Garbage Story Ran Today

Please note. This photo is copyrighted and belongs to Local Paper. I believe as long as I am not making profit on it, I can post it here...

The garbage story (heavily edited for space) ran today in the local paper. To read it, click on www.salisburypost.com. In the "search" window, key in my first and last name, and click on "find." A whole list of my articles will come up -- click on the garbage story to read it.

To DH's mom & stepdad: you have a copy in the mail. It should arrive by Tuesday. If you'd rather read it on paper, you can wait for the real thing.

Many of my words were left out. I am in the process of trying to compare my original version with the edited one to see what I can learn from the editing. My usual editor typically edits very little if anything at all. Her co-editor did it this time and she really moved things around and omitted not only isolated words, but entire paragraphs and concepts. Yet, this is the first article I've written that prompted a call from Usual Editor just to say what a good job it was. Sigh. I am a little confused but trying to learn from it all.

Maybe I need to just roll along. Trip to NCSSM is on Wednesday. Yea!

Technology Trouble

My deadline for the garbage article was 8 minutes ago. I emailed it to my editor, who has been having email trouble for a week or two now. Even though I made my deadline, I am unsure if she will receive it, so I may have to drive it over, or email it to someone else there in the building who can save it to their computer system for her to edit.

Technology trouble is so threatening. After blogging about my news stories (we use the term, 'news,' here very loosely) I remembered an article I had written, that I had left out of my blog. After completing my article this morning, I tried to insert a paragraph into my blog describing that forgotten article. Typed the paragraph, clicked on "Publish" and an error message popped up. "Cannot locate the blog requested." Hmm. Pulled up the entry once again to insert the paragraph. "This isn't so bad," I thought. On writing it the second time, I re-worded some sentences so they were clearer or better written, or more descriptive. In good humor, I faithfully clicked once more on, "Publish." Error message. "Cannot locate the blog requested." Pleaseohpleaseohplease don't let my blog be gone. Logged off and back on. Looked at my blog. It's there, with yesterday's entry, but not today's improvements. Went through to edit again. Third time to write the silly paragraph and I was not as good a sport as the second time. Had the distinct feeling there were some good words I used earlier, that I was not remembering this time. Publish. "Cannot locate the blog requested."

Editor just called. She did *not* receive my garbage story yet and asked me to send it to her co-editor. Did so. Now I am here, mostly to see if it will take a new posting, even though it won't update a prior one. Deep breath, click Publish, and....

Stories

DIL1 posted a comment earlier today asking if I have other stories lined up. I decided to blog about the stories I've done and those I am doing.

I have only been free-lancing since about July. The first story was about the cherry orchard in the mountains. It's owned and run by a couple I admire who have written several books about living simply. I had already read their books when the opportunity to free-lance came along. The editor who asked me if I wanted to free-lance had mentioned that day-trips would be good articles to write in the summer. So when I asked about the cherry orchard, she readily approved it.

In August, she suggested that I do a "home and garden" story about my next-door neighbors. They renovated a house a block down the street, then moved next door and started over. In her words, "They must love it." It was easy enough to research and write, being just next door, but the pressure of writing about friends/neighbors is horrific. I read and re-read my copy before sending it in to see if any little thing could be misread and thus hurt their feelings. I personally think they've done a great job on their house but sometimes print can be misread.

Also around that time, DH suggested I do an article on the streetcar that used to come through our neighborhood. We know several 80 to 90-year-olds who remember riding on it. One of our neighbors' father was a streetcar and he still has his dad's money-changer, the little chrome device that hung from his belt so he could readily give back nickels, dimes and quarters.

To do that article, I met with seven 80-to-90-year-olds at the library in a meeting room. I cannot count the times I had to say, "Back to the streetcar..." They really need to get together once in a while. They loved seeing each other again, and recounted many, many stories. "That boy was so good-looking, and he was a good kisser, too." "I never liked him. His chicken used to chase me every time I came down the street." "....Getting back to the streetcars...."

