludes you. You expect that he will dismiss himself as you get closer but he does not. You click your unlock button on your remote expecting that the chirp will break him out of his apparent trance, but it fails to do so. As you get within ten feet, he speaks in a somewhat smarmy and exotic accent. "Nice bumper sticker". "Oh, thanks", you say, now more than ever hoping that this interlude is coming to an end. "Do you really want it?" he asks. Well, at least now you know which bumper sticker he is talking about. He has apparently been eyeing your "World Peace" sticker. "Sure, who doesn't", you reply as you reach for your door handle. "If what you say is true, I have a proposition for you", he says, and you find yourself reaching for his outstretched hand despite all of the objections of your conscious brain.
As soon as your flesh makes contact with his cold skin, your reality melts away and you find yourself in the "dream sequence" so prevalent in the media. The colors aren't quite right and there is a general haziness around the edges. You try to look around, but it is clear that there is a particular scene that you are meant to observe. In front of you, in what appears to be a deserted park, you see a picnic table. The ground around it is scattered with what appears to be leaves, but these are all green and not the typical fall bouquet, Across the table from each other, you can see two figures. The first is instantly familiar as your new "friend" from the parking lot, but the second is not known to you. He has a paternal appearance and is evidently the older of the two. You ponder whether he is your host's father, but then your attention is drawn to their conversation.
"God, it feels like we have been playing forever", says the younger man. You hadn't noticed this before, but his words suddenly make you aware that there is a chess match in progress between the two. The older man seems to reflect on the comment, but says nothing in reply. Slowly, your vantage point begins to shift. Soon, you are no longer watching from the sidelines, but instead you are seeing the scene from behind the eyes of the younger man. As he speaks his next words, you have the weird sensation that these foreign words are coming out of your detached mouth. "It is clear that I have the advantage, but I am tiring of the game." "Your" gaze is drawn to the board where you see that there are indeed more black pieces than white. Across the table, you see your opponents weathered face more clearly now as he seemingly acknowledges this imbalance without looking down at the board. You can see in his eyes the acute awareness of his losses. Even the best chess masters lose pieces, both pawns and greater pieces, through deliberate sacrifices and errors, but there is a pain in his visage that transcends that. He looks as if he is about to speak when you hear the next words from inches below your line of sight.
"I have a proposition for you". Having just heard these words yourself in the parking lot, you are starting to wonder if your new acquaintance is a car salesman or a greasy politician, but he continues. "I am willing to cede the game to you if there is one among your creation who will take my deal". The older man shifts his gaze from the table to your eyes and you can see that he too is tired of the game and there is an apparent opening for this concept. When he speaks, his voice has a somewhat unnatural, but not unnerving timbre. "And what is this deal of which you speak?"
The younger man goes on to layout the deal.
Unending world peace will be granted if but one person, hereby referred to as the pariah, will accept the following conditions:
- The world's new unity will be founded on their disdain for the pariah. He or she will immediately find themselves the object of the population's residual hatred. All relatives and loved ones will immediately turn on them and they will never hear another kind word or feel love from another person for the rest of their lives.
- The pariah cannot take any medications or drug which will dull the effects of his condition.
- The pariah will live to at least ninety five years of age and his or her life cannot be shortened by the pariah's own hand.
- As long as the pariah works diligently, they will be able to afford the necessities, but they will live a pauper's life for the rest of their years.
- The world will never know of the pariah's sacrifice on their behalf and he/she can never speak of it (Who would believe them if they did).
- Once accepted, the deal is unbreakable.
In a stomach wrenching transition, you find yourself suddenly back in the parking lot with a slight itching sensation all over your body. Your hand is no longer clenched in the strong handshake, but the man is still standing in front of you. He explains that he and God had agreed to some additional terms and that he had been required to offer the deal to ten people as a test of humanity's progress. You are, in fact, the tenth and final person to be asked, the previous nine having declined the deal. You are advised not to make any rash immediate decision, but instead to take the rest of the day to think it over and to meet back in this parking lot in twenty four hours. With that, you part company and spend the next twenty three and a half hours in alternating incredulity, denial, and sober thought.
Do you take the deal? If not, you can stop reading here and skip to the part in red text at the end. If you do take the deal, you show up in the parking lot the next day as directed. You even park in the same spot. By now your commitment is such that you wouldn't want to screw it up by not explicitly following directions.
The Devil arrives right on time. For all of his reputed faults, he is at least prompt. He seems sincerely surprised to see you there and is taken aback at first. Once he has gotten within customary speaking range he asks whether you are sure that this is what you want to do. "Yes", you say and he takes your hand as if to seal the deal - except something else happens.
Suddenly you are back in the deserted park looking out through the Devil's eyes. God is speaking now in his sombre voice. "I have faith in the innate goodness of my creation. While free will has allowed for many flaws and contagious outbreaks of immorality, they are basically good when faced with grave situations." He clears his throat and the table shakes violently. "Besides, the faithful would recognize that their eternal reward for such a sacrifice would far outweigh the finite suffering that would be inflicted upon them."
"Yes", says the Devil, apparently having anticipated this response. "That does seem to stack the odds in your favor, if such a person does indeed exist. Why don't we up the ante."
While the suffering of the pariah is guaranteed on Earth, his eternal disposition will be determined by the flip of a coin:
In either case, if the pariah accepts the deal, all other humans that have ever lived will have a heavenly eternity in the company of friends and loved ones (Including pets) and none will have to suffer eternal damnation.
- If it is heads, the pariah will know rewards without measure and will be like unto a god him or herself.
- If it is tails, the pariah will spend all eternity invisible, watching the happiness of others but without the ability to interact or participate. In order to ensure that this suffering never ends, all memory of the pariah will be stricken even from the mind of God.
The next twenty four hours seems a lot longer than the first and this forces you to imagine the concept of eternity. You cannot really wrap your mind around this. Do you accept the deal? If you don't please skip to the section in red at the bottom of the story. If you do accept, you find yourself back in the same parking lot the following day.
As you mill about in the minutes before your meeting, you wonder if the parking lot cams are picking any of this up. You wonder what security must be thinking as they see you and this stranger in the same spot for three consecutive days. You find yourself suddenly self conscious. Maybe they don't see the stranger and just figure that you are a crazy person with an outstretched hand who likes to talk to himself. You are suddenly snapped out of this when the Devil arrives. He seems even more surprised to see you today. He reaches out to take your hand but today it seems like more of a formal greeting than "sealing the deal".
It takes a couple seconds of hand to hand contact before you are back in the park. It is apparent that you are picking up exactly where you left off yesterday. You look down as you/the Devil take a coin from your pocket. You spin it to show that it is a normal coin and not a trick. The coin is flipped with a high trajectory and lands on the back of the Devil's hand with a smack that sounds like a rifle shock. You want to squint your eyes, but the Devil never squints and you see what he sees. It has landed on tails.
Do you still take the bargain?
One of the things that I enjoy about my job is the time that it gives me to think. The other day I was reflecting on the concept of selflessness. I like to think of myself as generous and kind and I would aspire to be selfless as well. In order to aspire to it, I felt the need to really define it. Dictionary.com defines selflessness as "having little or no concern for oneself especially with regard to fame, position, money, etc.; unselfish". This was a little too abstract for me to wrap my head around, hence the "Pariah Gambit". As it progresses, it transcends some of the ways that we may traditionally view this and ends in true selflessness. Anyone who takes the full bargain would truly be able to give everything for others without expecting any karmic rewards. I guess I have a long way to go!
Monday, September 26, 2011
Introducing Miss July
If I had to be reincarnated as an animal, I am pretty sure that I would want to be a goat. I can't put my finger on what it is, but I find them irresistible in spirit and joie de vivre. Nowhere is this more evident than in July. However, this wasn't always the case.
July arrived at the Farm in questionable condition. She takes her name from the month in which she was rescued from a horrible fate of neglect prior to an even more horrible fate of being eaten. With all the work to be done at the Farm, I have to admit that I didn't take much notice of July or her pygmy goat friends who arrived with her at first. In fact, it wasn't until something was obviously wrong with July that I began to spend one-on-one time with her. Since no one knew her exact history, the fact that she started to have difficulty walking presented a bit of a mystery. Over time, it became apparent that her issues went beyond arthritis and were probably neurological due to the nature of her gait. Soon, she couldn't even stand anymore and it was time for urgent action. I will always remember trying to visit with her the day before her trip to UC Davis. She was in the north stall of the Turkey Barn and as I entered she tried to get up. Her attempts became frantic and my heart went out to this little creature who seemed to be losing her will to live.
