Journalist? Perhaps a very special secretary, in the old aristocratic sense of personal aide, except on behalf of the people …
Tag: Jobs
Fir tipping is a big job around here
The signs “fir tippers wanted” this time of year can be puzzling, so here’s the scoop for those of you who don’t live in Maine.
- Christmas wreath makers need stands of evergreens to shape into their festive rings. In Maine, the traditional material is the tips of balsam fir branches. Don’t confuse the inch-long needles for spruce or hemlock.
- “Tippers” are the folks who have the skills to collect tips that usually range between 12 to 20 inches.
- Quality needles are found only in the mid-section of the tree. Tops and bottoms are deemed unsuitable.
- The season is short. The greens cannot be collected before the “tips” are set when a tree goes dormant for winter, usually around November 1, and that’s if the stand has had three nights of 20-degree or lower nights. (Beware of global warning.) Any earlier and the tips lose their needles prematurely. But the wreath-makers do need to get the product to market before Christmas Day, too. It gets busy.
- Millions of wreaths are crafted in the state each Christmas season. The trees are abundant and the fir branches are easily worked. Balsam is pleasant to smell, too.
- The work is a welcome boost in income for many rural families and comes after the crops are in.
- Tips can be harvested by a firm grasp between forefinger and thumb followed by a quick downward motion. Loppers or pruners do the trick for more out-of-the-way tips.
- Skilled tippers leave enough on a tree for it to recover in about three years.
- The tips are commonly gathered on a “stick” made of a small conifer stripped of most of its branches. When the stick has 40 to 75 pounds of tips, it’s carried off. Bundling the tips into smaller bunches is another method of transport.
- Tippers do need to get permission before harvesting from a site. Sometimes that means paying a fee for a permit.
– Source: University of Maine Cooperative Extension Service
Another perspective on this life
After throwing myself into business crusades and tumultuous romantic relationships, I consider myself a survivor.
That’s even before we get to politics.
How about you?
Show some sympathy for those poor, lowly paid beleaguered clerks
They’re probably not to blame. Look, they’re usually struggling figures who all too often have to face self-entitled a-holes at the checkout counter or their equally crushed managers overhead. Here are a few things they’d love to tell you or maybe the offender before you or even their bosses.
Yes, here’s what they’d really love to say.
- “Let’s trade places. I’ll be the rude one, and you try to stay patient.”
- “If only our coffee was as strong as your attitude!”
- “Your tone is getting a price tag.”
- “Customers like you really test our ‘service with a smile’ policy.”
- “Your points would be more valid if they were less veiled in rudeness.”
- “We’re here to serve, not to be served attitude.”
- “Your words are as sweet as a lemon. Sarcasm intended.”
- “We promise fast service, not a tolerance for fast insults.”
- “You’ve mistaken my patience for a dumping ground.”
- “Have a nice day, somewhere else.”
While we’re at it, let’s go for a second round.
- “I appreciate your perspective, but rudeness is an extra charge we didn’t agree upon.”
- “Your impatience is understandable. Is it as urgent as your need for a manners refresher?”
- “Don’t worry, we charge by the item, not by the attitude.”
- “The ‘customer is always right’ policy doesn’t cover personal attacks. Please read the fine print.”
- “Did you mistake this conversation for an auction? Because you’re really bidding high on rudeness.”
- “We provide services, not psychic readings. Kindly state your problem, not your tantrum.”
- “Our products come with a warranty, but our tolerance for rudeness does not.”
- “Patience is a virtue, but it seems your cart is empty.”
- “The complaint box is for suggestions, not character assassinations.”
- “In our store, ‘sale’ applies to items, not civility.”
Or even a third.
- “We value customer feedback, but your rudeness is more of a monologue than a dialogue.”
- “Our goal is customer satisfaction, not ego inflation.”
- “Let me put you back into the waiting line.” However many hours that means.
- “Our service may be fast, but ‘instant respect’ isn’t on our menu.”
- “Our prices are competitive, but our patience isn’t limitless.”
- “We accept all major credit cards, but we don’t accept rudeness.”
