Why is it that my mind is so susceptible to giving so much focus to occurrences throughout life that ultimately have almost no real significance to who I am and what I am trying to accomplish?
Why can I remember times that were humiliating for myself as a nine year old girl?
Why do I remember people who seemed disapproving of me or blatantly expressed dislike for me, but trying to remember the faces of smiling passersby is difficult?
Why do I dwell on interactions that make me feel uncomfortable or unhappy when they are mere minute details of my being?
And why, oh why, are we so negative towards one another?
I make it my job, every day, to be an encouraging and positive force on others. Of course, I fail more often than succeed because I cannot make my brain keep up with the tasks I have set for it to do. I linger on fleeting thoughts and get easily frustrated if I have not eaten or did not sleep well or lack proteins and energy and hydration or if I don't feel well because of menstrual cramps or a hangover. These elements can quickly change my mood and distract me from how I've told myself to behave. These are all excuses as well. It is true that no one around me has intentionally altered their behavior to affect my mood, at least I sure as hell hope not. So, it would make no sense for me to "take it out on them" by inserting negativity in to my surroundings when the cause of my own negativity is not the fault of anyone else and sometimes not even of myself.
It is so simple to grab a glass of water and an advil without so much of a peep. What use is it to make a big deal of a headache, thereby making it worse, notifying everyone in the room that you are suffering, when one could so quietly find a solution to the problem and carry on? Why do we feel the need to share our suffering, especially when it isn't suffering at all. It is slight discomfort in comparison to the extremeness of suffering.
I have found that I am, in fact and as my mother told me all along, an incredulously sensitive person. My feelings are easily hurt, I can often miss jokes because I'm thinking to seriously, and concepts like "belonging" and "acceptance" are important to me. As soon as I detect rejection my mind is quick to detach itself.
I feel such a strong, pulsing attachment to the state of Montana, the mountain ranges of the west, Glacier National Park, Lake McDonald, the city of Whitefish, the snow that falls there, the animals that roam there, each sunrise and sunset, each trail and tree and stream and shore.
Maui is a beautiful place too. Yet I feel absolutely no attachment to this location. I don't particularly care if I never see the waves crashing against the beaches of Paia again, as long as it means I never have to sit in Paia traffic again.
Does Montana traffic have no affect on me simply because it is occurring in a place that gives me a positive stimuli? Should I, then, be selective of my environments knowing that one will produce a happier, more positive me?
But, what is it about Montana that triggers a favorable response? Does it matter? If I were to find out that all the core reasons in which I prefer Montana to other places are completely arbitrary, meaning I could acquire and achieve the same elsewhere, would it change my mind?
The truth is I don't think it does matter. It could be that the weather is more suitable. Maybe I've subconsciously coaxed myself into feeling that Montana is spiritually correct, that my soul was meant to find a home there and I haven't any real control of it all. That is absurd in reality but whatever the agent is to my affection, the affection does exist and I should allow myself the environment, not deny myself of it.
Is this going to change the way in which I travel and explore? Probably. I am far less likely to go anywhere tropical now.
I feel so completely scatterbrained right now. My mind keeps returning to the thought of some guys from last night laughing at my enthusiasm for the idea of Batman being a spokesperson for women's suffrage and their questioning of my intelligence. It is 99.99% certain that I will never encounter these men again in my life. Still, I felt utterly out of place. Wearing black pants and converse sneakers to a beach. Because, in my mind when I hear 'camping' I think I need to be prepared for the outdoors and protect my lower half. But Maui camping means hanging out in tents by the beach and a highway.
I felt that my humor never once translated the way I had hoped in my thoughts. Perhaps I wasn't that funny or not making much sense because of all the alcohol and THC in my system. Perhaps they were not at full capacity to comprehend the humor of someone they'd just met for the same exact reason. Whatever it was, I didn't fall in to place and that wasn't at all what I had in mind for Christmas Eve.
I know that I definitely can fit in with new environments similar to the one from last night. It was really no different from when I met the team I'd be working with in Belize for the first time. Or our first night together in Belize. How shocked all our systems were and yet we managed to cope and enjoy ourselves. And today I deeply care for many of those people I once considered strangers. How can this be accomplished unless the other party is just as willing and eager to accept and be accepted?
I don't think it can be. Going to the Christmas party last night was a not a good idea. None of those people wanted to share their holiday with new faces. They wanted to feel comfortable with familiar faces. While I was trying to make the best of my first Christmas away from home they were trying to keep sacred this tradition of camping together every year on the 24th of December.
Consequently, I awoke with the sunrise and cried for violent yearning of home. I wanted to walk out to the living room, sleepy-eyed, and see the twinkle of cheer in my mom's eyes and hug all my family members and smell my grandpa's cherry tobacco and show them all pictures of my travels.