When she arrived at UC Davis they began treatment for an abscess near her spine, but the outlook was cautious. While it seemed that this was likely the cause of her rear leg lameness, it was unknown whether the damage could be reversed or whether it was permanent. She stayed at UC Davis for monitoring for several days before she came back to us. Every day I checked the medical update board for any news, but none of it was particularly good.
After returning, July was moved to live with the geriatric sheep in the hopes that they would keep her company. She began a regimen of physical therapy involving both assisted walking and range of motion, but as time passed, it seemed like her quality of life was declining. She would roll onto her right side and not be able to right herself and she wasn't showing any signs of improved strength in her rear legs. A decision on what was best for her was looming and her demeanor did not bode well.
It was on the afternoon of Friday, July 29th that I was able to make a joyful entry in July's physical therapy log. While I was walking her around with her rear legs held up, I could feel that she was trying to move them. The movement was devoid of coordination, but it was movement and a positive change in her condition. Suddenly things began to change dramatically. By the end of the weekend, more care givers were reporting the same experience. July had not given up on herself and we were going to be in it to win it.
In the days and weeks to come the PT log is filled with entries detailing her remarkable progress. The writers' happiness practically jumps of the page and there are several instances of emoticons and smiley faces. Soon July was standing on her own for brief periods, showing the ability to hold her weight. We set about converting a cart for her in order to allow her to get around on her own. I joked with fellow care givers that as soon as I finished with it, she probably wouldn't need it anymore - and I was right. She only used it in its finished form once for a test fitting. After that, she proved not to need it anymore. As much as I liked the cart (Including the bumper sticker which seemed perfect for a goat with horns), for once I was glad to have my work be in vain.
She still needed help to get up, but once she was standing, she could take some tentative steps. By now I was spending my free time at lunch and on breaks with her and started bringing treats such as grapes. I used these to entice her to walk forward and found that she was able to make more progress. My time combined with the countless hours spent by the other care givers and interns was showing remarkable results.
This was an amazing time for me. My first connection at Farm Sanctuary had been with Coco the goat who went through a rough recuperation. I had marvelled at the dedication of the organization to her recovery. I had visited her along the way and marked her progress, but I had not really been involved in making the miracle happen. Here, with July, I was really part of the team that was doing it.
It was a few weeks ago when it happened. I was cleaning July's bed in her stall when I caught a glimpse of something in the doorway. It was immediately familiar as July's face. Although I had left her on her bed outside after her PT, she had evidently gotten up on her own and come to visit me in the barn. My emotions felt electric and when Leanne showed up at the other door, I was so excited to tell her. As I did so, the hair on the back of my neck stood up and I had what could only be referred to as a deja vu
I have not mentioned this before because I do not want in anyway to overshadow the tireless efforts of the human care givers who worked so hard on July's recovery. Without this, she probably wouldn't be with us today. However, whenever I hear people refer to July as the "Miracle Goat", I feel the need to give thanks and to acknowledge that I believe that the nickname couldn't be more accurate.
July's miracle is still playing out and she continues to set new personal milestones. She is able to get around all by herself and she can even play the classic goat game of "head-butting". Perhaps most importantly, she has shown that she can smile and that makes it all worth it!
July arrived at the Farm in questionable condition. She takes her name from the month in which she was rescued from a horrible fate of neglect prior to an even more horrible fate of being eaten. With all the work to be done at the Farm, I have to admit that I didn't take much notice of July or her pygmy goat friends who arrived with her at first. In fact, it wasn't until something was obviously wrong with July that I began to spend one-on-one time with her. Since no one knew her exact history, the fact that she started to have difficulty walking presented a bit of a mystery. Over time, it became apparent that her issues went beyond arthritis and were probably neurological due to the nature of her gait. Soon, she couldn't even stand anymore and it was time for urgent action. I will always remember trying to visit with her the day before her trip to UC Davis. She was in the north stall of the Turkey Barn and as I entered she tried to get up. Her attempts became frantic and my heart went out to this little creature who seemed to be losing her will to live.
When she arrived at UC Davis they began treatment for an abscess near her spine, but the outlook was cautious. While it seemed that this was likely the cause of her rear leg lameness, it was unknown whether the damage could be reversed or whether it was permanent. She stayed at UC Davis for monitoring for several days before she came back to us. Every day I checked the medical update board for any news, but none of it was particularly good.
After returning, July was moved to live with the geriatric sheep in the hopes that they would keep her company. She began a regimen of physical therapy involving both assisted walking and range of motion, but as time passed, it seemed like her quality of life was declining. She would roll onto her right side and not be able to right herself and she wasn't showing any signs of improved strength in her rear legs. A decision on what was best for her was looming and her demeanor did not bode well.
It was on the afternoon of Friday, July 29th that I was able to make a joyful entry in July's physical therapy log. While I was walking her around with her rear legs held up, I could feel that she was trying to move them. The movement was devoid of coordination, but it was movement and a positive change in her condition. Suddenly things began to change dramatically. By the end of the weekend, more care givers were reporting the same experience. July had not given up on herself and we were going to be in it to win it.
In the days and weeks to come the PT log is filled with entries detailing her remarkable progress. The writers' happiness practically jumps of the page and there are several instances of emoticons and smiley faces. Soon July was standing on her own for brief periods, showing the ability to hold her weight. We set about converting a cart for her in order to allow her to get around on her own. I joked with fellow care givers that as soon as I finished with it, she probably wouldn't need it anymore - and I was right. She only used it in its finished form once for a test fitting. After that, she proved not to need it anymore. As much as I liked the cart (Including the bumper sticker which seemed perfect for a goat with horns), for once I was glad to have my work be in vain.
This was an amazing time for me. My first connection at Farm Sanctuary had been with Coco the goat who went through a rough recuperation. I had marvelled at the dedication of the organization to her recovery. I had visited her along the way and marked her progress, but I had not really been involved in making the miracle happen. Here, with July, I was really part of the team that was doing it.
It was a few weeks ago when it happened. I was cleaning July's bed in her stall when I caught a glimpse of something in the doorway. It was immediately familiar as July's face. Although I had left her on her bed outside after her PT, she had evidently gotten up on her own and come to visit me in the barn. My emotions felt electric and when Leanne showed up at the other door, I was so excited to tell her. As I did so, the hair on the back of my neck stood up and I had what could only be referred to as a deja vu
I have not mentioned this before because I do not want in anyway to overshadow the tireless efforts of the human care givers who worked so hard on July's recovery. Without this, she probably wouldn't be with us today. However, whenever I hear people refer to July as the "Miracle Goat", I feel the need to give thanks and to acknowledge that I believe that the nickname couldn't be more accurate.
July's miracle is still playing out and she continues to set new personal milestones. She is able to get around all by herself and she can even play the classic goat game of "head-butting". Perhaps most importantly, she has shown that she can smile and that makes it all worth it!
Meet Madeline
In my opinion, there are very few things in the world that could match the cuteness of a baby goat. They are the perfect combination of size, curiosity, and vivacity. Madeline was my first experience with a kid (baby goat) and she will always be special to me.
She arrived on the Farm the first month that I was working there and for a long time I found myself spending every break and every lunch sitting with her. With her curled up in my lap sleeping or frolicking around me, or on some days climbing me, nothing else mattered. No worldly care could crack through that shell of bliss. I didn't even mind when she was going through her "hair nibbling" phase.
With all baby animals with unknown histories, there is always a risk of getting attached to them. In Madeline's case, her incoming prognosis had been pretty bleak indeed. When I first saw her, I was expecting a pathetic little animal that had given up based on what we had heard, but that was never the case with her. While Madeline undoubtedly benefited from the medication that she was provided during her recovery, I have to believe that she benefited from the love she received as well; not just from me, but from everyone who ever met her. With that love in her corner, she became indomitable. The memories of those hours spent with her will never leave me. They served to reaffirm that I had made the right decision in coming here and put any lingering doubts to rest for good.
