IN MEMORIAM

Where it’s dark as a dungeon and damp as the dew
Where the dangers are double and the pleasures are few
Where the rain never falls and the sun never shines
It’s dark as a dungeon way down in the mines

As I write this, 25 miners are dead (murdered?) in the most devastating U.S. mining accident in a quarter century and 4 are still missing. As I write, rescue crews drill through a thousand feet of rock and earth to try and vent out methane gas and get to the “safe rooms” where survivors might be huddled. Families mourn: wives and girlfriends, children and friends. Government officials try to figure out what to do next, the mine owners stay close to their lawyers & PR people, and heaven receives another 2 dozen souls.

As I write this, I am angry. Heartbroken. Left wondering, yet again, how such a thing can happen. This is America, land of equal opportunity – and yet, the CEO of Massey Energy is walking around fully alive, perhaps with remorse and a heavy conscience while an entire community is devastated. Something went wrong. That’s a quote from the New York Times. Something definitely went wrong when rail lines below ground are turned to pretzels. When a company that racked up over 500 safety violations last year is still allowed to operate  - a company which, by the way, has the honor of having paid out the largest settlement in history for the 2008 deaths of 2 miners suffocated in a fire the very same year it got slapped with $20 million in environmental fines.

(If you want to read a short poem of mine inspired by Massey & its environmental goings-on, click here.)

Not surprisingly, this mine was evacuated 3 times in the past 2 months because of dangerously high methane levels. Duh, something was definitely wrong. Not profits, mind you: as the largest operation in central Appalachia, Massey Energy made over $24 million in profits during the last quarter of 2009. CEO Don Blankenship has called those who criticize his company “communists, atheists, and greeniacs”. He’s a high-end Tea Party sponsor and has overseen earth-killing strip and mountain top removal mining throughout the region.

But I digress. Twenty-five miners are dead. They died supporting their families and doing an honest day’s work: til the stream of (their) blood runs as black as the coal. Let us keep them in our thoughts and prayers.

(This past week also saw the rescue of 100 miners in China. For a running account of mining in South America, Indonesia, the Czech Republic, and everywhere that people go under the earth to harvest this non-renewable and profitable resource, see Mark Nowak’s Coal Mountain.)

CELEBRATORY WORK

Nothing like a holiday about slavery & liberation (i.e., Passover) to get me thinking about all the unpaid, often invisible, work that gets done every single day by every one of us because we have to or like to or want to do it: taking care of kids, doing laundry, mowing & raking & weeding, preparing meals, paying bills, walking dogs, unclogging the sink. Not to mention volunteering at the local food pantry or library, counseling a distraught friend or catching a car thief (like our neighbors did a couple nights ago).

Anyway, then a special event or holiday comes along and the list of tasks suddenly gets longer still. We allow ourselves to be enslaved by the ritual, even to enjoy it — but it remains, at the root, hard work. Here’s my list, definitely partial, of everything it takes to usher in the festival of unleavened bread:

1. Clean the house, every square inch. Vacuum, dust, move the furniture to see what’s underneath. Change all linens. Make sure there is no bread or pasta or what-have-you hidden anywhere.

2. Pay particular attention to the kitchen: get rid of all not-allowed-at-Passover items, clean the refrigerator and cabinets where food is stored, wash the floor.

3. Haul out all the Passover dishes, silverware, glassware, pots & pans, cooking utensils, and miscellaneous necessities. Run everything through the dishwasher to wash off a year of storage. Be happy we live in an age of dishwashers. Find the Passover toaster oven.

4. In years past, we’d keep our year-round dishes in the cabinets, but tie them up with ribbon or rubber bands, keeping the Passover stuff on the counters. This year – with our gorgeous new kitchen – I’m aiming for a complete swap: taking out all the 51-weeks-a-year stuff and putting the Passover dishes, silverware, etc., in their place. Lots of lifting and arranging.

5. Scout out new recipes. Make a list and shop for groceries. Coordinate with the guests (we’re going potluck).

6. Cooking: spicy tomato matzah ball soup, charoset, hard-boiled eggs, desserts without flour, fish, eggs, veggies, etc.

7. Set the table for anywhere from 8 to a billion people for the 1st night Seder (this year, we’re up to 17). Get together all the ritual items (salt water, roasted shank bone, wine, matza, parsley, etc.). Make sure that the kids have plenty to entertain them throughout the evening.

8. After the ceremony and the wine and the good company, clean up after 8 to a billion, usually late in the evening.

9. If you’re hosting a 2nd night Seder, do #6, #7 and #8 all over again.

10. At the end of the 8 days (or 7, depending on your tradition), put things back to normal. Store the Passover things for another year. Wash the tablecloths. Go out for pizza.

If you’re interested in a different sort of Passover list, check out my “other” blog, Awkward Offerings.

