More of a "Holy..." week, really

After Tuesday's activities, the rest of the week kept me fairly busy.  I made the delivery that was postponed by the weather on Wednesday, along with the scheduled pickups that were an ongoing thing.  Friday was the busiest by far, with one pickup and two deliveries out toward the Fort Worth area, fighting traffic each way.  Then, I had to come back and load the trailer for a delivery on Monday.  All told, I got about eight hours of overtime this week.  It's still better than what I was doing, because at least I get paid for EVERYTHING I do, and get overtime after my forty hours.

We celebrated my first paycheck by going to our favorite Brazilian restaurant and enjoying the rodizio dinner.  Perfectly cooked meat on skewers, brought to the table and carved ... what's not to love?  And the roasted pineapple? To DIE for.  Items like that make me wish I had a little rotisserie, so I could attempt to duplicate it.

I remember what Easter week was like when I was growing up.  Basically, from Wednesday night onward, there was lots to do.  After Wednesday's service, we (the altar boys) would rehearse for Holy Thursday, jsut refreshing on the order of the service that night and getting things ready.  After that, we went over the Good Friday morning service, with lamentations that evening.  After that night, we would get things ready for Holy Saturday, which involved the blessing of the fire and water.  In retrospect, maybe it wasn't such a good idea to give a bunch of hyperactive youth the job of getting the water ready for the mass the next day.  We were surprised things dried out as quick as they did, given the volumes of water that went seemingly everywhere.

After mass on Saturday, we would go over the order of the Easter service, after which two of the altar boys would accompany the priest as he went around and blessed the Easter food at the home of those that requested it.  It was always a treat to walk into someone's house and smell all of the wonderful food.  The day would end at the rectory, and a small dinner of the blessed food before we went home to get some sleep for the sunrise service the next day.

Easter breakfast was a big deal, and my grandparents would have a wide variety of things ready: ham, kielbasa (store-bought and  the one made at the church), eggs, homemade horseradish, farmer's cheese (which I can never find any that tastes the same as the kind my grandparents would get -- think cottage cheese pressed into a small wheel, with very little moisture), Easter bread from a nearby bakery,and the usual coffee, tea, or whatever you preferred to drink.  Grandma, Mom, and I would go back for the more sparsely attended service at the normal time -- Mom and Grandma in the choir, me at the altar.

I don't get to church much, mainly because there are no churches of my faith here in Texas, but I do my best to uphold the Easter breakfast.  It's one of the few traditions I observe, and it takes me back to those earlier days.

Dinner tonight is a crock-pot lasagna from a recipe I got here, and because I'm a tinkerer, I made a few small alterations to the original recipe.  It smells wonderful, and in a few hours we'll see how it tastes.

If you celebrate it, I hope your Easter was a good one.  For the rest, I hope you had a great Sunday.

Changing seasons, changing moods

Today was a terrific day, weatherwise.  The sun was shining, and it warmed up nicely.  By the time I parked, I'm sure the temperature was in the upper 70s, maybe even the low 80s.  I saw greening along the sides of the road, and landscapers out mowing the grass at a few local businesses.

Not bad for the end of February.

This was the main reason I moved to Texas in the first place.   I spent enough of my life in places that had actual winter that I had really reached the point of not being able to withstand another spell of freezing cold and snow.  Worse yet, my travels had brought me to the Upper Midwest, which has even more winter than I had ever experienced.  

With the job I have now, I've had to venture into areas of the country that are still having winter.  I consider myself lucky that my experiences with winter haven't been too horrible thus far, and we're in the waning days of the season.  The daylight hours are growing longer and eventually the threat of snow will cease for a little while anyway.

It was warm days like this that fueled a wanderlust when I was younger.  Usually, at the first signs of warm weather, I would hop in the car and take an aimless ride, windows down if it was warm enough for that, just enjoying the return of warmer weather after the onslaught of bitter cold and icy roads.  I would just pick a road and follow it, turning whenever I felt the urge to do so, until eventually I would turn toward home, just glad to be able to be out and revel in the return of more temperate weather.

Today, I didn't feel that.  I haven't felt that for quite a while, actually.  Maybe it's the advancing age, maybe it's the fact that I spend most of my time on the road anyway, there was just no thrill to the springlike feel to the day.  In fact, I felt a little melancholy at times, not really sure of the cause.

I'll still be glad when winter is over completely, everywhere, and I no longer have to worry about icy highways, snowy mountain passes, or the threat of dropping temperatures.  I've always said I can cool down quicker than I can warm up.  With the air conditioning running in The Cave (my cutesy nickname for the sleeper compartment of the truck), I'm keeping quite cool and comfortable.  I plan to enjoy the weather as long as I'm able, because before I know it, I could be back in the northern part of the country where winter still maintains it's icy grip.

Let's all hope it won't hold on too much longer.

Threadbare tapestry unwinding slow...

I've reached that point in my time at home.  The dreaded halfway point, after which it's all downhill until my return to another couple of months on the road once again.  I'd be lying if I said I was looking forward to going back.

There is a glimmer of hope, however.  It's a faint glimmer, almost a barely glowing ember, but I am hoping it will expand to a bright light that will show me the way out of the darkness I am in.

"This time is different," he said, trying more to convince others than himself, as he was already convinced that this would be The One Shot.  Research was actually done in advance, I know more now of what I want to get myself in to, and I have no doubts or questions forming in my mind as I did when I took the path that led me to where I am now.

Okay, the path previous was a necessary evil, as without it I wouldn't have the critical component to The One Shot that I do now.  I could have done without the past four months, in terms of the isolation and loneliness, but I am grateful for the experience I gained.

I'm hoping to know something more by tomorrow, since I'm due to return on Thursday and jump through several more hoops before I can actually get back out on the road.  And, that's assuming that my truck has been fixed and is not still sitting in the repair bay.