I suppose, then, I was spiteful toward the events of my life last night and this morning and did the opposite of what I tell myself to do every day: make the most of your surroundings.
And now, after logically thinking it through and rationally explaining and comprehending the reasons behind the actions of myself and others, I will just unload all my inner wailing and childish cries:
I DO NOT WANT TO BE IN MAUI ANYMORE. I WANT TO BE SOMEWHERE THAT IS EASY FOR ME TO LOVE. I WANT TO BE ENGULFED BY THE LOVE OF MY FRIENDS. I AM SICK OF THE SMELL OF BURNT SUGARCANE AND I WANT TO SMELL CONIFEROUS FOREST. I WANT TO ENCOUNTER WISECRACKING COWBOYS IN DENIM AND BEAT UP TRUCKS AT THE LONE GAS STATION, NOT SHIRTLESS TATTOOED LOCALS IN OBNOXIOUSLY 'TRICKED OUT' HUMMERS THAT CANNOT POSSIBLY BE MORE EFFICIENT FOR GETTING FROM POINT A TO B, AND THAT HAS NOTHING TO DO RACE OR CULTURE BECAUSE I AM NOT A DISCRIMINATORY PERSON. I SIMPLY REALIZE THAT I FIT IN BETTER ELSEWHERE BECAUSE OF MY INTERESTS, GOALS, AND PHILOSOPHY AND FOR MY HEALTH AND SANITY I SHOULD PROBABLY HIGH TAIL MY ASS THERE SPEEDY GONZALES STYLE BEFORE I START EXPRESSING THESE FEELINGS MORE FORCEFULLY.
Take me home, country roads.
Wednesday, December 26, 2012
Sunday, December 23, 2012
Dance With Yourself
http://vimeo.com/groups/dancewithyourself
If you are on this blog reading this now then go to the above website. pick a song, any song. play that song and dance to it while recording yourself. Then post that video to this group.
That is all.
If you are on this blog reading this now then go to the above website. pick a song, any song. play that song and dance to it while recording yourself. Then post that video to this group.
That is all.
Thursday, December 20, 2012
To be or not to be: Maui or Mountain Mama?
The other morning, having just woke up, I rolled over to Clay staring at me and he says, "Cassie, I don't want to be in Hawaii anymore."
Well, what's a girl to do. I'm definitely not the type to give up, but I'm looking at it more so as a learning experience. Nothing is set in stone as of yet and perhaps I am speaking too soon. But he seems hellbent on leaving and I can't say I'm disappointed. Maui is clearly not turning out to be how I romanticized it in my head. Thus, the lesson: choose more carefully my path so as not to waste time and money.
Still, coming to Maui has been good for me. I really can't call it a waste.
Either way, I have a lot of Hawaiian themed postcards to send in the next month, because I know I'll never send them once I leave and then I'll just keep them and a hefty chunk my the collection will be touristy-looking "GREETINGS FROM" cards.
I fine with Montana or Colorado and anywhere in between. As long as I am with snow, mountains, and good friends nearby I think I will be content.
That must be the best way to describe it- There isn't necessarily anything wrong with Maui, as it is no better or worse than anywhere else, and I know I can make the best of any situation, especially the ones I put myself in. But, I can certainly see myself being happier elsewhere. While Maui has charming aspects, I am simply not content. I feel I should be doing something. What in the hell could that be?
Clay seems to feel he's not learning much, as far as his career goes. Working for Colleen's for only two months and she is already offering him a chef position? He's more qualified and capable, yet the people he works with love to make him feel horrible by being condescending. And, I must admit, this is one of the worst kitchens I've ever had to deal with and I have dealt with some real asshats.
I think I just feel like I could be learning to ski or near all of my art supplies or with my car which can transport me out of my apartment, which is something I don't do much of here. Except when riding my bike to and from work.
Joyce is gonna need a jump start, some warming up, and a set of new tires to handle the snow.
Here are the current prospects:
Copper Mountain
Crested Butte
Deer Valley
Evergreen Lodge
Montage Deer Valley
Park City
Steamboat
WinterPark
Breckinridge
If any of my friends have found their way here and are reading this, let me know if there is any way you could help get us employment and/or housing!
Well, what's a girl to do. I'm definitely not the type to give up, but I'm looking at it more so as a learning experience. Nothing is set in stone as of yet and perhaps I am speaking too soon. But he seems hellbent on leaving and I can't say I'm disappointed. Maui is clearly not turning out to be how I romanticized it in my head. Thus, the lesson: choose more carefully my path so as not to waste time and money.
Still, coming to Maui has been good for me. I really can't call it a waste.