- “This is a business, not a battlefield. Let’s keep the conversation civil.”
- “This is a store, not a stage. Kindly lower the drama.”
- Merry Christmas to you, too. And a *** New Year.
- Expletives deleted.
On a downtown Belfast street
A shaved-head man
in a very dark navy-blue suit
resembled an undertaker
as he carried a deposit bag
to the bank.
Turned out to be an attorney.
As an added concern: working from home
Thanks to my poetry and fiction enterprises in my supposedly free hours – well, they’ve rarely paid me, unlike my career in the newspaper office – the idea of having workspace at home has been a given all the way back to the mid-‘70s.
For other members of our household, though, it’s something that’s certainly taken hold since, well, before Covid.
When the downstairs became crowded once the renovation overhead got going, we soon felt cramped. That big printer provided by an employer, for instance, took up some prime tabletop real estate and a precious electrical outlet. We still had a smaller one for our own use. Then there were other things, like a traveling table for presentations, a ream of printing paper, hand-out literature, and it all adds up.
The kitchen table typically became overrun with two or three laptops, stacks of documents and notes, and perhaps a few groceries for one coconspirator. Just what would happen when we were joined full-time by the second, who has her own online ventures? We needed to plan for those.
What became obvious was that each of us could use a second room of our own for these labors. Or at least a room that could do dual service. One where we could even close the door on a project without having to pick it up and put it away for the night.
The smaller front parlor, once cleared of “temporary” storage, would return to use as one office and conference room and, as needed, overnight guests.
The back parlor, which had been my bedroom, studio, and laundry room, would become a dining and crafts room, likely also dedicated to the other coconspirator’s business. And, yes, some of those crafts.
The new guestroom upstairs held the potential of also accommodating some of my overflow. It would also need a desk for our son-in-law in his visits. His company had obliterated its own offices long ago, and he was almost always on call.
And you were wondering what we were going to do with all of that new space? Oh, my.
We still had two storage units to empty, too.
Kinisi 275
to have the sense
to do things that make no sense
but to do them anyway
The Portsmouth Naval Shipyard is actually in Maine
The historic boatyard, now a booming submarine maintenance facility, is situated on an island across the Piscataqua River from New Hampshire’s Seacoast city of Portsmouth. It’s seen here from Kittery Foreside, the town with the military base gates.
Highest with lows
What was the best year of your life and how did it look?
Pondering the possibilities for my most perfect year, I see how much even the best was tainted.
’72, I had the high of the ashram but it involved going through a lot of psychological muck and growth to get there. See Yoga Bootcamp for the parallels.
’73 was the whirlwind with my future wife, but I was laboring at subsistence pay, at best. See Nearly Canaan for the parallels.
’83 encompassed both my divorce and an exhilarating engagement with the young cellist who promised to be The One. It was also crushed in long workdays as a shirtsleeves manager in a newsroom, no matter how engaging I found the challenge professionally.
’86, I was deeply ensconced in a self-awarded sabbatical, but generally loveless. The core of my fiction was drafted in this period, and my circle of friends included Mennonites and my introduction to part-singing.
’99, the excitement of the ultimate woman in my life, as well as our frustrations in trying to find a home we could afford along with some emotional upheavals at the office.
2021, my exile to Eastport in what became a heavenly writer’s retreat, resulting in the publication of Quaking Dover the next year. It did mean being apart from my family and friends back in Dover for much of the time, but included exploring the fantastic outdoors of the waters and woodlands around me as well as the artistic stimulation of my new community.
So here I am now, with what’s turning into the home of my dreams in the sunset of this life.
Practicing excellence in modest work
Rather than the big splash – the masterwork, Oscar performance, Pulitzer Prize, MVP sort of thing.
Think of a pastor, crafting sermon after sermon each week.
A woman who found housing for the homeless and then patiently worked them through their finances to point them toward independence.
The big dreams of a novelist or poet page by page that never found a readership, or the correspondent for a local weekly newspaper.
A doctor or nurse. Teacher. Carpenter. Mechanic.
Keep your eye open and the list grows quickly.
It even becomes more impressive than many who have fame.
Jnana's Red Barn 