It has been almost exactly five months since I first met Madeline and I am happy to say that she is doing well with little evidence of her early struggles. Her little horn buds have blossomed into real horns that she unfortunately seems to love sharpening. She loves her strawberries and grapes and gets feisty sometimes if you scratch her butt. When the mood hits her, she likes to rear up and headbutt my hand, but her tail wagging belies her tough girl swagger. She will always be my "baby goat" even as she pulls away and finds that she had more in common with her small herd of Noel and Justin with whom she is spending time before being introduced to the other goats. I will miss both her excited bleats when she sees me and her sad bleats when I have to leave, but it will be a testament to the hard work of the staff when she has this opportunity to grow up (And someday soon she may grow into those ears of hers).
With all baby animals with unknown histories, there is always a risk of getting attached to them. In Madeline's case, her incoming prognosis had been pretty bleak indeed. When I first saw her, I was expecting a pathetic little animal that had given up based on what we had heard, but that was never the case with her. While Madeline undoubtedly benefited from the medication that she was provided during her recovery, I have to believe that she benefited from the love she received as well; not just from me, but from everyone who ever met her. With that love in her corner, she became indomitable. The memories of those hours spent with her will never leave me. They served to reaffirm that I had made the right decision in coming here and put any lingering doubts to rest for good.
It has been almost exactly five months since I first met Madeline and I am happy to say that she is doing well with little evidence of her early struggles. Her little horn buds have blossomed into real horns that she unfortunately seems to love sharpening. She loves her strawberries and grapes and gets feisty sometimes if you scratch her butt. When the mood hits her, she likes to rear up and headbutt my hand, but her tail wagging belies her tough girl swagger. She will always be my "baby goat" even as she pulls away and finds that she had more in common with her small herd of Noel and Justin with whom she is spending time before being introduced to the other goats. I will miss both her excited bleats when she sees me and her sad bleats when I have to leave, but it will be a testament to the hard work of the staff when she has this opportunity to grow up (And someday soon she may grow into those ears of hers).
Sunday, September 25, 2011
A Lesson from Linus
Since my last post was about pig barn cleaning, I figured it would be appropriate to share a related tale here, this time about a recent experience I had with Linus, another one of Farm Sanctuary's fine pig gentlemen.
Having finished cleaning the Rescue Barn, I was driving the tractor to the Pig Barn for the daily cleaning. Since the pigs understand that the sound of the tractor in the morning is the prelude to the wake-up call, it is not uncommon to see a couple pigs heading down to the pond of their own accord (This is a beautiful sight when you see it because it means less effort to clear the barn). On this day, however, Linus was making a march from the pond to the barn. I called out to him that he was going the wrong way, but he would not be dissuaded. He seemed to be a pig on a mission.
When I got to the Pig Barn, I dismounted the tractor and walked inside. Linus walked right over to me and brushed against me as I was arranging my cleaning implements. The sudden cold I felt on my side and legs informed me that I was suddenly quite muddy from our encounter. I didn't really need to look down to confirm this, but I did just as Linus was walking away and heading back out of the barn.
I will never know what Linus's objective was, but this seemed to be a deliberate act. Faced with the need to interpret it, I have chosen to believe the following. Since I spend a lot of time with the pigs making them do things that they would prefer not to do, like leaving the barn so I can clean, I try to give them treats and spend time with them to make up for it and keep our relationships in balance. The previous day, I had shared a banana with Linus by the pond in the afternoon. I like to believe that Linus was doing some sharing in return, using the only commodity he had which was the mud he had been rolling in and which he clearly liked. Viewed that way, it was a kind gesture.
Everyday, if not every hour, we are faced with a world which bombards us with similar messages where we may not always know the motives. Faced with the choice, it is all to easy to assign negative intonations to them and assume that the world and its inhabitants are crueler than they actually are. A whole other world opens up to us if we choose to view these ambiguous situations in a different light and assume the best rather than the worse. I had actually been studying this concept and it was great to see my mind starting to apply it. I know it makes me feel better and more at one with things. How about you?
Having finished cleaning the Rescue Barn, I was driving the tractor to the Pig Barn for the daily cleaning. Since the pigs understand that the sound of the tractor in the morning is the prelude to the wake-up call, it is not uncommon to see a couple pigs heading down to the pond of their own accord (This is a beautiful sight when you see it because it means less effort to clear the barn). On this day, however, Linus was making a march from the pond to the barn. I called out to him that he was going the wrong way, but he would not be dissuaded. He seemed to be a pig on a mission.
I will never know what Linus's objective was, but this seemed to be a deliberate act. Faced with the need to interpret it, I have chosen to believe the following. Since I spend a lot of time with the pigs making them do things that they would prefer not to do, like leaving the barn so I can clean, I try to give them treats and spend time with them to make up for it and keep our relationships in balance. The previous day, I had shared a banana with Linus by the pond in the afternoon. I like to believe that Linus was doing some sharing in return, using the only commodity he had which was the mud he had been rolling in and which he clearly liked. Viewed that way, it was a kind gesture.
Everyday, if not every hour, we are faced with a world which bombards us with similar messages where we may not always know the motives. Faced with the choice, it is all to easy to assign negative intonations to them and assume that the world and its inhabitants are crueler than they actually are. A whole other world opens up to us if we choose to view these ambiguous situations in a different light and assume the best rather than the worse. I had actually been studying this concept and it was great to see my mind starting to apply it. I know it makes me feel better and more at one with things. How about you?
An Unstoppable Force and an Immovable Object
Since my last several posts have been more about philosophical things, I feel like it is time to kick off a series of animal related posts since I suspect that that is what anyone who visits this is looking for. I also love to write them, but I want to make sure to share the character of my animal friends as I do so and this takes time to learn.
Meet Cesak. He is a wonderful pig and over the past few months has become one of my favorites.
Meet Cesak. He is a wonderful pig and over the past few months has become one of my favorites.
He lives with 12 other pigs in the Pig Barn and I find him to be quite exceptional. He has this wonderful curly hair which makes him easy to spot and really beautiful eyes. His eyes are particularly striking and I would challenge anyone to gaze into them and try to tell me that there is nothing going on behind them.
So, what does any of this have to do with the title of this post? Well, I am getting to that. One of my frequent jobs at Farm Sanctuary is to clean the Pig Barn. This is actually part of the daily ritual and in order to do it, there can't be any pigs inside. In my experience, there are three things that pigs love more than anything in the world: 1) Food, 2) Sleep, and 3) A nice warm nest in which to do #2 (Sleep, that is, they prefer to do their "dirty business" outside). When you consider that none of the above preferences involve a morning wake-up call and a march down to the pond, you can begin to imagine what fun it can be to be the deliverer of said wake-up call. The procedure for escorting the pigs down to the pond generally involves some loud talking and the use of "pig boards" (Red plastic boards that are used to guide the pigs and as a barrier between them and you). The walk from the barn to the pond gate is about thirty yards, give or take.
In every group, there has to be a challenge and in the past couple months, Cesak has stepped up to fill the role. He does not want to get up, or leave the barn, or walk to the pond and he loudly protests for the entire duration of the mandatory process. Add to that the fact that Cesak is probably in the five-hundred pound range (I am guessing on this, but being conservative) and you can easily start to see the visual of the "immovable object".
Part of my job is to be the "unstoppable force". As I previously mentioned, I think the world of Cesak but in our daily struggle it is imperative that I win every time. Pigs are very smart and if I let him stay in his bed one day or try to lure him down to the pond with a treat, he will expect this everyday and the wake-up call will be more difficult for me and each of my co-workers. While my victory is important, I also try to look at this from Cesak's perspective. In his mind, I expect that I am violating two of the most basic laws of pig behavior: 1) The loudest pigs generally gets his/her way and 2) If that fails, the biggest strongest pig always wins. Cesak is much louder, bigger, and stronger than me, and yet I fail to yield. This must be quite perplexing.
To an unseasoned observer, I am sure that this exercise would look quite amusing as our battle of wills plays out everyday. It may even seem scary to someone who is not accustomed to the sounds that pigs make when they are not getting their way (To say that they are vocal would be a huge understatement) and hears the squeals, growls, and bellows for the first time. What is especially notable is that Cesak never tries to hurt me. I am positive that Cesak knows that he could do so. He has the edge on me in many areas, but it never becomes that type of battle. I like to believe that he understands at some level what this is all about, but that it is a game that we play. We both want to win, but only the unstoppable force can.