THE CRITTER GITTER

4:01 p.m. In about 40 minutes, the critter gitter is going to arrive on our doorstep. He’ll check 3 carefully laid traps – wire mesh contraptions with a tempting treat of peanut butter or tuna fish – to see if something has taken the bait. All the while he’ll look out for beady eyes and hope they’re not coming closer at full speed. If he’s lucky, he’ll have a mightily annoyed raccoon or two to drive out to Brown County. If not, then he’ll brush off the dust and dirt and animal hairs from his clothing and go on to plan B or C or D.

We called in Chuck Breedlove when Dawn, the tenant living in our rental property next door, complained of hearing strange noises, usually at night, some above her head and some under the bathtub or in the vents. One night Dawn heard screeching. Another night, the smell of skunk permeated our closed 2nd story windows. This was not a good sign.

Day 1, Chuck sets traps for skunks, specially designed to keep their tails from moving once the door is tripped, in a storage area I didn’t even know existed next to the back door.

Day 2, He collects the still-empty cages: in all likelihood the skunks lost a fight with raccoons and left. He closes off a hole in the storage door with a large piece of limestone and climbs a ladder up to the roof. He’s brought along a friend interested in learning the business.  They peer into a large hole in the attic, spot hair and other signs of recent habitation, leave behind a trap with an open can of tuna fish. Next, they dig a trench under the front porch (see picture below) and Chuck goes head first on his belly into the dirt, shimmying several feet until he can plant a peanut butter coated trap near a hole in the wood foundation. Last, they set a trap in the (spooky) basement, up on a dirt ledge where the crawl space begins.

Day 3, yesterday, Chuck checks the trap on the roof, but it’s been raining and raccoons aren’t likely to go climbing up on the roof in the rain. Empty. There’s nothing under the porch, either. Back we go into the basement. Chuck grabs the empty trap there, hoists himself up on to the crawl space ledge and disappears into the maze of heating ducts, electrical wires, plumbing lines, spider webs, and dirt for a good 5 minutes. He finds more animal hair, and a scattering of small bones. The smell of animal urine is strong. When we go outside, Chuck bangs his hands against his coveralls and clouds of dirt go spiraling into the rain. He’ll be back tomorrow.

4:50 p.m. Success on day 4! One raccoon is trapped under the front porch: a female, now on her way to a new home. We celebrate, though Chuck will be back again. It’s likely that there is another raccoon to be caught. I tell him and Dawn about this blog and that I’m going to write about how much patience it takes to do his job and how downright disgusting it can get. He shows us pictures of 40-pound catfish he’s caught for fun and some prize money. I ask about the worst animal he’s ever dealt with. Turns out it’s a feral cat. Oh yeah, and a copperhead snake. I take a photo of Chuck & the surprisingly calm animal.

The guy’s a pro. If you need help dealing with unwanted critters in a humane way, contact him: indianacatfish (at) gmail.com.

AROUND TOWN: HAIR STYLIST

For all those who were wondering where I get my fabulous haircuts…. check out Connie at Kirkwood Hair Artists.  I always enjoy sitting in Connie’s chair and dishing the dirt with her and Judy, the owner. These women know their business. Here are some highlights from an informal interview we did a couple months ago.

Years at it: Twenty-three

Started out: As an IU theater major. Loved behind-the-scenes work, make-up and horror movies. Theater majors have a higher unemployment rate than hair stylists. I met a bunch of people who were in beauty school, so I went.

How you spend your day: With everyone from the local dry-waller to an assistant provost. Cutting, washing, doing maintenance. Making people look good.

Philosophy of work: I never dive into a haircut without finding out what people want. I always explain what I’m doing first.

On hair and human nature: Hair is one thing we can typically control. When someone comes in and says “do something different”, it means something is out of control in their life.

On the plus side: It’s not the same thing every day 9 to 5.

Occupational hazards: 1) Knowing a little too much about some of my customers’ lives. 2) Scissors. 3) Boredom on a slow day.

Memorable quote: I’d rather be a smartass than a dumbass.

ARTISAN OF HABITATION

Architect comes to us from the Roman (architectus), itself from the Greek (architekton): archi (chief) + tekton (builder). Master builder. Artisan of habitation. Creator of the human environment.

Success came to a master builder only through the marriage of fabrica et ratiocinatione (practical craft and theoretical knowledge).

Two millennia ago, Vitruvius wrote of the architect : Should be a good writer, skillful draftsman, versed in geometry and optics, expert at figures, acquainted with history, informed on the principles of natural and moral philosophy, somewhat of a musician, not ignorant of the law and of physics…

Example: Bezalel was the chief artisan of the desert Tabernacle, skilled in metal, stone, and wood – and said to be filled with knowledge and wisdom, fabrica et ratiocinatione given him by God.