Either way, I have a lot of Hawaiian themed postcards to send in the next month, because I know I'll never send them once I leave and then I'll just keep them and a hefty chunk my the collection will be touristy-looking "GREETINGS FROM" cards.
I fine with Montana or Colorado and anywhere in between. As long as I am with snow, mountains, and good friends nearby I think I will be content.
That must be the best way to describe it- There isn't necessarily anything wrong with Maui, as it is no better or worse than anywhere else, and I know I can make the best of any situation, especially the ones I put myself in. But, I can certainly see myself being happier elsewhere. While Maui has charming aspects, I am simply not content. I feel I should be doing something. What in the hell could that be?
Clay seems to feel he's not learning much, as far as his career goes. Working for Colleen's for only two months and she is already offering him a chef position? He's more qualified and capable, yet the people he works with love to make him feel horrible by being condescending. And, I must admit, this is one of the worst kitchens I've ever had to deal with and I have dealt with some real asshats.
I think I just feel like I could be learning to ski or near all of my art supplies or with my car which can transport me out of my apartment, which is something I don't do much of here. Except when riding my bike to and from work.
Joyce is gonna need a jump start, some warming up, and a set of new tires to handle the snow.
Here are the current prospects:
Copper Mountain
Crested Butte
Deer Valley
Evergreen Lodge
Montage Deer Valley
Park City
Steamboat
WinterPark
Breckinridge
If any of my friends have found their way here and are reading this, let me know if there is any way you could help get us employment and/or housing!
Sunday, December 9, 2012
Big Planet, Small World
Thanks to the lovely people who sent me these:
Lately, I miss Glacier more than ever. Maui is fantastic when I'm spending my time with my love in the charming little unincorporated town we chose for ourselves. I love riding my bike everyday and my job at Colleen's is working out splendidly. Still, it feels like something is missing.
I suppose it must be the people. All those wonderful friends I made over the past summer. I'm making a few friends here, such as the lovely Rachel who I'm going hiking with tomorrow. She is the only one at work who seems to be on the same page as me as far as priorities and interests go.
Maui just seems to have a certain populace of people who are rather superficial and tend to exemplify the self-centered American mindset that I can't stand. I thought I would be escaping that in a place like Hawaii, on an island where there are signs of "Aloha" and "Go Slow" posted on car bumpers and storefronts everywhere. But in fact, it is quite the opposite in most places aside from Haiku. I think the tourist attractions lend to that but the locals are just as guilty. Glacier taught me how to handle tourists. Possibly, it isn't that I handle them all that well but rather I have a huge group of genuine people to retire with at the end of the long, artificial day.
Of course, I have Clay and we are having a lot of fun. I think our isolation is exactly what we were looking for. Glacier means being surrounded by others AT ALL TIMES. At meals, at work, in the dorms, smoking a cigarette, driving to town (because someone almost always wants to tag along. There are many employees stranded at location for lack of car). Our roommates, bless their souls, were very understanding and we were careful to never cross any lines. We rarely slept away from our own beds, most nights spent together were if one of our roommates weren't coming home or in a tent surrounded by a bunch of other tents full of passed out drunk buddies.
We spent a ton of money of motel rooms too just to have those few nights of alone time. Not that I desperately wanted to be away from everyone else, more that I just wanted to be alone with him. And now, here we are with all the time in the world. I was very much hoping that I wouldn't end up resenting sharing all my time and space with him since I spent so long wanting this for us, and so far it is working out increasingly well.
I just miss having those nights being surrounded by our goofy, fun, wild friends who make me laugh for hours. I miss getting drunk and wandering around property doing stupid things. I miss safety meetings (wandering in to the stark darkness of the Montana woods and sharing a bowl in a dimly headlamp-lit circle of brethren smokers). I miss going in hikes once a week with fellow misfits and outdoorspeople. (AKA hippies.)
That might just be it. Maui is seriously lacking in hippies. I don't mean those bro'ed out, self righteous surf/ski bums who maintain a hippie image but don't practice what they preach. Maui is stock-full of those. I mean real fucking hippies who don't care about what they are wearing or what they are hiking or where they are working and what have you. They care about good times with loving friends and collecting experiences, not things.
Motto of my life.
Lately, I miss Glacier more than ever. Maui is fantastic when I'm spending my time with my love in the charming little unincorporated town we chose for ourselves. I love riding my bike everyday and my job at Colleen's is working out splendidly. Still, it feels like something is missing.
I suppose it must be the people. All those wonderful friends I made over the past summer. I'm making a few friends here, such as the lovely Rachel who I'm going hiking with tomorrow. She is the only one at work who seems to be on the same page as me as far as priorities and interests go.