Every day as I watch Cesak walk through the pond gate, I congratulate him everyday on his game play and let him know that I look forward to tomorrow's match. At this point, we are still friends and I give him a hug or a good back scratch. See you tomorrow Cesak, same time, same place!
Sunday, September 4, 2011
Lies My Cellphone Told Me
I consider myself to be a reluctant user of technology. I have to admit that I have a computer, an iPod, and various other electronic implements, but as a whole I do not see that these things serve to make our lives better. In more ways than I can count, I feel that they make our lives worse by creating an artificiality to our relationships and substituting quantity for quality. I think that the reason why I love many old TV shows (Yes, I know TV is technology) is the fact that they paint a picture of a world that predates all of this digital insanity. Until yesterday, however, I had seen the technology as a rather passive part of this. Now that has changed.
Last week my watch battery died. Having given up my collection of Legos and Transformers, watches with dead batteries are about the last thing that I seem to accumulate. Since I hadn't felt inclined to go to the store, I have been using my cellphone as a "pocket watch". I was accustomed to that from my past life and it seemed like a good temporary solution. I started to question this the very first day.
As I used my phone to tell time, I was alarmed to find that my phone would occasionally be in the middle of a call when I would flip it open. Sometimes the call would have been going on for a few minutes, sometimes for almost an hour. I couldn't tell if my phone was originating the call or whether it was automatically answering an incoming call, but it always involved a "Restricted" number. As someone who despises these calls since they are generally from telemarketers, I was already distressed but in the past I had always been required to answer the phone.
With the recent news about "phone hacking", I wondered if that was what was going on here. While I am a nobody, there is always the chance that my phone number had once belonged to a somebody or that the caller misdialed, albeit consistently. Was someone trying to access my phone? Was someone activating my phone and listening in on my conversations? Having watched far too many movies about surveillance and having no trust for the entity we call "government", I had to wonder about this.
I looked for information about this on-line and found nothing (Which is an odd feeling). I called Verizon twice and was told that without a second phone to continue the discussion from, there was little that they could do except to recommend removing and replacing the battery. In fairness, I must say that Verizon customer service was prompt, friendly, didn't give me the run around, and had mastery of the English language (Hmm, maybe that should have made me suspicious too).
Anyway, I tried the battery removal trip and had some hope that this would be the fix based on how much straw was in the battery compartment. Unfortunately, this did little to fix the problem - If anything it was getting worse. By Saturday, I was ready to throw the phone away because of its misbehavior. Before I did so, I thought that I would give one last search through the menu options to see if there was anything that may be causing this. I searched through everything I could before stumbling across an option that required me to scroll down. The option was called "Fake Call". I have included a picture of it below.
After opening this option, I discovered that this option was on by default and that it was activated by pressing the speaker phone button and holding it. This is what was happening in my pocket as I leaned against things and the button, which is on the side of the phone, was depressed. It all made sense and I had no issues for the rest of the day after disabling this "feature".
My sense of triumph over my situation was short-lived. I quickly began to lament the fact that we live in a world where something like this would exist. Creating technology with inherent dishonesty as a means of enabling ourselves to be deceptive sure seems like it should be a sign of the apocalypse. Furthermore, the creation of such a thing clearly implies a significant demand for it. I believe that we should all be ashamed that there is an aspiration to make lying easier. At least it will give you something to think about the next time a "friend", date, or co-worker interrupts a conversation for an emergency call.
Last week my watch battery died. Having given up my collection of Legos and Transformers, watches with dead batteries are about the last thing that I seem to accumulate. Since I hadn't felt inclined to go to the store, I have been using my cellphone as a "pocket watch". I was accustomed to that from my past life and it seemed like a good temporary solution. I started to question this the very first day.
As I used my phone to tell time, I was alarmed to find that my phone would occasionally be in the middle of a call when I would flip it open. Sometimes the call would have been going on for a few minutes, sometimes for almost an hour. I couldn't tell if my phone was originating the call or whether it was automatically answering an incoming call, but it always involved a "Restricted" number. As someone who despises these calls since they are generally from telemarketers, I was already distressed but in the past I had always been required to answer the phone.
With the recent news about "phone hacking", I wondered if that was what was going on here. While I am a nobody, there is always the chance that my phone number had once belonged to a somebody or that the caller misdialed, albeit consistently. Was someone trying to access my phone? Was someone activating my phone and listening in on my conversations? Having watched far too many movies about surveillance and having no trust for the entity we call "government", I had to wonder about this.
I looked for information about this on-line and found nothing (Which is an odd feeling). I called Verizon twice and was told that without a second phone to continue the discussion from, there was little that they could do except to recommend removing and replacing the battery. In fairness, I must say that Verizon customer service was prompt, friendly, didn't give me the run around, and had mastery of the English language (Hmm, maybe that should have made me suspicious too).
Anyway, I tried the battery removal trip and had some hope that this would be the fix based on how much straw was in the battery compartment. Unfortunately, this did little to fix the problem - If anything it was getting worse. By Saturday, I was ready to throw the phone away because of its misbehavior. Before I did so, I thought that I would give one last search through the menu options to see if there was anything that may be causing this. I searched through everything I could before stumbling across an option that required me to scroll down. The option was called "Fake Call". I have included a picture of it below.
After opening this option, I discovered that this option was on by default and that it was activated by pressing the speaker phone button and holding it. This is what was happening in my pocket as I leaned against things and the button, which is on the side of the phone, was depressed. It all made sense and I had no issues for the rest of the day after disabling this "feature".
My sense of triumph over my situation was short-lived. I quickly began to lament the fact that we live in a world where something like this would exist. Creating technology with inherent dishonesty as a means of enabling ourselves to be deceptive sure seems like it should be a sign of the apocalypse. Furthermore, the creation of such a thing clearly implies a significant demand for it. I believe that we should all be ashamed that there is an aspiration to make lying easier. At least it will give you something to think about the next time a "friend", date, or co-worker interrupts a conversation for an emergency call.
Sunday, June 19, 2011
Rock Star Dreams
It has been a while since my last entry. While I have had a number of ideas for posts, none of them have quite gelled into something cohesive enough to share (I know, that never seems to have stopped me before). What I would like to do today is to give a very sincere "Thank You" for the kind comments that people have shared regarding my blog and website.
When I was just a young lad, I loved music. More specifically, I loved heavy metal in most of its incarnations. My bedroom walls were adorned with the mini-posters and pages from magazines like Hit Parader, Metal Edge, and Circus. I have no doubt that my apparent fascination with long haired men in make-up, wearing tight pants must have concerned my parents to some degree (I think that is why they surprised me by allowing me to put up posters of various women in bikinis and what-not). I still remember the "day of reckoning" when it came time to move and I had to spackle all the holes!
Like many of my peers, the rebellious nature of the music, the evocative imagery, and the fact that it sounded best at loud volumes were major factors in my love for the stuff. There was something else that really hit me and which made me really want to be a rock star when I grew up (We don't seem to have rock stars anymore, but when we did, it could be argued that none of them ever grew up). It wasn't the fact that they were often linked to the type of women whose pictures hung like sirens on my wall (Although to my teenage brain, that would have been icing n the cake). No, what really hit me was the ability to find my voice in someone else's song lyrics; to be able to feel like a song was written for or about me and to then use that as therapy or as a cry for help (This didn't always work since parents can never seem to understand what their kids favorite bands are saying in their music...this is a repeated phenomenon and probably begs for scientific investigation).
Most of these connections could be found in the shameless "power ballad". I could fill many pages sharing specific examples of songs or lyrics, but I suspect that this would require "express written permission" from the RIAA to do so (They can never seem to understand the power of digital media and communication to actually boost their sales, but that is another topic for the more disgruntled out there...I just don't want to cross their path). More than anything, I wanted to write and sing these songs. I didn't care if anyone had my picture on their wall (Although I had been working on my look" - see below), but I felt a desperate need to connect to other "searchers" out there who needed reassurance or were looking for the words to tease out what they were feeling inside.