I am working on two articles right now, the garbage thing and a story on NCSSM, the North Carolina School of Science and Math. It is a residential school for high school juniors and seniors who excel in, oddly enough, science and math. They are accepted by invitation only, after applying, taking tests and rigorous interviews. Interviewed parents of one of our town's students this week, and will travel to the school next week.

I'm on deadline for the garbage thing -- it will print in Sunday's paper. The NCSSM thing is out there as I don't even go to the school til next week.

I have not come up with any more ideas for stories. I always despair that I'll never have another idea, and then at the unlikeliest moment, one comes along. How about a story on bloggers.........

Riding the Garbage Truck

It's 2:30 and I've been in the chair for an hour. I don't see how they do it.

The route we ran today has 640 homes on it and we ran 2 trucks, the one I rode on, and one other. At the end of the day, we followed the other truck to the dumping station, where each truck was weighed on the way in, and again on the way out, empty. Each truck picked up about 6 tons of garbage today. Typically, each truck is driven and operated by ONE man.

Today, I was a helper. I rode the back of the truck, hopped down and emptied garbage cans, and hopped back up. The driver usually does all this in addition to driving. To empty a can, you roll it to the back of the truck (sounds easy, but when they are heavy, is sometimes difficult.) Then you hook the bar at the front of the can over the lip of the lifter, and press down on the lever. The lifter lifts the can up in the air over the bay of the truck, and the garbage falls into it. You press the lever down and the can returns to the ground. When the bay is full, there is another lever to make the jaws come out and compact the garbage up into the front of the truck. The bay fills up about every 4 or 5 stops.

The platform I stood on, on the back of the truck, is about 32" off the ground. At one point, I was sweating and my jeans were soaked in sweat. Being wet, they had stretched a little and were falling down on my hips. With the crotch halfway to my knees, it was much harder to leap gracefully to the little platform.

There are eight garbage men and they make 10,558 stops a week. The drivers are an awesome bunch of guys: a deacon, a co-pastor, a former football running back (still holds the county record!!) 2 guys who love rebuilding old cars, a fisherman and a fellow who loves to barbecue.

After we all finished, we sat in the office and I interviewed them. They had some stories to tell!! One of the guys had a naked lady chasing him down the street. She had forgotten to take out her garbage before he came. One of the guys chats with the older people on his route. What season do they dread the most? Hunting season. Too much blood and guts in the garbage. What weather do they dread the most? Icy rain.

I learned many things today: for one thing, not all garbage stinks the same. In fact, it's not too awful in general, except when there is vomit in it. (Why do ppl put vomit in the garbage??) We encountered about 6 to 8 vomit-y stops. Another thing I learned was, I never want to get my hand caught in the compacting jaws on the truck. That thing smashed a sofa like it was a matchstick. Bicycles didn't even slow it down. Neither did patio umbrellas. I asked and was told it compacts at a 6:1 ratio. 300 cubic yards is smashed down to 50.

Each of the men was a total gentleman around me. They kidded, they laughed, and they never said an off-color word or made any innuendo. They even hesitated before telling me about the naked lady. The driver who took me along drove that truck like a baby. He went slowly over bumps so I wouldn't fall off the back. He watched for low hanging limbs so I wouldn't get slapped. He cautioned me to let him know when things were too heavy for me to lift. I couldn't have asked for a more thoughtful and kind driver.

DH found us three or four times through the morning and freely used one of the three cameras he had hanging around his neck: the videocam, the digital camera, and the SLR. We've got scads of pics of me hanging on the back of the truck, getting off the truck, getting on the truck, moving cans, raising cans, lowering cans. Pics of my driver, pics of the other driver on today's route. The other driver was a guy named James. Tall, black, attractive, and always smiling, James has been doing this for 32 years. He gets the Everlasting Award. DH told James, "Work her hard!" and James enjoyed repeating this several times.

