Harley the Dog and I just returned from another winter in beautiful Moab, Utah, a place that has somehow stolen my heart. A friend I made there last winter asked if we’d like to intern for her dog, Fritz, a retired racing dachshund, while she did some travels of her own and we could not refuse.
I spent the first week doing as close to nothing as possible. I was tired. The downtime I was supposed to have in October was not downtime at all. And I had been working on a cool but chaotic new gig scripting interactive exhibits for the lobby of a major telecomm company.
I like a stretch project but between you and me, reader, I could have used more support. I was uneasy the whole time, not at all sure if I was doing the work correctly. There’s imposter syndrome and there’s doing something you haven’t done before. I’m pretty good at sending imposter syndrome to the waiting room but this time he was insistent, lurking in the doorway, peering over my shoulder…
It came together, but the unsettled feeling has not quite left me even as the client continues to book me for more hours. If you’re the boss, take half a minute to tell your people they’re on track, okay? It really helps.
Where was I? Utah, the beautiful high desert. I shook off the doldrums after a week or so and headed into the bright outdoors. Because I had the best possible place to leave Harley the Dog — at home with a dog friend — I was able to do some longer hikes. They were all spectacular, but the high point was getting to sit by myself at Delicate Arch, that iconic geologic wonder that graces Utah’s licence plates and a million photos. It was a blustery day but the sky was bright blue and so clear.
On the way home I stopped at Minadoka, the concentraction camp where nearly 14,000 people of Japanese descent were imprisoned under the Japanese Exclusion Act. Around half of them were US citizens, and close to 900 had served in the US military. It was a foul winter day, just above freezing and quite windy; everything was slushy from a snowstorm the night before. I could not walk across the muddy ground to peek in the windows of the tarpaper “insulated” barracks because every time I stepped off the path, I would sink into the muck. It was not wasted on me that the people held here — people who had committed no crimes — did not have the option of heading back to the car, cranking the heat, and finding a warm hotel in a Boise suburb. We know what happened here, intellectually, but there is a quality to the experience of visiting on a bitter February morning that I would like more people to experience.
I loved being back in Moab, but I was delighted to open the back gate and find the crocuses breaking ground here in my Seattle backyard. Harley paced back and forth between his favorite spots for a good twenty minutes, unsure if he would like the bed by the heater vent in the kitchen or his crate in the bedroom or his favorite spot in the living room where he can keep an eye on everything, everyone. It is a good 20, maybe 25 degrees warmer here than Utah, and wet and gray and green and the blues are all so dark compared to the cerulean skies over red rock. It was raining as I crossed the last pass, the trees almost black against the graphite backdrop, the edges all soft from the water on the windshield. It is good to be refamiliarized with the beauty of this place, with the smell of ocean and mulch. It’s nice to be home.
CANNED continues to be delightful to work on. Folks seem to really respond to this episode with filmmaker Quincy Ledbetter. I love them all, but if you’re new to CANNED, this might be a good place to start. If you like what you hear, please share it with a friend.
Speaking of CANNED, send me your fired friends, as always. I’m dyin’ to get a federal worker or three. Or three hundred. If you know people, maybe send them the FAQ?
I’m still underemployed. I’m okay, I’m not panicking, but I would love a solid tech writing gig while the world unravels. Got leads? You know how to reach me, right?
I have been volunteering with a refugee/immigrant support program for not quite a year yet. It should be no suprise that the future of that program is uncertain. It’s not the program’s fault; it’s the government services they rely on to help people navigate the system. I know calling your reps is an annoying task, but we can’t sit on our hands right now. Call after hours if you’d rather avoid talking with humans, but call, don’t email, pick up the phone and call. DC voicemail box flooded? Call the local office. Find your reps here.
Things are tough, I’m worried all the gd time. Taking action (see above) is good, but also, hey, go have coffee with your people, cook something, make art, read a book or two, get outside, be weird. Do the stuff fascists want to take away from us. Don’t let those joyless mutherfuckers take your light.
Be weird. Make art. Punch Nazis.