I'm not looking forward to the next stretch of away time.  I'm at the point where I would do anything within my power to make it not happen.  I got this way right before the last time I went out.  And, I'm quite sure it will continue to happen each time I have moments like this.

The One Shot, right now, seems to be the only hope I have left.  And I refuse to give up on it.

I just hope it doesn't give up on me. 

Welcome to the threadbare tapestry that is my mind.

Just to get my mind off things

As I travel the roadways around this great country of ours, sometimes my mind wanders off to new and different locations.  After the past few weeks, I decided to let it go today, mainly because any thoughts of work, or the people I work for, would be just enough to make me go screamingly insane.  Okay, more screamingly insane than I currently am.  And with more screaming.

As I'm heading along I-40 in Tennessee, I see this billboard advertising one of the local strip clubs.  The ad has a picture that consists of a woman's arm and hand, holding a garment that could either be a segment of underwear, or possibly even part of a swimsuit.  It was tough to tell because along the length of the picture where the garment was, was a big yellow bar with the word "CENSORED" covering up the item of clothing.  Note that the only thing you see of the girl was her outstretched arm.

So, this got me thinking:  is it against the law in Tennessee to publicly show photographs of clothing not being actually worn?  And, could there be a market for a website devoted to laundry porn?  You know, on the tame side, maybe show some one-piece bathing suits or pajama bottoms, get a little more risque and show G-strings and thongs, possibly some lacy lingerie ... we could do the "group" thing with pictures of clotheslines, and for those that prefer the "mature" angle maybe some photos of underwire bras and girdles.

These are the kind of thoughts that show why I have the job I do, and why I need to be segregated from the population at large.

Saturday Coffeehouse Post

Okay, I'm not really at a coffeehouse, but I do have a bottle of Frappuccino, and dammit, I think that should count.

As I sit here at the truck stop, under the lead-grey skies, watching the occasional snow flurry pass overhead, I feel glad that I don't have to go anywhere until tomorrow when conditions will improve, and sad because I'm nowhere near being close to home.  I've been on fifteen trips so far, with two more in line.  I'm tired.  I'm grateful for the brief break but know I need something longer to fully recharge myself.

I'm also concerned about the trip I've been pre-planned on for Monday.  I suppose, under ideal conditions, I could make it in the time frame they set, but not knowing the exact delivery time makes it look fairly impossible right now.  I'm hoping the confusion will lift once I know more about it, which won't happen until Monday.

Being up here in actual winter conditions only reinforces why I moved to Dallas in the first place.  My hatred for winter knows no bounds, especially after spending a good chunk of my driving career in places like southern New England and the Upper Midwest.  I'd much prefer to be in a climate where I can actually feel, let alone move, my fingers and toes.  I can handle winter in small doses now, but prolonged periods, where antigel in the fuel tanks and praying the truck will start on some frosty morning are de rigeur has, surprisingly, lost it's allure.

Speaking of starting the truck, I can only hope I can do that come tomorrow morning, or else the emergency repair phone line will be getting a very heated call from me demanding that they actually fix the damn problem, instead of throwing another palliative measure at it and hoping it will carry me through.

Although, given the forecast, some extra heat wouldn't be a bad thing right now.

On The Road: Thanks for ... ??

Phase Two of my training has begun, and I am currently sitting in a truck stop just west of Flagstaff, Arizona.  Although I don't remember packing them, my usual assortment of doubts has crept in, leaving me to wonder what I got myself in to, and more importantly, if there is indeed a way out this time.  Naturally, as is the custom and as it's always been since I first started the training school, information has been flung at me hard and fast, and time will only tell how much of it has managed to stick to the walls of my brain, such as it is.  If I knew at the onset that things would be this weird, and after talking to drivers for this company, knew that this is de rigeur and part of the status quo, I would have never come here.

Too little, too late.

Thanksgiving is this Thursday.  I'm many miles from those that I consider family, and while this isn't by any stretch the first Thanksgiving I've had to work over my years, it will be the first one where, at the end of the work day, I will not be able to go home when the work is finished.  This, like most things I've experienced, will be a big first for me.  No, I'm not handling this well, thanks for asking.  The gentleman at the Subway where I had lunch remarked on the "slow end to the workday," and all I could think to myself was: Dude, at least your day has an end.


I still look at things differently than I used to, and of all the things I took for granted, going home at the end of the work day is one of the things I miss most.

My luck continues, unfortunately.  Not counting the general screw-ups (because I am technically still learning), I find myself thoroughly disenchanted with the company I work for.  We have a load that is supposed to be delivering at it's first offload point at 2 am tomorrow morning about 650 miles from where I am.  We (my co-driver and I) told the company several times, going through the phone system and a flurry of satellite messages, that there was no way we would be able to make the delivery time because, thanks to having to log all of last week's classroom time as on-duty time, we would not have enough hours to make the trip.  We told the dispatchers, we told the department who's responsibility it is for this type of load, and we told our driver manager.  All of whom sent their reassurances that they would work on getting someone else who had the time to get the load where it had to go.

Which is why we are currently sitting in the middle of nowhere, with nothing around us but the rugged Arizona hills, with absolutely no hours left on our clocks, unable to move the truck even if we had to.  I've not heard a word from anyone at the company since I spoke to them before we rolled out earlier this morning.

Thanksgiving time, so they say, is a time to reflect on your blessings and the things you're thankful for over the year.  As it stands now, I can honestly say, with all conviction and truth, I have absolutely nothing to be thankful for, nor do I feel particularly blessed in any aspect of my life.  I'm not all that optimistic about the next year, or the ones after that, either.

And don't get me started on Christmas.  That's a rant left best for another time.  Maybe next month.