Being a garbage man is a hazardous job -- not necessarily because of the garbage, the glass or the needles, the fumes or the dust or the puke, but because of the idiot drivers. People pass on the left. They pass on the right. When there are 6 or 8 cars backed up in a line behind the garbage truck, some nut will pass 'em all.

A garbage man was killed last year by a lady who was driving and putting on her makeup at the same time. (Please do not do this.) She did not see the 10-ton truck, the flashing lights, or the dayglo orange shirt. She plowed straight into the back of the truck -- through the man who was standing behind the truck at the time. His torso went into the bay of the truck. His legs lay on the street. These men are brave and tough and funny and very bright -- the one thing that makes them all go serious very fast is the issue of traffic.

Today was a day I'll never forget.

Garbage Day

TODAY is the day I work as a garbage man.

I had the idea about 6 weeks ago to do a story on our garbage men. Our little town has only 7 men and they make more than 10,000 stops a week. The only day that no one among them works is Christmas Day. They smile, wave, and work hard. I thought it'd be cool to write about the men and the work they do.

It was a rather hard sell to my editor. Although I never really knew why, she seemed reluctant to approve the story. I kept asking. Finally, she said yes.

At that point, I had to sell the concept to the City. They finally approved it with one caveat: I can work alongside the "other men," empty garbage, work as if I were a City employee for the day, but I cannot cross the street. Oh, I also have to sign a "hold harmless" waiver of liability.

No problem.

Today is the big day. I have to be there by 6:50, not too bad. I have already packed my bag lunch; at noon I will sit with the "other men" and get their personal stories. From 7 to noon, I will empty garbage. I believe I get to ride the back of the truck!! How cool is that??

More later....

Unbelievable

On Wednesday, I asked DH if maybe 6 weeks out of work were not long enough. His injured finger was sooo swollen; he was having new and unusual pain; his flexibility was not coming along at all.

On Friday, his stitches were out; his flexibility was drastically increased; he played guitar; and resumed driving.

Six weeks seems to be plenty now. What a difference a day or two can make!!

Today, we drove to Capital City to see DS2, who just returned from Iraq. Words cannot express what it's like to see your son after worrying over his being in war.

DH drove all the way. Visited, played with a house-full of grandbabies. Chatted with Nana-in-law and PopPop-in-law. Cheered on kids with pinata. Hung in there for four hours. When he said he was getting a little tired, I quickly packed up our stuff to go.

I tried to drive home -- drove 1 hour, 15 minutes. Whenever I drive into the sun, I get so hugely sleepy. I don't understand it, but I have learned by now that it always happens. Pulled into a gas station to walk around, visit RR. Came out, DH is at the wheel. (He hates my driving.)

So he drove the rest of the way home. I tried not to snore.

BTW, our church has begun a new service. At first we did not think it would be our preference, but now, I like it best of all. We try not to go to any one service all the time, new service sometimes, noontime sometimes, early morning traditional service sometimes. Today we went to new service so we could get on the road. Awesome service. DH is ready to return to music practice on Thursday night.

We might not see a lot of burning bushes around, or wives turning to salt, or giants to slay with slingshots, but miracles still happen. They really do.

Notes

The week wasn't the best. Then DH got his stitches out yesterday and got a good report. He has tried valiantly to be upbeat, but I keep catching him just staring at his hand with the most mournful expression on his face. I have said little. I realize I have to let him just be sad sometimes. When I do ask if he is sad, his reply is always the same: "I'm aight." In case you live on another planet, and don't know anyone who has a touch of MBS running through his veins, "Aight," is shorthand for, "All right," and it means anything BUT.

With the stitches out, today's PT went wonderfully. He flexed his injured finger almost against itself, bending at the middle joint so that the top part of the finger almost touched the bottom half of the finger. This is amazing. The PT's were astonished. And proud.

After running some errands, we came home. I was on the PC working on an article. DH went upstairs to his Music Room. He has had an interest in reorganizing it so I figured he was taking that initiative.

