Also known as Snottsdale

Part of a conversation at dinner this evening with a woman I had met only once before:

Woman: We're moving to Arizona next Tuesday.

Me: Oh, really? Whereabout?

Woman: Scottsdale.

Me: Oooh, Snobsdale.

Woman: Yeah, I'm from there.

Oops.

What makes this story even funnier is earlier in the evening I extolled my tact during a particular e-mail correspondence with her mother to everyone seated at the table. On the bright side, the woman's husband seemed to enjoy my sense of humor.

Hug

AmeriCorps is a temporary program. Members of VISTA, for example, commit to one year of service. I knew this up front, of course. In response to the few people in my life who had reservations about me moving to the reservation (haha), I would say, "Well, worst case scenario is I'm there for a year. I can do anything for a year." (Boy, can I.)

With me relocating to a new area and needing to adapt to a new culture where I'd be a minority, it was important for me coming into this situation to be sincere in my intentions. That included making Mission my home, not just a way station between Alaska and grad school.

Well, it worked. Even though I've communicated the fact my presence is here thanks to AmeriCorps (i.e. short term), locals associate me more with Habitat. Or coaching at the high school. Or the Chamber. Or the weird guy who faithfully attends City Council meetings.

This morning, a parent of some of the track and cross country kids stopped by the office. I've gotten to know her entire family fairly well. They're all great people. Anyway, she talked about her daughter's interest in starting up a Girls on the Run program here on the Rosebud. She was hoping I'd help out. Great idea, but...

She was surprised to hear I was leaving. Very surprised. I told her about my plans before wrapping up the conversation. It got a little emotional there at the end. And I got a hug afterward.

After the meeting from hell last night, it was what I needed. Even with the struggles I've faced at work, I feel as though I've succeeded here. With the temporary nature of VISTA and the fact do-gooders come and go around the rez, I was afraid I would be lumped into that group by folks who have been living here all their lives. And that categorization would have been completely justified. But not only has that not been the case, but the opposite has been true. Folks trust me, and for someone with his own trust issues, I know this is a big deal.

But it's not going to make leaving any easier, that's for sure! There are still 13 weeks left, however. There's much to be done, including beating a couple of the track kids in the 1600.

Wrong medium?

I haven't written a lot on here lately. It's not because nothing has been going on. Rather, there have been noteworthy events, just ones I can't or don't want to share online. It makes me wish I had started an old-fashioned journal instead. The further I've proceeded into my term of service, the more ridiculous the stories have become. There's no way I can spin them without crossing the line of turning a professional situation into something personal.

The issue I'm struggling with is the decision of whether to keep my head down and not make waves for my remaining three months, or continue to serve as the voice of reason and, subsequently, as a punching bag.

The level of deliberate deceit betrayed at a meeting this evening was astounding. The resulting pressure inside my head made me think my skull was going to explode. How can I present reason in the face of lies?

All of this is incredibly vague, I know. Ask me about all this in person sometime. Well, maybe wait until after I leave. I'll need some time to digest and reflect, that's for sure.

Despicable

I hate lying, and I hate liars even more. I'll just leave it at that.

Imagining my future refrigerator

I'm out of books. My latest Amazon order hasn't arrived yet. Without my usual reading entertainment and the snow keeping me from running, I decided this evening to go through the boxes I schlepped down from Alaska.

As it turns out, I did a decent job of purging when I left Juneau. I enjoy throwing things away. But I must add that my car was quickly filling up and a lot had to be donated or tossed into the garbage because there just wasn't any room left.

But I found a stack of papers that must have skipped my perusal in my haste to leave town. That last day in Juneau went by so fast. I vaguely remember throwing it all into a bag, promising to take care of it soon after settling down in Mission. If I had had the time to go through it (like five spare minutes), all of it would have gone into the trash, as it did this evening.

And then there was the pile of miscellany that had hung on my refrigerator: cards, photos, racing bibs, fortunes from fortune cookies. "You will make a change for the better." I'm glad I found it all. It'll feel good to put these things back up.

I found the notes I took during my interviews for my current job. They were accurate of what has since transpired - to a point. For all of the unknowns about my new life on the Rosebud, much of what I was told by my future co-workers about the work environment eventually came to fruition. As much as it was possible, I knew what I was getting myself into as far as works goes.

So, I really didn't have much to throw away tonight; however, the old Rummy scores and rental car receipts did meet their demise. When the time comes at the end of June for me to once again pack up the car and hit the road for my new home, wherever that may be, the process should be painless. Well, the physical process, at least. Emotionally, I don't know how I'm going to react to leaving. It still seems too soon in many respects.

But I am really looking forward to having my own place again. And my own fridge.