Needless to say, I never became a rock star. The closest approximation I ever experienced was during a trip to Mexico in the eighth grade, where I was surprisingly popular; almost alarmingly so - but that is another story as well). This dream fell apart due to a cruel combination of location, social insecurity, and utter lack of anything approaching musical talent. In hindsight, it is probably for the best. I have had the chance to see a large number of my former idols in concert the last several years and let's just say, they generally don't seem to age well (Must be the lack of circulation from the tight spandex...can't imagine what else it could be).
When started writing, almost two years ago, it was mostly to "dare" myself to stop letting life pass me by and to get back into the fray. That worked pretty well and it led me on a voyage of self-discovery that has culminated with me arriving where I am now. In and of itself, that is a good thing. By choosing to share my story and my thoughts, even if it is only with a few people (That I am aware of), I am finally getting my opportunity to connect with people and share a message that means a lot to me and which I believe can help people. While it doesn't have the fame and fortune of rock stardom, it sure works for me. Thank you for your patience in reading me words and for your kind comments and for taking the time to let me know when they made a connection. You make my rock star dreams come true!
When I was just a young lad, I loved music. More specifically, I loved heavy metal in most of its incarnations. My bedroom walls were adorned with the mini-posters and pages from magazines like Hit Parader, Metal Edge, and Circus. I have no doubt that my apparent fascination with long haired men in make-up, wearing tight pants must have concerned my parents to some degree (I think that is why they surprised me by allowing me to put up posters of various women in bikinis and what-not). I still remember the "day of reckoning" when it came time to move and I had to spackle all the holes!
Like many of my peers, the rebellious nature of the music, the evocative imagery, and the fact that it sounded best at loud volumes were major factors in my love for the stuff. There was something else that really hit me and which made me really want to be a rock star when I grew up (We don't seem to have rock stars anymore, but when we did, it could be argued that none of them ever grew up). It wasn't the fact that they were often linked to the type of women whose pictures hung like sirens on my wall (Although to my teenage brain, that would have been icing n the cake). No, what really hit me was the ability to find my voice in someone else's song lyrics; to be able to feel like a song was written for or about me and to then use that as therapy or as a cry for help (This didn't always work since parents can never seem to understand what their kids favorite bands are saying in their music...this is a repeated phenomenon and probably begs for scientific investigation).
Most of these connections could be found in the shameless "power ballad". I could fill many pages sharing specific examples of songs or lyrics, but I suspect that this would require "express written permission" from the RIAA to do so (They can never seem to understand the power of digital media and communication to actually boost their sales, but that is another topic for the more disgruntled out there...I just don't want to cross their path). More than anything, I wanted to write and sing these songs. I didn't care if anyone had my picture on their wall (Although I had been working on my look" - see below), but I felt a desperate need to connect to other "searchers" out there who needed reassurance or were looking for the words to tease out what they were feeling inside.
Needless to say, I never became a rock star. The closest approximation I ever experienced was during a trip to Mexico in the eighth grade, where I was surprisingly popular; almost alarmingly so - but that is another story as well). This dream fell apart due to a cruel combination of location, social insecurity, and utter lack of anything approaching musical talent. In hindsight, it is probably for the best. I have had the chance to see a large number of my former idols in concert the last several years and let's just say, they generally don't seem to age well (Must be the lack of circulation from the tight spandex...can't imagine what else it could be).
When started writing, almost two years ago, it was mostly to "dare" myself to stop letting life pass me by and to get back into the fray. That worked pretty well and it led me on a voyage of self-discovery that has culminated with me arriving where I am now. In and of itself, that is a good thing. By choosing to share my story and my thoughts, even if it is only with a few people (That I am aware of), I am finally getting my opportunity to connect with people and share a message that means a lot to me and which I believe can help people. While it doesn't have the fame and fortune of rock stardom, it sure works for me. Thank you for your patience in reading me words and for your kind comments and for taking the time to let me know when they made a connection. You make my rock star dreams come true!
Sunday, May 22, 2011
What if They Held a Rapture and No One Was Invited?
Yesterday was May 21st, 2011. For months, this day has been systematically etched into my brain by the multiple signs along the sides of the road that have proclaimed that it was to have been "Judgment Day". At first, I had assumed that this was a "Bay Area phenomenon" (Like Bay to Breakers), but then I saw the signs up here in farm country and apparently there have been thousands across the country and around the world.
I wish that it was easy for me to give myself over to full belief in an all-mighty and powerful God (Preferable a "loving" one too), but despite that, the day approached and unfurled with a degree of trepidation. My rational brain felt that it was a very unlikely thing to happen. My residual religious brain felt that it was highly unlikely that this retired engineer would know the day that was supposed to be secret, according to the Bible. My guilty brain - it was eager for the sun to rise on this morning (The 22nd).
While it would probably be fun to succumb to the urge to satire and lampoon this organization for their blind faith, this has been done to much better comedic effect than I could pull off here (See the many websites for pictures of post-rapture empty clothes, or "Post-rapture pet insurance"). Honestly, parts of me envy the ability to believe so strongly in something like that. My desire to believe continues to be my major obstacle as it casts doubt over any beliefs that I do have as this would be seen as a biasing factor (Despite the fact that my rational brain also recognized that if it were to play the odds, it is best to have faith).
No, instead of making fun of them, I would prefer to look at this from a different angle: "What if they held a Rapture and no one was invited?" What if the predicted event did occur and none of us were found worthy? What would it mean to be "worthy" (a.k.a. What is the method of "judgment")?
Personally, I do not believe that we are judged for our minor transgressions (The fact that we are "hard-wired" to commit many of them is far too evident and our resolve is not always strong). No, I believe that, if we are to be judged, it will be for our responses to requests for help from our fellow beings. Fortunately for all of us, May 21st, 2011 came and went without hellfire and brimstone and maybe, just maybe the end days will never come. Regardless of my inability at this moment to form a faith picture that includes a God, I am choosing to renew my faith in myself and do what I can to take out a more comprehensive insurance policy on my fields of green. Then at least I will be worthy in my eyes and when my time comes, I will not be afraid.
I wish that it was easy for me to give myself over to full belief in an all-mighty and powerful God (Preferable a "loving" one too), but despite that, the day approached and unfurled with a degree of trepidation. My rational brain felt that it was a very unlikely thing to happen. My residual religious brain felt that it was highly unlikely that this retired engineer would know the day that was supposed to be secret, according to the Bible. My guilty brain - it was eager for the sun to rise on this morning (The 22nd).
While it would probably be fun to succumb to the urge to satire and lampoon this organization for their blind faith, this has been done to much better comedic effect than I could pull off here (See the many websites for pictures of post-rapture empty clothes, or "Post-rapture pet insurance"). Honestly, parts of me envy the ability to believe so strongly in something like that. My desire to believe continues to be my major obstacle as it casts doubt over any beliefs that I do have as this would be seen as a biasing factor (Despite the fact that my rational brain also recognized that if it were to play the odds, it is best to have faith).
No, instead of making fun of them, I would prefer to look at this from a different angle: "What if they held a Rapture and no one was invited?" What if the predicted event did occur and none of us were found worthy? What would it mean to be "worthy" (a.k.a. What is the method of "judgment")?
In my mind, judgment day would play out like this. I find myself alone and standing in a vast field of green grass (For those who have been to Farm Sanctuary in spring, this is easy to picture). In front of me is a massive sea of people and animals that covers the skyline to the horizon. As I look out across this scene, wondering how it was that I found myself here in this place, my eye catches motion. One of the people from the crowd approaches and enters into my personal space. Her face is vaguely familiar, but I can't place it. Every attempt appears to be deliberately blocked. She introduces herself and goes on to relate her story. She and I had met at the Nob Hill in Milpitas. She and her children had been standing outside the exit soliciting money for food and a ride home. She related how I had offered to buy her groceries and give her a ride home, but how she had been too afraid to take me up on the offer based on a history that involved multiple incidents of abuse. She reminded me that I had given her twenty dollars and treated her with dignity while doing so. Then the woman turns and walks through the crowd before disappearing from sight.
Next comes an elderly gentleman who moves very slowly and I find myself wondering if he will be able to make it. Once again, he gets very close to me and I am sure that we have met before. He tells me his name and our story. He and his wife had been on their way to Toys 'R' Us with their grandson Peter when their car had over-heated. None of them had realized this, at the time and he had pulled over and availed himself on the kindness of strangers. My Honda CRX had been one of many cars that day which had driven by without stopping. He tells this tale very matter-of-factly without a hint of anger or judgment, but the guilt and fear in my mind tell me that I have been judged. As he walks slowly away, I perceive one of the blades of grass withering and turning to brown.