The phone rang and I took the call. As I was on the phone,

I......
heard......
NOTES.

DH came downstairs, playing the guitar all the way. Beautifully.

More beautiful was the look on his face. Pride, and ... amazement, and .... relief.

Things will be fine.

Bones

Went to Dr. today and the trip answered many, many questions. DH has experienced so much more pain this week, including a burning sensation in the wounded finger, that I was petrified that we had infection setting in.

This is not the case. Thank goodness. The nerves have suffered severe trauma, of course, and now that the swelling is going down just a little, they have room to "yell."

The thumb, forefinger, and "tall man" finger are all about down to normal. The back of his hand remains a little puffy, and the ring finger is still huge -- particularly at the 2nd joint, the middle of the finger.

The stitches were removed today and we learned that if everything goes well, the plate will remain in there indefinitely. The swelling should go down as PT continues, and the finger should straighten as the swelling subsides. The finger may remain somewhat crooked when healed, but the Dr. does not anticipate significant crookedness; we'll see as time goes by.

DH seems to feel the most pain if the bed where his pinkie used to live is touched, and if the ring finger moves laterally. Sometimes in therapy, he does move it laterally, and his reaction is rather extreme.

Altogether, we feel all this is good news as we can take any discomfort as long as we know it's not permanent.

In response to the burning and pain, the doctor prescribed a medicine that levels out nerve impulses. It was originally a seizure medication, and they have learned over time that, although it's not the best seizure medicine, it's really effective at levelling out hypersensitive nerve endings, which is what he has at the moment. We dropped the Rx off at the local drug store on the way to a neighboring town to shop for the grandchildren's birthdays. On the road we were listening to NPR (of course) , and they discussed this exact drug by name regarding the fact it has not been approved by the FDA. DH is reconsidering picking up or taking this drug and is calling the Dr. to discuss.

He is approved to drive if he is off pain medication and feels comfortable in doing so. At this time, both of these points are marginal -- but not far off.

We continue PT at 3x a week. The people there are awesome and it's a good chance to see people who are worse off than you are -- which is always good for your perspective. Although it does cause DH quite a bit of discomfort, we keep our eyes on the goal.

His next appt is in two weeks. The xray above was taken today and the doctor's comment was, "Excellent."

******

On a different subject, I ride the garbage truck on Wednesday. I believe I have already blogged about that opportunity, but it was originally Tuesday, and has been changed to Wednesday to accommodate photographers better.

I pitched an article to my editor featuring our county's students who attend the state's School of Science and Math. The school is for high school juniors and seniors, and is residential. It's located near the state's capital and is affiliated with the state university system. Of course, attendance is by nomination only, and even then the kids have to pass rigorous testing and interviews to be accepted. The editor loved the idea. I will go up and spend the day. Part of the article will look like a school schedule with times of day and the associated activities.

I spoke with DH about keeping Little One out of school on that day and taking her with us to see the campus and the great opportunity these kids have. Our school has an "educational trip" form we can fill out to ask for permission for the excused absence.

I spoke with the Communications Director today. He emailed me the names of students from our county along with their parents' names and phone numbers. We have about six kids there from this county. This year is the 25th anniversary of the school, which is a nice slant on the article. He is quite enthusiastic about the article -- it seems the "outlying counties" don't get much press for the school.

The thing about writing like this is, I get to have all these adventures, meet people I wouldn't get to meet otherwise, hear all sorts of stories, see all different viewpoints on things, and it's all for.... work!! It has not felt like work, yet, and somehow, I believe it never will.