Maui just seems to have a certain populace of people who are rather superficial and tend to exemplify the self-centered American mindset that I can't stand. I thought I would be escaping that in a place like Hawaii, on an island where there are signs of "Aloha" and "Go Slow" posted on car bumpers and storefronts everywhere. But in fact, it is quite the opposite in most places aside from Haiku. I think the tourist attractions lend to that but the locals are just as guilty. Glacier taught me how to handle tourists. Possibly, it isn't that I handle them all that well but rather I have a huge group of genuine people to retire with at the end of the long, artificial day.
Of course, I have Clay and we are having a lot of fun. I think our isolation is exactly what we were looking for. Glacier means being surrounded by others AT ALL TIMES. At meals, at work, in the dorms, smoking a cigarette, driving to town (because someone almost always wants to tag along. There are many employees stranded at location for lack of car). Our roommates, bless their souls, were very understanding and we were careful to never cross any lines. We rarely slept away from our own beds, most nights spent together were if one of our roommates weren't coming home or in a tent surrounded by a bunch of other tents full of passed out drunk buddies.
We spent a ton of money of motel rooms too just to have those few nights of alone time. Not that I desperately wanted to be away from everyone else, more that I just wanted to be alone with him. And now, here we are with all the time in the world. I was very much hoping that I wouldn't end up resenting sharing all my time and space with him since I spent so long wanting this for us, and so far it is working out increasingly well.
I just miss having those nights being surrounded by our goofy, fun, wild friends who make me laugh for hours. I miss getting drunk and wandering around property doing stupid things. I miss safety meetings (wandering in to the stark darkness of the Montana woods and sharing a bowl in a dimly headlamp-lit circle of brethren smokers). I miss going in hikes once a week with fellow misfits and outdoorspeople. (AKA hippies.)
That might just be it. Maui is seriously lacking in hippies. I don't mean those bro'ed out, self righteous surf/ski bums who maintain a hippie image but don't practice what they preach. Maui is stock-full of those. I mean real fucking hippies who don't care about what they are wearing or what they are hiking or where they are working and what have you. They care about good times with loving friends and collecting experiences, not things.
Motto of my life.
Wednesday, November 21, 2012
Here's to Hoping in Hawaii
I don't particularly like my new job. There is just way too much drama already and I don't think my boss has managed her own restaurant before. There seems to be a certain way of doing things around there, a few of the ways in which I disagree with, however I can't really say anything as "the new girl". I know I can serve circles around most of my co-workers but I have to let them keep thinking I'm just a mousy, little white girl. Until they start taking advantage of that, then that image will disappear immediately.
I went in to Clay's workplace today and talked with his boss, Colleen. She's snarky and super laid back, the type of person I work well with and the vibe of the restaurant matches my style to a T. Unfortunately, she doesn't need much help right now. Still, I'm going in Saturday to get a feel for the place. Hopefully, I'll rock it out and she'll want me around anyway.
I emailed Maui Kombucha too, just so I could say that I'm terribly upset that I mussed up that opportunity. Being a booch and coffee slinger again sounds like a blast, in Maui at least.
That's the other thing: I hate the commute to work. I ride my bike 25 minutes to the bus stop (which I don't mind, I'd being doing that anyway is I worked at Colleen's or Maui Kombucha anyway). The bus ride is godawful and I'm pretty sure it is the culprit behind this gross cold I've somehow picked up. The bus takes me to the mall where my restaurant is located and I can't express enough how much I despise malls. This one is no exception to my detestation. And, of course, just in time for motherfucking black friday: the disgusting display of consumerism that is steadily destroying the sanctity of Thanksgiving.
But on that note: Yay! Thanksgiving! My favorite holiday. It is everything a holiday should be. It focuses on the family, not what you buy for your family. All you have to do is show up, hang out, eat a shit ton of the most delicious food you'll eat all year, unbutton your pants, play games, and watch football if you so choose (I don't).
I'm really going to miss that tradition tomorrow. I'm really going to miss my mom. I'm really going to miss everyone. But, I chose life on the road and tomorrow I will get my first taste of a holiday away from home. Clay and I will go to Britt and Matt's for friendsgiving: a meeting of the orphans. I'm sure it will be a great time and I can't wait, nonetheless. I think I'll make spinach pie with some of the crazy good Wisconsin cheese my mom sent me for my birthday.
Damn, she knows me well.
Anyway, Cheers and Happy Turkey Day to all!!!
Thursday, November 15, 2012
Niche
I received 4 postcards in the mail today! Two were from Cincinnati. One from Seattle and the last from Germany.
Hand in hand with traveling, I am obsessed with sending and receiving snail mail. My grandma, better known as Nanoo, and Aunt Joan began sending me cards as soon as I was old enough to appreciate the pictures. The oldest postcard I own is from 1989, the year I was born. I collected them one by one while growing up and now I have hundreds. There is something more personal about a postcard. To me, a random postcard means you sat down and actually thought about me a while, which is comforting. Somehow, text messages and 'liked' facebook posts don't translate the same way (although, I'm guilty as charged for those behaviors as well).