This process continues for what seems like years in a constant procession of people and animals. It is a mix of reminiscences that build me up and those which tear me down to my core. In many cases, I had wanted to help, but had felt uncomfortable about it and had opted not to do so and in some, I had just not noticed the call for assistance. As I scan the grass before me, I am shocked by the degree to which the season appears to be changing to summer. My self-image as a compassionate person is shaken by what I see and what I have heard. I am shocked by how selective I have been in forming my opinion of myself. Gazing at the results of my judgment and wondering what it means for me, I am confronted with the reality that there is no "reset button" and no "do-overs" at this point and I feel my most profound fear.Personally, I do not believe that we are judged for our minor transgressions (The fact that we are "hard-wired" to commit many of them is far too evident and our resolve is not always strong). No, I believe that, if we are to be judged, it will be for our responses to requests for help from our fellow beings. Fortunately for all of us, May 21st, 2011 came and went without hellfire and brimstone and maybe, just maybe the end days will never come. Regardless of my inability at this moment to form a faith picture that includes a God, I am choosing to renew my faith in myself and do what I can to take out a more comprehensive insurance policy on my fields of green. Then at least I will be worthy in my eyes and when my time comes, I will not be afraid.
Sunday, May 1, 2011
My Girl Olive (a.k.a. Why Working with Turkeys Isn't Such a Bad Thing)
There are literally hundreds of animals at Farm Sanctuary Orland and I maybe know a tenth of them by name so far. As the days pass, I have a chance to meet and make a connection with more and more of them and I figured that this may make for some good writing.
One of my daily tasks is to clean the Turkey Barn, also known as the "Turkey Lady and Special Needs Chicken Barn". Here the older turkey ladies live with a group of chickens in a peaceful arrangement. The best part of this particular assignment, for me at least, is the time that this allows me to spend with Olive, one of the turkey ladies.
Olive has little reason to trust or to even tolerate humans. Almost as soon as she was born, she was subjected to the brutal practice called de-beaking , in which a large portion of her beak was seared off. Why was this done you may ask? Well, if turkeys are crammed together in factory farms, the stress will lead them to peck at each other so rather than do anything to alleviate the stress, the powers that be have adopted this cruel practice. Try to imagine yourself and your four best friends living in a Mini Cooper for six months with the doors welded shut...I suspect that you wouldn't exactly get along either. Fortunately, for you, this is not a common fate and no one would think it was acceptable to remove your hands, feet, and teeth to keep you from hurting your fellow passengers. That would be inhumane!
Back to Olive, aside from this indignity, even before she was born, her suffering at the hands of man had begun. Since humans collectively see turkeys as nothing more than food supplies, they have been engineered through selective breeding to be much bigger than they should be. In our selfishness, we have created whole species variants of animals whose weight far exceeds the capacity of their legs. This is the case with Olive as well and her diet has to be carefully controlled in order to prevent her from succumbing to arthritis and other crippling afflictions. Like all of the turkey ladies, she is a little slow and has a slight limp to her gait. This is medically treated, so her pain is managed, but what a sad testament to humanity's inhumanity.
Despite what has been done to her, Olive holds no grudges. When I am working around her, she likes to follow me and loves attention. If she is in the yard and I call her name, she will slowly make her way over to me and then plop down in front of me. In my pre-Sanctuary days, I can't say that I knew the value of a "turkey-hug", but I sure do now. This is just one of the affirming moments that make me so glad that I made the life changing move to come work here.
Now, let me introduce my turkey girl, Olive.
One of my daily tasks is to clean the Turkey Barn, also known as the "Turkey Lady and Special Needs Chicken Barn". Here the older turkey ladies live with a group of chickens in a peaceful arrangement. The best part of this particular assignment, for me at least, is the time that this allows me to spend with Olive, one of the turkey ladies.
Olive has little reason to trust or to even tolerate humans. Almost as soon as she was born, she was subjected to the brutal practice called de-beaking , in which a large portion of her beak was seared off. Why was this done you may ask? Well, if turkeys are crammed together in factory farms, the stress will lead them to peck at each other so rather than do anything to alleviate the stress, the powers that be have adopted this cruel practice. Try to imagine yourself and your four best friends living in a Mini Cooper for six months with the doors welded shut...I suspect that you wouldn't exactly get along either. Fortunately, for you, this is not a common fate and no one would think it was acceptable to remove your hands, feet, and teeth to keep you from hurting your fellow passengers. That would be inhumane!
Back to Olive, aside from this indignity, even before she was born, her suffering at the hands of man had begun. Since humans collectively see turkeys as nothing more than food supplies, they have been engineered through selective breeding to be much bigger than they should be. In our selfishness, we have created whole species variants of animals whose weight far exceeds the capacity of their legs. This is the case with Olive as well and her diet has to be carefully controlled in order to prevent her from succumbing to arthritis and other crippling afflictions. Like all of the turkey ladies, she is a little slow and has a slight limp to her gait. This is medically treated, so her pain is managed, but what a sad testament to humanity's inhumanity.
Despite what has been done to her, Olive holds no grudges. When I am working around her, she likes to follow me and loves attention. If she is in the yard and I call her name, she will slowly make her way over to me and then plop down in front of me. In my pre-Sanctuary days, I can't say that I knew the value of a "turkey-hug", but I sure do now. This is just one of the affirming moments that make me so glad that I made the life changing move to come work here.
Now, let me introduce my turkey girl, Olive.
I Can't Believe I Got the Picture!
When you are lucky enough to work in a magical place like I do, you will invariably have the chance to see some amazing things. Based on a little known, and even less understood cosmic law, these things have an overwhelming tendency to happen only when there is no camera present. As I was strolling around the Sanctuary for lunch the other day, I passed the Pig Barn and saw something really sweet. Blossom the piglet (She is technically still the smallest although nowhere near the size she was when she fell asleep on my lap a year ago) was lying next to Calvin. Now, for anyone who has been to the Sanctuary in the last few months, this isn't a surprise. Calvin and Blossom have been a curious couple for a while now. What was special about this time was that Blossoms front leg was wrapped around Calvin as if they were "spooning".
Realizing that my effort was likely to be futile, I immediately set off running at a brisk pace (Not quite like the wind, per se, but more of the "gentle breeze with an occasional gust" that comes with getting older) to my car to get my camera. When I got back to the Pig Barn, I was shocked to find that they hadn't moved an inch.
This was not a staged picture in any way. Anyone who has worked with the pigs knows that while they are amazing creatures, they are not that cooperative...especially these two (And especially Blossom)!
Now I know that this pose was probably just a coincidence or, most likely, it just felt good for Blossom to have her leg in this position. However, the bond that these two share is real based on many observations, and maybe, just maybe, this is a manifestation of a love that we can see and recognize. I am so glad I was able to get this picture!
Realizing that my effort was likely to be futile, I immediately set off running at a brisk pace (Not quite like the wind, per se, but more of the "gentle breeze with an occasional gust" that comes with getting older) to my car to get my camera. When I got back to the Pig Barn, I was shocked to find that they hadn't moved an inch.
Now I know that this pose was probably just a coincidence or, most likely, it just felt good for Blossom to have her leg in this position. However, the bond that these two share is real based on many observations, and maybe, just maybe, this is a manifestation of a love that we can see and recognize. I am so glad I was able to get this picture!
Friday, April 29, 2011
My Guardian Chicken
The more time that I spend with the chickens, the more I begin to appreciate the diversity of their personalities. Since I get to spend about two and a half hours a day in their midst, It has been quite an enlightening experience and one that I am sure would amaze most people who only experience chickens in their supermarket aisle. I really enjoy their company, but there is one of the roosters who has not decided to join the "Brian Fan-Club".
How do you describe Elton to people who have never met him and who may never met him? Elton's most distinguishing characteristic is a long flowing mane of blond feathers which strongly resemble a mullet. Picture Hulk Hogan in his glory days or Matthew McConaughey's character from "Dazed and Confused" and you will be in the ball-park. Let's just say, if chickens could drive, Elton would be the one cruising in the primer gray El Camino with a spoiler bolted to the tail-gate and asymmetrical hand painted flames down the sides. Before you saw him, though, you would hear his Kraco stereo blasting "Freebird" through a couple of 6"x9"s. I love this image of Elton because it's not too far removed from me.