Centennial Park

Yesterday afternoon, we went to City Council to present the concept, partnership, and design for Centennial Park. The Director of Parks and Recreation and I presented together. Council's response was so positive. Each councilman spoke in turn and each of them praised the neighborhood for our initiative, for our willingness to raise the funds and do most of the labor, for having an idea and pursuing it. Then the Mayor spoke and her words, too, were very kind. They voted unanimously in favor of the Park.
Now the hard work begins. Phase I requires a total of about $26,000. Phase I includes the entry arbor, the sidewalk leading from that arbor down a little hill to another arbor which houses a kiosk for our newsletters, a sidewalk perpendicular to that sidewalk, to the left, to the playground structure. The playground structure alone costs $16,000, the bulk of the money. We are selling brick pavers, which border the sidewalk, and this will fund the sidewalk ($6,000) and the trash cans ($1,000), because, nobody is going to sponsor a sidewalk or trashcan. Other components of Phase I are the Mommy benches at the playground ($3,000 x 2) and a picnic area. Both of these items are sponsorship opportunities, as are the arbors.
I feel really good about all this. We are applying for four grants, and they are all due in February. Three of the four typically award amounts less than $5,000, and the fourth one can easily pay for the playground structure. If we win them.
Phase II is a formal garden with two circular areas, one housing a sculpture, the other is a sitting / meditation area. Without the art, the cost is about $6,000, most of which can be supported with the sale of more pavers.
Phase III is a wooded nature trail. This land is not in the City land, but adjacent to it. I called the owner and persuaded him to donate it. He will receive a hefty tax write-off and we get the coolest land, too marshy for building on, but a nice, natural setting, something we are short of around here. Phases II and III are separated by a small creek, which will provide Eagle scout candidates service opportunities -- we need two foot bridges to cross it.
I will try soon to scan in the plan for blog readers to see. Right now I gotta ------dash to take Little One to youth group at the church.
~Later.

Up Days and ... the Other Kind

Ok. We are 14 days out from The Accident. Overall, DH has been amazing. His outlook and optimism beat anything I ever imagined. His hand has given him very little pain. On occasion, he will bump it or move it in a way it doesn't like, and he will have about 45 seconds of excrutiating pain. HOW do you spell, "excrutiating"? Hold on -- I've got to look that up....

ex·cru·ci·ate ( P ) Pronunciation Key (k-skrsh-t)tr.v. ex·cru·ci·at·ed, ex·cru·ci·at·ing, ex·cru·ci·ates
To inflict severe pain on; torture.
To inflict great mental distress on.

OK. I didn't think that looked right~!

Anyhoo, overall, he has had great luck with this thing not being too painful, or too constantly painful.

I had worried about depression setting in because, well, because it's my job to worry about things. I think I read somewhere it's normal to grieve when you lose some part of your body, or if I didn't read it, then I made it up and came to believe I had read it. So I have been on my toes watching for any signs of depression.

Monday was Day 12 and It Was A Bad Day. DH was slept quite badly, reliving The Accident over and over in his mind. He couldn't put it out of his mind to get some rest. So on Monday morning, he was exhausted, and to make matters worse, his hand was uncharacteristically painful. To his credit, he tried so many tactics to feel better. He suited up and took a 3 mile run-walk. He spent an hour on the piano. He EVEN .....shared his feelings with me. Nothing seemed to help. I wondered if there is some normal timeframe at which all the adrenalin has receded, all the drugs are out of your system, all the tissue is finally trying to snap into place, and the mind just ... plummets.

I was considering our options, thinking of tactics to combat it, when, bing! He woke up on Tuesday feeling much, much better. Ironically enough, I had spent Monday night reliving it. The most upsetting scenes would flash, strobe style, through my brain, and I was helpless to make the slide show stop. Deep breathing didn't help. Going to another place (mentally) didn't help. Getting up and going on the internet didn't help. On Tuesday I was as crabby as he was on Monday -- with one exception. I had no physical pain and have not lost a finger. It was much easier for me to get over one night of poor sleep than it will be for him to adjust to this change in his life.

We were enlightened yesterday at our visit to Physical Therapy. He has been working too hard at his recovery. He is so motivated to play guitar again that he has done all the exercises to excess, and this is why he has had so much more pain of late. As the PT said, "I almost never have to tell my patients this: 'Back off.'" We both actually breathed a sigh of relief. Ok.