ldwheeler | Entries tagged with workstuff

I've been thinking a bit about the six years I spent in ~~the bowels of Hell~~ a couple small newspapers about 60 miles away, back in 1991-97. Those days come to mind for two reasons: 1. My current financial state is almost as dire right now as it was then; and 2. the company that recently bought my newspaper, as it turns out, has in recent years also purchased those papers. So we're part of the same family again, sort of.

There was a time when I couldn't think of those years without a queasy sense of unease and distaste, which colored even my view of the region -- which actually is a beautiful part of the state. It took a while for me to stop taking my bad experiences out on the region. And, in fact, it took a while for me to stop concentrating on just the bad parts -- fiscal catastrophe, emotional isolation, a career that was heading nowhere and yielding not even enough renumeration to live on, a sense that I was a hamster in a wheel while simultaneously spinning plates and that to slow the wheel or drop a plate would mean ruin, and -- at least for the final year, which was the impetus for that era's ending -- a hostile, borderline vicious, verbally abusive boss who made it an unsavory work environment. It ended in '97 when I just snapped, decided I wasn't going to put up with that life another day, and did not. Left without notice, and without all that much regret: At that point, I didn't feel I owed them much of anything.

That's all more than nine years gone now -- it'll be 10 years in early May -- and with the passage of time has come perspective. I've long since now been able to look back on those days and concentrate on the good experiences, the positive outcomes and pleasant moments of those six years. 1. I was part of a good church for awhile, with a sensitive and wise pastor and a vital and diverse congregation of, by and large, kind people who were followers of Christ. 2. For all of the nonsense and misery at the office, there were some good people there as well, and while my career wasn't really advancing, I was learning my craft: In those small community papers you find yourself doing everything. I was covering everything from an aninternationally-followed murder trial to the various dysfunctional municipal boards to the local Dairy Princess. And I learned diplomacy, as our storefront office -- situated near the courts, the bars, the mental-health clinic, the smoke shop, the VA, the park and the pool hall -- seemed to attract everyone whose acquaintance with reality was largely theoretical and who had a story to tell, usually involving aliens and Democrats and the plates in their skulls. 3. There was one really, really good weekend coffeehouse in operation for a few years, which still remains the standard by which I judge coffeehouses: Is it Common Groundsish enough? 4. It was when I met the inimitable

michaelhinman. And since he's the one who more or less introduced me to LJ -- yeah, it's his fault -- my acquaintance with you all can be halfway traced to that period.

Don't know where I was going with this -- just an observation that all of our past experiences, even the dismal ones we'd rather forget -- go to make up who and what we are; and that, given perspective, those darker times always had brighter and lighter moments.

Sounds & Images: "Country Song" (Seanan McGuire)
State O'Mind: Reflective

It appears to have been awhile since my last post -- too much working, living, sleeping, etc. I'll just hit a few highlights of the past week.

Saw Lyle Lovett in concert at the Finger Lakes Performing Arts Center. Quite a show -- he effortlessly fuses country, jazz, blues, gospel and folk into a stew that's nothing so much as just "Lyle." As said before, that's what I appreciate about artists like Lyle, Willie Nelson, Bob Dylan, Neil Young, Emmylou Harris, Phil Keaggy, Johnny Cash, etc.: They're distinctive and original, even while distilling their roots and influences; there's no mistaking them for anyone else. Whereas I can't, for the most part, tell one performer from the next on most commercial radio -- whether pop/rock, country, even Christian radio. (Public radio and college radio, of course, are a different story, as is Internet streaming. Found a nice alt-country station out of Texas a while back.) Anyway, I quite enjoyed Lyle, both the music and the sardonic commentary between songs. As the concert went on, the quirkier, funnier stuff was edged out by the deeper, bluesier, sadder songs about loss -- but crescendoed at the end with a jubilant gospel set. Quite nice. It's too bad the world at large mostly knows him for either his hair (which isn't anywhere near as big these days as back in the 80s) or for being one of Julia Roberts' assorted exes.

Read the final LaHaye/Jenkins novel in one sitting -- it's not great writing, or necessarily great theology (I'm still a bit dubious about dispensationalist theology -- it makes a certain amount of logical sense, but some folks seem to take it as a given), but Jenkins (who does the actual writing) is a good storyteller and does make one care about the characters, even the minor characters who haven't been developed much beyond the initial sketch. (And of course, in God's eyes there ARE no "minor characters.") I appreciated the fact that when Christ returns in the book, the authors aren't presumptious enough to put dialogue in His mouth -- almost everything He speaks is taken, or at least paraphrased, directly from scripture.

Worked another 12-hour shift Saturday at the paper. Had a couple funny anonymous voice-mail messages -- one wanting us to investigate what the city was up to by closing off side streets in the morning on a holiday weekend and diverting traffic. Apparently she didn't realize there was going to be a PARADE in about half an hour ... (I'm surprised I didn't get another call when the parade started: "There's fire trucks all down Main Street! What on Earth is going on?" Next call was even funnier: We had an item in our Police Beat column about how a Harley rider was charged with DWI; an outraged anonymous call came in sputtering on how we are obviously biased against bikers and that our paper sucks and that we don't know anything about the Constitution and that freedom of the press is "crap." (Somehow those last two parts could co-exist in her mind.) :-) Why in the world are some people so reactive, so easily offended? It's like people are such raw nerves that anything will make them jump and rage. I get offended if someone punches me in the face, but that's about it. (I do have theories about how talk radio and the Net have encouraged reactive proclivities, but they don't cause 'em.)