I recently joined a website (http://www.postcrossing.com/) dedicated to maintaining a homebase for snailmail enthusiasts all over the world. I've already sent quite a few cards. Unfortunately, there is a limit to how many you can send at one time when you're starting out. I suppose they don't want you to bite off more than you can chew just because you're stoked to be a part of some "community" on the interwebs. I understand. So, that means I have to WAIT FOR DAYS while the sent postcard travels and then for the recipient to register the goddamn thing. And I swear, there is this one guy in Russia who is holding out on me.
Anyway, there is a way around it, kinda. You can "direct swap" with other members who are interested. This means you'll each get a postcard (trusting they actually send one, which they have so far) and they will get a postcard but it won't be registered. Therefore, it doesn't count with the number displayed on your profile. Whatever, it isn't a popularity contest.
Also, you get a postcard wall displaying all the cards you've sent, received, and "fave'd".
OF COURSE this website has only made me more obsessed with the whole business. And silly me, I went snooping around the internet and found that there are a million other blogs about sending snail mail, all of which I want to immediately follow because that means there is a whole other community I can join and then despise because damnit, they got to the idea first.
Bugger.
Unemployment must be fucking with my mind. Too much Roseanne and Facebook.
Don't get me wrong, I've been getting out of the house and riding my bike everyday. Applying to places left and right. I have another job interview tomorrow, which I hope will go better than the one at Ben and Jerry's yesterday.
I got up early and rode my bike to the Haiku cannery with Clay. He works at a restaurant there called Colleen's. The bus to the Queen Kahumanu Center (mall) doesn't leave until 9:11. Perfect! I can just go to the Postal Shop and send a little gift to my friend Hannah, drop off 9 postcards, and print off some resumes to take to the mall in case this interview goes to shit.
But, of course, the Postal Shop isn't open until 9:00.
I stalk the storefront until 9:05 and the shades never rose and the lights never turned on.
Meaning I'd have to walk around all day with a small pink dinosaur plush stuffed in my backpack (Hannah's present).
The interview didn't go poorly, really. The guy was nice enough but I could tell that the store is clearly going through ownership change, business is slow, there isn't any advertising, they only hire locals, so on and so forth. I filled out a 4 page general information/questionnaire application, even though they already have my resume.
My feathers are ruffled because I know that I am overqualified at this job, it should be a no-brainer. Yet, he tells me I'll need to wait until early next week for a second interview with the owner, MAYBE, and if not, then sometime around Thanksgiving.
(now I REALLY wish the Postal Shop was open so I could have those resumes on hand...)
THANKSGIVING?!
I need a job NOW! I'm so frustrated that I could eat a whole bunch of mint chocolate ice cream and smoke cigarettes!
...Already doing that!
Tomorrow is my birthday. I will be 23. I wanted to have a job by my birthday. Not just HAVE the job but already beginning to settle in to this new job. Getting a feel for my co-workers. Remembering prices and feeling comfortable with the computer system.
A lesson in: You can't always get what you want.
And before you go: Skyfall was excellent. Go see it.
I recently joined a website (http://www.postcrossing.com/) dedicated to maintaining a homebase for snailmail enthusiasts all over the world. I've already sent quite a few cards. Unfortunately, there is a limit to how many you can send at one time when you're starting out. I suppose they don't want you to bite off more than you can chew just because you're stoked to be a part of some "community" on the interwebs. I understand. So, that means I have to WAIT FOR DAYS while the sent postcard travels and then for the recipient to register the goddamn thing. And I swear, there is this one guy in Russia who is holding out on me.
Anyway, there is a way around it, kinda. You can "direct swap" with other members who are interested. This means you'll each get a postcard (trusting they actually send one, which they have so far) and they will get a postcard but it won't be registered. Therefore, it doesn't count with the number displayed on your profile. Whatever, it isn't a popularity contest.
Also, you get a postcard wall displaying all the cards you've sent, received, and "fave'd".
OF COURSE this website has only made me more obsessed with the whole business. And silly me, I went snooping around the internet and found that there are a million other blogs about sending snail mail, all of which I want to immediately follow because that means there is a whole other community I can join and then despise because damnit, they got to the idea first.
Bugger.
Unemployment must be fucking with my mind. Too much Roseanne and Facebook.
Don't get me wrong, I've been getting out of the house and riding my bike everyday. Applying to places left and right. I have another job interview tomorrow, which I hope will go better than the one at Ben and Jerry's yesterday.