Whenever I am cleaning in the yard, Elton likes to stalk me. Now, let me say up front that I do not believe that Elton is mean or malicious. He is just doing what his biological imperative tells him to do which is to guard his hens against unknown intruders. For anyone who believes that animals are incapable of premeditation, watching Elton would probably change their mind. He will follow me at a short distance as I go back and forth raking. When I look his way, his eyes will dart to the side as he tries to be very nonchalant about his pursuit. The instant that the rake is no longer between us, however, he will strike at my ankles with his claws and beak. This doesn't hurt when he connects (I let him have at it one day to see if I really needed to be afraid of him or not), but it does make you jump a bit.
This daily routine continued for my first week and a half and it was one of the more predictable elements. Then one day one of the other roosters, a beautiful red rooster named Russet, began to intervene. Whenever I was in the yard, he would emerge from the Chicken Barn and get between me and Elton. He would chase him off if he tried to get too close to me. I will never know what his motivations for this are, and I know that it is dangerous to ascribe human characteristics in some cases, but I have decided that Russet is my Guardian Chicken, even if I don't understand exactly why. Thank you Russet for having my back - when I learn feeds, I will make sure you get an extra ration!
How do you describe Elton to people who have never met him and who may never met him? Elton's most distinguishing characteristic is a long flowing mane of blond feathers which strongly resemble a mullet. Picture Hulk Hogan in his glory days or Matthew McConaughey's character from "Dazed and Confused" and you will be in the ball-park. Let's just say, if chickens could drive, Elton would be the one cruising in the primer gray El Camino with a spoiler bolted to the tail-gate and asymmetrical hand painted flames down the sides. Before you saw him, though, you would hear his Kraco stereo blasting "Freebird" through a couple of 6"x9"s. I love this image of Elton because it's not too far removed from me.
Whenever I am cleaning in the yard, Elton likes to stalk me. Now, let me say up front that I do not believe that Elton is mean or malicious. He is just doing what his biological imperative tells him to do which is to guard his hens against unknown intruders. For anyone who believes that animals are incapable of premeditation, watching Elton would probably change their mind. He will follow me at a short distance as I go back and forth raking. When I look his way, his eyes will dart to the side as he tries to be very nonchalant about his pursuit. The instant that the rake is no longer between us, however, he will strike at my ankles with his claws and beak. This doesn't hurt when he connects (I let him have at it one day to see if I really needed to be afraid of him or not), but it does make you jump a bit.
This daily routine continued for my first week and a half and it was one of the more predictable elements. Then one day one of the other roosters, a beautiful red rooster named Russet, began to intervene. Whenever I was in the yard, he would emerge from the Chicken Barn and get between me and Elton. He would chase him off if he tried to get too close to me. I will never know what his motivations for this are, and I know that it is dangerous to ascribe human characteristics in some cases, but I have decided that Russet is my Guardian Chicken, even if I don't understand exactly why. Thank you Russet for having my back - when I learn feeds, I will make sure you get an extra ration!
A Farm Sanctuary Blessing
This was created as a "going-away" message to some of the interns who are going to be leaving the Farm soon. I think it is good for people who have visited the farm, who want to visit the Farm, or who are just animal lovers.
A Farm Sanctuary Blessing
As you continue on your journey, and the gates, they fade from view
Take heed of all the lessons that the animals have taught to you
Like the cow, may you need only the sun on your face to be content
Like the goat, may you use your head to get through life's obstacles
Like the chicken, may you find joy in the simple things that most never see
Like the sheep, may you always have a flock at your sides
Like the pig, may you rejoice when life hurls mud at you
Like the turkey, may you never fail to shatter stereotypes and preconceptions
Like the duck, may you find happiness in life's many storms
Like the donkey, may you never be afraid to be stubborn in your convictions
Like the goose, may you never fear to strike when the "ankles of injustice" are exposed
Like all your animal friends, may you always remember that you have a home here.
Thursday, April 21, 2011
Third Week Hump Day
Well, I am half way through my third week and my body is starting to adapt to the fact that I am actually using it during the day (What a novel concept!). My brain is also having to adapt to a lower stress, lower intensity environment. Unfortunately, when the level of stimulation is suddenly decreased, it seems to have a weird effect. If you were to place yourself in a situation where you couldn't see and where you only had white noise as a background, it has been proven that our brain will start to construct hallucinations, sometimes in a matter of minutes, in order to keep itself occupied. In my case, my brain was creating things to worry about and this combined with working alone most of the day posed a challenge. I have been taking a two pronged approach to addressing this unforeseen issue: 1) I try to take in the beauty that I find myself constantly surrounded by, and 2) I listen to audiobooks on the way to and from work and ponder these when the anxious part of my brain kicks into gear. My third week has been going much better than my first week so I think my solution is working.
Anyway, this minor issue aside, I am loving it. My days are very similar in terms of work load and tasks, but the details are where the magic lies. The pauses to pet a chicken or having a sheep rest its head on your shoulder make it all worth it.
As I was driving to work today, I was trying to get a weather report, but the station that I was listening to was getting interference from another station. After spending a couple minutes trying to parse the information from the station I wanted to listen to, I realized that this was somewhat of a metaphor for my last life. So often it was a case of too much information coming in and I find my new simplicity to be a welcome change. When I am at work, my purpose is pretty singular and I would recommend that more people try out the experience.
Well, I am sure that anyone who actually comes to this page probably does so for the pictures more than my ramblings, so here are some of my favorites from this past week. Wish you were here!
Anyway, this minor issue aside, I am loving it. My days are very similar in terms of work load and tasks, but the details are where the magic lies. The pauses to pet a chicken or having a sheep rest its head on your shoulder make it all worth it.
As I was driving to work today, I was trying to get a weather report, but the station that I was listening to was getting interference from another station. After spending a couple minutes trying to parse the information from the station I wanted to listen to, I realized that this was somewhat of a metaphor for my last life. So often it was a case of too much information coming in and I find my new simplicity to be a welcome change. When I am at work, my purpose is pretty singular and I would recommend that more people try out the experience.
Well, I am sure that anyone who actually comes to this page probably does so for the pictures more than my ramblings, so here are some of my favorites from this past week. Wish you were here!
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| This is Blossom. Some of my old co-workers may recognize her as the piglet that was on my lap in the picture where I was wearing the red jumpsuit (Convict suit). |
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| The pigs and geese both love the pool, although the pigs prefer working on their tans to swimming. |
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| My favorite juvenile "cow-boys", Oliver and Elliot. Oh, they grow up so fast! |
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| Oliver is ready for his close-up. |
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| My first cow-buddy Whitaker. |
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| A real California Happy Cow, Whitaker. |
Wednesday, April 6, 2011
A Wonderous Thing
Today, at 11:45 I ate my sandwich and chips for lunch. Not much exciting there, I grant you, but this was only the first fifteen minutes of my one hour lunch break. It was the last forty-five minutes that were notable. Let me try to paint the picture for you since I was not smart enough to have brought a camera; even if I had, chances are it would have precluded this moment from happening in the first place). The temperature was in the low seventies (Based on my calibrated brow-sweat-ometer), the sun was shining on my shoulders and there was just enough of a breeze to cool me down without messing up my hair. I sat at the west edge of the pig pond and listened to the sound of sparrows in the trees, duck feet paddling in the water, and a couple of geese - fortunately for me they were on the other side of the pond - foraging for whatever geese forage for in the water. As I closed my eyes for a moment to take in the peaceful sounds, my left hand rested on the side of a really cool pig named Lucas (In more ways than one since he is both cool in the slang sense and he was lying on his side in sizable mud-hole at the time) while my right hand stroked his furry ear. It was what I would call a pure moment and one that is harder to put into words than I thought it would be. You kind of had to be there and it sums it all up to say that I am forever grateful that I was.
My first two days of my new job have been filled with these moments. Yesterday I spent my lunch watching the "calves" (I don't know when they technically become cows, but in my mind they will always be the "cow-boys") on a grassy hill and watched the wind part the grass and reveal the purple clover flowers nested within. This wind was a little stronger and did mess up my now red hair, but it didn't matter. It was serene and wonderful.