Example: Mimar Sinan, chief of architects to the Sultan 5 centuries ago, started out building fortifications as a Janissary; he went on to oversee over 300 schools, mosques, and civic buildings.

Example: Francis Smith and his brothers re-built much of Warwick, England in the early 1700s after devastating fire. Brick-layers by training, they imaged and built, designed and got their hands dirty.

General contractor: a group or individual that contracts with the owner for the construction, renovation, or demolition of a building, road, or other structure; responsible for materials, labor, equipment, and services necessary for the construction of a project.

Contract: from the Middle English and before that the Latin contractus, from contrahere to draw together.

Roles of the contractor: estimating, scheduling, project management, crew oversight, billing and payroll, punch lists, subcontracts, reporting. A working knowledge of carpentry, masonry, plumbing, electrical fixtures, demolition; any and all of the above and then some. Artisan of buildings.

Vitruvius: The architect (read: master builder) should aim for utility, durability, and beauty.

Chris Sturbaum, owner of Golden Hands and our kitchen contractor: I have this kind of feeling that I can recognize when something is coming into focus… I just feel it. I even feel tension until I see it… I can’t even verbalize it at first, but I know something hasn’t come together yet. Then I just have to figure out what it is that we have to get to make it come together.

BLOG RE-LAUNCH

Benjamin Franklin: Never leave that until tomorrow which you can do today.

On my desk is a little blue writing pad & on that pad is a somewhat paraphrased quote from Matthew Crawford (author of Shop Class as Soulcraft):  creativity is built up through submission. Creativity, he opines, comes from long practice, submission to the art of what we do — a willingness to pick up the hammer or walk to the front of the classroom or lay down tile after row of glistening tile day in and day out.

My submission isn’t quite what it should be. I plead guilty not only to procrastination, but also to a certain lack of nerve & a purposefully overloaded plate. Excuses, excuses. Ben wouldn’t have bought it.

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Nancy Hiller, friend and cabinet maker, is on her way over to our house with a leaf for our dining room table. Nothing fancy – and you’ll note that I say that cavalierly, though I sure couldn’t do what she does – craft a chunk of wood just so to ensure enough room for our loved ones come Passover. A couple weeks ago, we had the first fitting and as far as I was concerned, it was fine. Not perfect — a little off here and there, uncooperative moving parts, but who would notice with a tablecloth covering? My husband – mathematician and perfectionist – asked if it could be fixed. I blanched in embarrassment. Nancy cheerfully loaded the pine & plywood hunk into her truck and back to the shop.

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An hour and some later (and a blood blister from sticking my finger where it shouldn’t be stuck). A table that fits. Creativity built up through submission. Okay, I get it. This writing is the work I set out to do. Hold my feet to the fire, will you?

ODE TO ACCOUNTANTS

My father was almost an accountant. He made it through 3+ years of night school and then dropped out — didn’t want to sit behind a desk all day long. My mother, on the other hand, was a full-charge bookkeeper & could add up a column of numbers – in her head – like nobody’s business. Her mother could do the same.

Here’s an existential joke:  woman walks into an accountant’s office to drop off some papers and realizes that maybe she’s inherited the disposition toward lined paper and neatly sharpened pencils. Maybe she’s not an artist, but a – gasp! – numbers cruncher.

The punch-line? Damn, that’s just plain boring.

Sorry, but that’s the stereotype. We all know it. In study after study (I looked it up), the perceived traits of accountants are listed as orderly, diligent, extremely conscientious and emotionally stable. Undergrads did not apply for accounting jobs – a big problem for recruiters – because accountants were seen as less imaginative than the average person and closed to change. These kids didn’t want the stigma.

And yet, J. – the person whose office was the site of this existential joke – seems perfectly normal. She laughs.  She’s got hobbies & friends & gives to decidedly not-conservative people running for election. (I looked it up.)

Anyway, what sets her apart is her willingness to spend her days neatly arranging other people’s messes, down to the last random piece of paper in the proverbial shoebox. On a good day, she protects the rest of us from our own worst habits of disarray and the overwhelming data & junk of our lives.

Sort of like what moms (& dads) do when they put up a family schedule. Sort of like making a list and checking it twice. What biologists do with taxonomy, librarians with volumes, or what all of us do when we scribble in our private book of the world – who owes us what and what we owe in return. Our grudges and delights in order.

Yup, I definitely have that gene running through me – there’s nothing better than a good list, each item checked off in turn. Every body doing what they should, when they should. What separates me from an accountant, though, is that I’m sloppy by temperament. Willing to declare the job finished with 10 cents or even $10 still unaccounted for. For years, I would have to call my mother in for emergency calculations when the bank and I couldn’t agree big-time on how much money I had. I was willing to wing it after a couple hours, but she wouldn’t quit until every penny was found.

Seems to me that the word boring doesn’t describe a person like that — the word determined does.