I got up early and rode my bike to the Haiku cannery with Clay. He works at a restaurant there called Colleen's. The bus to the Queen Kahumanu Center (mall) doesn't leave until 9:11. Perfect! I can just go to the Postal Shop and send a little gift to my friend Hannah, drop off 9 postcards, and print off some resumes to take to the mall in case this interview goes to shit.
But, of course, the Postal Shop isn't open until 9:00.
I stalk the storefront until 9:05 and the shades never rose and the lights never turned on.
Meaning I'd have to walk around all day with a small pink dinosaur plush stuffed in my backpack (Hannah's present).
The interview didn't go poorly, really. The guy was nice enough but I could tell that the store is clearly going through ownership change, business is slow, there isn't any advertising, they only hire locals, so on and so forth. I filled out a 4 page general information/questionnaire application, even though they already have my resume.
My feathers are ruffled because I know that I am overqualified at this job, it should be a no-brainer. Yet, he tells me I'll need to wait until early next week for a second interview with the owner, MAYBE, and if not, then sometime around Thanksgiving.
(now I REALLY wish the Postal Shop was open so I could have those resumes on hand...)
THANKSGIVING?!
I need a job NOW! I'm so frustrated that I could eat a whole bunch of mint chocolate ice cream and smoke cigarettes!
...Already doing that!
Tomorrow is my birthday. I will be 23. I wanted to have a job by my birthday. Not just HAVE the job but already beginning to settle in to this new job. Getting a feel for my co-workers. Remembering prices and feeling comfortable with the computer system.
A lesson in: You can't always get what you want.
And before you go: Skyfall was excellent. Go see it.
Tuesday, November 13, 2012
Greetings from Wherever!
What I do is not commonly rewarded. A 'promotion' doesn't mean much, if anything it indicates far more work with only a wee bit more pay. No one here is the conventional hero, genius, or revolutionary. We are regular joes and misfits and weirdos. But we sure as hell don't care about those labels. In fact, we embrace them.
This isn't a home to everyone. Especially since, for the most part, home isn't any physical place one can return to. Home is the body, the welcoming faces of friends, and wherever we choose to be.
I am a seasonal worker. And I cannot speak for all of my colleagues. I am merely relating my experiences, which is my largest collection (aside from postcards, which goes hand in hand with my lifestyle), because in only the beginning of this rendezvous I have already encountered so much. Brilliant people with ambitions that go above and beyond. Sightseeing that renders one speechless. Everlasting friendships. Seasonal loves that don't always remain seasonal. Parties that will knock your knickers off. Nature that WILL kill you. Food that may kill you.
This is a way to submerge oneself in the culture and become a part of the landscape. We are not tourists and, typically, tourists become the butt end of many of our jokes. What I want is to live in each location long enough to know the behind the scenes knowledge you can't get from a visit.
The work is never glamorous. Serving is my forte, but there are plenty of jobs: bellmen, housekeepers, front desk clerks, night auditors, line cooks, dishwashers, chefs, porters, hosts, cashiers, maintenance... the list goes on. Without one ingredient the bread can't rise. And, as I've recently seen, at the end of the season every last ingredient is acknowledged. A high rate of workers quitting or being fired results in disaster. Fortunately, my first full season was a smooth ride while nearby locations struggled.
No, serving tables is nothing to write home about. Unless, of course, you serve the governor of your home state and he's a complete asshole (mom loved that one). What I write home about are the breathtaking hikes, the encounters of hostile nature, the lovely people who treat me like family, so on and so forth. I've already covered this. Experiences, i.e. learning about the world outside of my own.
Seasonal workers move from place to place like gypsies or vagabonds or what have you. I began with Lake McDonald in Glacier National Park. Establishments like this (similar are Yellowstone, Sun Valley, Steamboat, etc) take care of the worker. Rent and meals are cheap and come right out of the paycheck. Unless you are a manager (and even then) you will have a roommate and share a bathroom and a hallway with a whole bunch of people in the same position. Beware noise complaints! More importantly, beware the food!
Conveniently, the worker will walk a mere 30 seconds- 5 minutes to reach the Employee Dining Room, aka EDR (This goes for the workplace too. Being late is absurd, and when it happens it either means something bad or else your boss WILL FIND YOU). Those guys and gals in the EDR work just as hard as anyone else, so this creates quite the conflict. Everyone is constantly complaining about how godawful the cuisine is (and it is) while the EDR staff slaves away back there attempting to make it as edible as possible. Hutterites saved the plate this past summer with their fresh veggies (best salad bar I've seen).
On top of it, I am a vegetarian and I don't plan on changing that any time soon (I can go in to that decision and my beliefs later, but please understand that I am not the stereotypical preachy, haughty, judgmental vegetarian). There were so many days where I nearly gave in to temptation simply from my severe lack of protein.