In other news, our move went smooth and we are about 94.7% un-boxed (Some engineering traits die harder than others), but who really cares about that? All is good in my world today.
My first two days of my new job have been filled with these moments. Yesterday I spent my lunch watching the "calves" (I don't know when they technically become cows, but in my mind they will always be the "cow-boys") on a grassy hill and watched the wind part the grass and reveal the purple clover flowers nested within. This wind was a little stronger and did mess up my now red hair, but it didn't matter. It was serene and wonderful.
In other news, our move went smooth and we are about 94.7% un-boxed (Some engineering traits die harder than others), but who really cares about that? All is good in my world today.
Sunday, March 27, 2011
My Thirty Foot Band-Aid
At 5:17 on March 25th, I walked out the door of my old company for the last time as an employee. I paused for about fifteen seconds in order to appreciate the moment that it clicked shut behind me. I took no pleasure in this, it was actually a little depressing to hear it all summed up in that sound. It reminded me of the last time I visited Washington and was keenly aware that I was no longer part of the "submarine club" and couldn't go on base to see my old haunts.
The hours leading up to that moment at the door had been a lot more complex emotionally than I had expected them to be. By nature, I am the kind of person who would just as soon fade away than have to say goodbyes. I never really know what to say when someone else leaves or when I leave. As the day goes on, I find that I get worse and worse at it since I use up most of my best lines early on ("Best" being a highly relative term). It felt like a thirty-foot band-aid that was being slowly pulled off as the day progressed and there was some raw emotion underneath it. While I am 110% sure of the direction that I am going, I can;t help but feel like a soldier who has led his team into a battle and is now pulling himself out. While I take solace from the fact that my team is well equipped to win and I was able to hand-pick a great new leader for them, it doesn't erase the guilt. As I looked into their eyes throughout the day, I suspect that they could see what I was feeling.
Despite the personal emotions that I was dealing with, my team and the extended members of it, put a lot of effort into making me feel like my time at Verigy meant something. I had never seen or felt anything like it before. For starters, they had arranged a going away lunch at a local vegan restaurant, Merit Vegetarian. They had been scouting out locations on the sly and happened to stumble upon one of my favorites. The lunch coordinators even facilitated a late change of dates in order to take advantage of the fact that the restaurant was holding a benefit for the victims of the Japan earthquake. It was great to see so many of the faces of people who I had worked with in my time there and there were even some "blasts from the past". I was very moved that they chose to be there.
The meal was great, except for some delays on some of the orders due to the volume of business that day, and I think it gave a lot of people their first exposure to the breakthroughs in vegan cuisine (It's not just carrots and sticks anymore). At the end of the lunch, a member of my team shared some kind words and presented me with a box of gifts. Since these were in company boxes, there were the requisite jokes about how they had found a new use for scrap parts as souvenirs. As I looked at the box of wrapped gifts, there was a somberness to the moment that went beyond just the appreciation for the thought and my feelings of being among these great people. I would have been fine without anything since the lunch was enough, but now that I had these in my arms, I wondered how well the people I work with knew me. While I am a firm believer that it is the thought that counts (Which is why I have kept so many clothes from Lori that I don't wear), I think we all have experienced gifts that are misses and those which are home-runs.
The card was the first thing I opened, but I couldn't read it there without risking losing my composure. That would have to wait until I got home. Starting with the first box, it was clear that that this was going to be headed for McCovey Cove. As I continued with them, there was a theme that showed how much the team really got me and how much effort they put into it.
The hours leading up to that moment at the door had been a lot more complex emotionally than I had expected them to be. By nature, I am the kind of person who would just as soon fade away than have to say goodbyes. I never really know what to say when someone else leaves or when I leave. As the day goes on, I find that I get worse and worse at it since I use up most of my best lines early on ("Best" being a highly relative term). It felt like a thirty-foot band-aid that was being slowly pulled off as the day progressed and there was some raw emotion underneath it. While I am 110% sure of the direction that I am going, I can;t help but feel like a soldier who has led his team into a battle and is now pulling himself out. While I take solace from the fact that my team is well equipped to win and I was able to hand-pick a great new leader for them, it doesn't erase the guilt. As I looked into their eyes throughout the day, I suspect that they could see what I was feeling.
Despite the personal emotions that I was dealing with, my team and the extended members of it, put a lot of effort into making me feel like my time at Verigy meant something. I had never seen or felt anything like it before. For starters, they had arranged a going away lunch at a local vegan restaurant, Merit Vegetarian. They had been scouting out locations on the sly and happened to stumble upon one of my favorites. The lunch coordinators even facilitated a late change of dates in order to take advantage of the fact that the restaurant was holding a benefit for the victims of the Japan earthquake. It was great to see so many of the faces of people who I had worked with in my time there and there were even some "blasts from the past". I was very moved that they chose to be there.
The meal was great, except for some delays on some of the orders due to the volume of business that day, and I think it gave a lot of people their first exposure to the breakthroughs in vegan cuisine (It's not just carrots and sticks anymore). At the end of the lunch, a member of my team shared some kind words and presented me with a box of gifts. Since these were in company boxes, there were the requisite jokes about how they had found a new use for scrap parts as souvenirs. As I looked at the box of wrapped gifts, there was a somberness to the moment that went beyond just the appreciation for the thought and my feelings of being among these great people. I would have been fine without anything since the lunch was enough, but now that I had these in my arms, I wondered how well the people I work with knew me. While I am a firm believer that it is the thought that counts (Which is why I have kept so many clothes from Lori that I don't wear), I think we all have experienced gifts that are misses and those which are home-runs.
The card was the first thing I opened, but I couldn't read it there without risking losing my composure. That would have to wait until I got home. Starting with the first box, it was clear that that this was going to be headed for McCovey Cove. As I continued with them, there was a theme that showed how much the team really got me and how much effort they put into it.
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| My new work ensemble: Vegan coveralls, gloves, hat, and boots. |
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| Coveralls emblazoned with my website's logo. |
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| They also added my name and new home. |
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| Hopefully this was in recognition of my cool headedness. |
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| New non-leather rugged work boots. |
As the team explained how they had selected the items, it was amusing to realize how they had been scouting me out. I play racquetball every week with one of my team members and when he had been steering the conversation toward racquetball gloves, he had been trying to learn my glove size. His keen interest in the past perils of my shoe-sizing suddenly made a lot more sense than it had at the time (I used to wear a shoe-size that was one and a half two big on account of my wide "Fred Flintstone" feet and hadn't realized this until I went to buy my first dress clothes...at age twenty-seven).
All of the thought that went into this and the execution of the lunch made what I was feeling even harder to bear. It is only now, a couple days later that I can read the card and really sit down and try to put what I was feeling to electronic paper. At lunch, I had borrowed the Peace Corps motto of, "It's the toughest job you'll ever love" to try to express it, and it works just as well right now. It was in that moment, that this feeling crystallized. While I found myself smiling a lot more often as the days wound down, there had been a lot of smiles all along. Sure, we may have become battle-hardened, but between battles we enjoyed each others company and in the midst of the fire-fights, we had looked to each other for support. Along with my new found realization about loving the job, I know that I will never be going back to my old company. It was/is the people who make it special and once you remove yourself from that, it is never possible to really go back. People come and go and change and the dynamic will never be quite the same. It is with that sentiment that I make a closing commentary for anyone who actually reads this.
Recently I have become interested in World War II documentaries. I have marvelled at the bravery of those who fought the good fight and often lost their lives in the process. As I watched these, I started to realize the importance of perspective. These acts of selflessness and bravery are profound when viewed today, but I would contend they are all the more potent when you imagine that the outcomes weren't known when all of this was going on. While acknowledging that there is no direct comparison between this and what is going on at my old company, I believe that there is an indirect one. The M&A activity that is going on right now is public knowledge and anyone who has ever been through this knows the uncertainty that this brings. If I have learned anything from those documentaries, it is that true greatness comes from the ability, ne the desire, to go "once more unto the breach" and face the challenges that life throws at you regardless of the unknown future. This test of mettle is ultimately more important than any one job since it means that you are indeed worthy of any job.
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