I recall on lunch in particular... I was a lead server, which meant that I was managing whenever Casey, the front of the house manager, wasn't present. I always liked to get the entire staff to lunch before myself. Molly, the "cute as a button" and "may break down into tears at any moment" server, returned from lunch bursting with great news, "Cassie! Veggie quesadillas today! Spinach and jack cheese...it was so delicious, you'll love it!"
Mouth watering and brimming with anticipation I get in the EDR line and sign in my name and say hello to Scott and ask for a quesadilla.
"Aw, Cass. I'm so sorry. They're all gone already."
Devastation.
"That hurts my soul! Oh well, I'll go with the salad bar."
Scott held up an index finger and scurried to the back of the kitchen. In a few minutes he reappeared with a steaming quesadilla upon one of those tacky coral colored Ikea plates, and I nearly squealed.
"Scott, thank you!"
"Well, I can't have your soul hurting."
I have fiercely digressed here, but hopefully I've shown how considerate those people are. They know the food is bad! They're eating it too! So, when I speak abjectly about the food I am not, under any circumstances, referring to the people who cook it.
Bottom line, though, the food is bad.
However! If you can get past that, you're off to a fantastic start.
As for the living situation, everyone has a different opinion. The older folk disagree with the small, shared space. Younger folk have trouble keeping quiet for the older folk. Sometimes, those roles completely flip flop. My favorite people this past summer were all over the age of 40 (except for my most favorite person who is only over 30) and they could all RAISE HELL. The Christian Ministries couple existing next to my room and whose window was facing "the wine circle" abhorred the living situation (sorry y'all). A dear friend had to deal with borderline pornography occurring in her room. Another had to deal with creepy invasions by a large, older, tie-dye wearing man looking for marijuana. But this is all part of the fun!
My roommate was a sweetheart from Slovakia, Lenka, and coincidentally the other lead server of our restaurant. She worked hard, hiked hard, partied hard, and was extremely clean. I truly lucked out.
At this point, I have covered the aspects that can break a deal between the worker and the establishment. College style housing, terrible nourishment, shitty work? What's it all for?
At the end of the work week you can step in to your backyard that is a WILD, MAJESTIC, AWESOME (cue Glacier DVD inspirational music) wonderland. A few rock climb and summit mountaintops, quite a bit of us hike, some fish, many camp.
I forgot to mention, Lake McDonald is in the middle of nowhere. Forget about cell phone service and expect limited internet services. This might be my favorite part of the whole shebang. It forces the worker to DO SOMETHING ELSE. Go outside! Get to know someone new! Read a book!
Different locations offer variations to this mentality. My current environment allows me to call home whenever and blog on the internet (I hope to keep it up, too). Still, the absence of technology is one of my favorite aspects of the whole shebang.
Therefore, I spent most of my time being with others (often in safety meetings), hiking, hanging out by the lake, and drinking wine in the circle (our favorite is Bandit).
Every season the worker will walk away having learned an immense amount about the location and themselves: how the worker interacts with the environment. Maybe they find that this isn't the lifestyle for them. Maybe all of their dreams come true. (for me and many of the others I speak of, the latter is true)
I've already written more than I ever could have with my previous blogs. It excites me to know that I have started something in my life that makes me want to write again. There is so much yet to explain and share but I'll leave the beginning post with this.
This isn't a home to everyone. Especially since, for the most part, home isn't any physical place one can return to. Home is the body, the welcoming faces of friends, and wherever we choose to be.
I am a seasonal worker. And I cannot speak for all of my colleagues. I am merely relating my experiences, which is my largest collection (aside from postcards, which goes hand in hand with my lifestyle), because in only the beginning of this rendezvous I have already encountered so much. Brilliant people with ambitions that go above and beyond. Sightseeing that renders one speechless. Everlasting friendships. Seasonal loves that don't always remain seasonal. Parties that will knock your knickers off. Nature that WILL kill you. Food that may kill you.
This is a way to submerge oneself in the culture and become a part of the landscape. We are not tourists and, typically, tourists become the butt end of many of our jokes. What I want is to live in each location long enough to know the behind the scenes knowledge you can't get from a visit.
The work is never glamorous. Serving is my forte, but there are plenty of jobs: bellmen, housekeepers, front desk clerks, night auditors, line cooks, dishwashers, chefs, porters, hosts, cashiers, maintenance... the list goes on. Without one ingredient the bread can't rise. And, as I've recently seen, at the end of the season every last ingredient is acknowledged. A high rate of workers quitting or being fired results in disaster. Fortunately, my first full season was a smooth ride while nearby locations struggled.
No, serving tables is nothing to write home about. Unless, of course, you serve the governor of your home state and he's a complete asshole (mom loved that one). What I write home about are the breathtaking hikes, the encounters of hostile nature, the lovely people who treat me like family, so on and so forth. I've already covered this. Experiences, i.e. learning about the world outside of my own.
Seasonal workers move from place to place like gypsies or vagabonds or what have you. I began with Lake McDonald in Glacier National Park. Establishments like this (similar are Yellowstone, Sun Valley, Steamboat, etc) take care of the worker. Rent and meals are cheap and come right out of the paycheck. Unless you are a manager (and even then) you will have a roommate and share a bathroom and a hallway with a whole bunch of people in the same position. Beware noise complaints! More importantly, beware the food!
Conveniently, the worker will walk a mere 30 seconds- 5 minutes to reach the Employee Dining Room, aka EDR (This goes for the workplace too. Being late is absurd, and when it happens it either means something bad or else your boss WILL FIND YOU). Those guys and gals in the EDR work just as hard as anyone else, so this creates quite the conflict. Everyone is constantly complaining about how godawful the cuisine is (and it is) while the EDR staff slaves away back there attempting to make it as edible as possible. Hutterites saved the plate this past summer with their fresh veggies (best salad bar I've seen).
On top of it, I am a vegetarian and I don't plan on changing that any time soon (I can go in to that decision and my beliefs later, but please understand that I am not the stereotypical preachy, haughty, judgmental vegetarian). There were so many days where I nearly gave in to temptation simply from my severe lack of protein.
I recall on lunch in particular... I was a lead server, which meant that I was managing whenever Casey, the front of the house manager, wasn't present. I always liked to get the entire staff to lunch before myself. Molly, the "cute as a button" and "may break down into tears at any moment" server, returned from lunch bursting with great news, "Cassie! Veggie quesadillas today! Spinach and jack cheese...it was so delicious, you'll love it!"
Mouth watering and brimming with anticipation I get in the EDR line and sign in my name and say hello to Scott and ask for a quesadilla.
"Aw, Cass. I'm so sorry. They're all gone already."
Devastation.
"That hurts my soul! Oh well, I'll go with the salad bar."
Scott held up an index finger and scurried to the back of the kitchen. In a few minutes he reappeared with a steaming quesadilla upon one of those tacky coral colored Ikea plates, and I nearly squealed.
"Scott, thank you!"
"Well, I can't have your soul hurting."
I have fiercely digressed here, but hopefully I've shown how considerate those people are. They know the food is bad! They're eating it too! So, when I speak abjectly about the food I am not, under any circumstances, referring to the people who cook it.
Bottom line, though, the food is bad.
However! If you can get past that, you're off to a fantastic start.
As for the living situation, everyone has a different opinion. The older folk disagree with the small, shared space. Younger folk have trouble keeping quiet for the older folk. Sometimes, those roles completely flip flop. My favorite people this past summer were all over the age of 40 (except for my most favorite person who is only over 30) and they could all RAISE HELL. The Christian Ministries couple existing next to my room and whose window was facing "the wine circle" abhorred the living situation (sorry y'all). A dear friend had to deal with borderline pornography occurring in her room. Another had to deal with creepy invasions by a large, older, tie-dye wearing man looking for marijuana. But this is all part of the fun!
My roommate was a sweetheart from Slovakia, Lenka, and coincidentally the other lead server of our restaurant. She worked hard, hiked hard, partied hard, and was extremely clean. I truly lucked out.
At this point, I have covered the aspects that can break a deal between the worker and the establishment. College style housing, terrible nourishment, shitty work? What's it all for?
At the end of the work week you can step in to your backyard that is a WILD, MAJESTIC, AWESOME (cue Glacier DVD inspirational music) wonderland. A few rock climb and summit mountaintops, quite a bit of us hike, some fish, many camp.
I forgot to mention, Lake McDonald is in the middle of nowhere. Forget about cell phone service and expect limited internet services. This might be my favorite part of the whole shebang. It forces the worker to DO SOMETHING ELSE. Go outside! Get to know someone new! Read a book!
Different locations offer variations to this mentality. My current environment allows me to call home whenever and blog on the internet (I hope to keep it up, too). Still, the absence of technology is one of my favorite aspects of the whole shebang.
Therefore, I spent most of my time being with others (often in safety meetings), hiking, hanging out by the lake, and drinking wine in the circle (our favorite is Bandit).
Every season the worker will walk away having learned an immense amount about the location and themselves: how the worker interacts with the environment. Maybe they find that this isn't the lifestyle for them. Maybe all of their dreams come true. (for me and many of the others I speak of, the latter is true)
I've already written more than I ever could have with my previous blogs. It excites me to know that I have started something in my life that makes me want to write again. There is so much yet to explain and share but I'll leave the beginning post with this.
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