Went to the Seneca Park Zoo in Rochester and then to lunch at Dinosaur BarBQ with my friend M. today. A memorable day, partly due to assorted monkey antics (like the orangutan sticking his head in the feed bag and then trying to use it as a tarp) and partly due to M's Marilyn Moment while waiting for the light -- short, billowy dresses and windy days don't go well together, suffice it to say.

Good sermon Sunday from Mike on Saul/Samuel/David/Goliath, and how with obedience and faith, one is able to vanquish the challenges that loom large in one's life, whereas without it, we become as ineffectual as King Saul. David didn't even use conventional armor, saying it would only weigh him down ... and trying to handle our own issues strictly in the ways that are dictated by our culture won't work, either. Mike put it much better than I'm doing. That's one of about five dozen reasons he's the pastor. :-)

Finally finished writing the chapter in my Santa novel that I'd been blocking on for some time. ohiblather, in her LJ, recently wrote that there's no such thing as writer's block, any more than plumber's block -- it's just a lack of discipline. And she's probably right. (I've occasionally lurked on that LJ ever since researching filkers for a freelance piece that apparently won't see the light of day, since the magazine that agreed to buy it tanked immediately afterward. Sigh.)

I must have gotten overly used to the chilly, damp conditions in the old basement apartment, because I find the new one warm even when it's not. I had the fan on here in the office/library room, then went out to watch the fireworks just now (postponed from yesterday due to rain -- yesterday there was a single firework) and was chilly. I suppose my body, and mind, will adjust.

Peaceful thoughts go out to michaelhinman, who's dealing with the infrastructure ramifications of a lighting strike at his building down in Tampa (no, the hockey team wasn't picketing in his living room). Sounds like they've got most everything back to normal, though.

That's about it. No great observations on life and humanity this time around ... just random bits o' life. I like bits o' life.

Current book: Dante (sometimes I think I have reader's block) and whatever magazines are at hand.
Current music: My Media Player playlist and its usual ecletic offerings. Last three songs: "First Dog on the Moon" (Garry Novikoff); "Stay a Little Longer" (Willie Nelson); "Minstrel of the Dawn" (Gordon Lightfoot); "Nod Over Coffee" (Mark Heard); "Curb Your Dogma" (Ookla the Mok)
Current scripture: "By the grace of God, I am what I am ..." (I forget the reference at the moment, but it's in one of Paul's epistles.

I interviewed a retiring United Methodist pastor today for the newspaper, and in the course of our conversation he said something that struck me as important and profound: "We spend so much of our time un-alive -- focused on the fears from the past and our anxieties over the future that we don't live in the present moment." He suggested that time spent obsessing over the past and fretting over the future is time not not truly living -- and he's right, because we only live in the present; that's the only moment we have. It's important to learn from the past, and appreciate the experiences we've had and known; and it's important to plan for the future -- but if our minds are living in either one, we're in trouble. Because our lives are lived now.
Little piece of wisdom. Like most little pieces of wisdom, it's one that I knew already but don't always take to heart until a reminder comes along.
More to come. Sorry to anyone who checks this site regularly; I haven't posted for a couple weeks. Would you believe I'm STILL hauling stuff across the street? Sigh. But I'm nearing the end, really. Positively. Absolutely. And I really am going to try to update this journal on a more or less regular basis from henceforth; the whole point was to get me writing regularly. Granted, rivers of sewage can throw a wrench into one's best laid plans; but I'll try to usually bang out a paragraph or two, even if it's just an observation on a conversation (like above) or what I had for lunch. (Baby-spinach quiche and salad greens at the Phoenix Cafe in Canandaigua, by the way. good stuff.)
Current book: Dante's Divine Comedy. Picked it up again. I'll make it to the end this time.
Current music: "Jessica" by the Allman Brothers. Someone's playing it in the background. :-)
Current state of mind: More or less content

Well, I suppose I should actually make a second entry sometime, and it's about that time. This is actually the first time I've had a chance to catch my breath -- Tuesdays and Wednesdays are my busiest days at the office, with a full Sunday section of advance feature pages to prepare for a Thursday-morning deadline, along with some page-design and copy-editing duties for the daily. As well, yesterday I had to break off work and take my mother to a doctor's appointment to track down the cause of some thigh/leg pain that had been keeping her awake at night. Fortunately and providentially, it turned out to be nothing serious -- just a muscle strain -- so she was advised to just keep taking Aleve while the healing continues. (It was starting to get a touch better in the day or two before the appointment.)
Got the day off, but mostly am spending it trying to create some order out of the chaos in the landfill I jokingly refer to as my "apartment." Some progress has been made today -- and it always looks better after a cursory vacuum. But it's too nice a day to stay in. I think I'm going to the park and walk the track a few times -- maybe bring the guitar and my Mel Bay book and resume teaching myself the instrument. Bought the silly guitar a number of years back at a yard sale, but only recently have carved out the time to actually start teaching myself to play. How much of a beginner am I? Let's just say I'm still learning the strings -- haven't actually worked my way up to CHORDS yet. Sigh. ("Learning the strings" wasn't intended as a pun on "learning the ropes," but hey -- whatever works.) My plans are to have enough of a working command of the instrument to be able to accompany myself on a couple filk songs during Worldcon/Noreascon over Labor Day weekend. Which requires training myself to actually coordinate my voice TO the guitar -- during FilKONtario I debuted a silly little blues parody I scribbled over the weekend and actually had accompaniment by members of the Buffalo band The Fibs ... they did a better job adapting to me than I did to them; I think I cut my vocals in a couple times into what was meant as an instrumental interlude, forcing them to shift gears ... Well, I'm the newbie, anyway. I would also like to be able to help in the music at church, at least with the choruses. (Those are usually fairly simple, with two or three chords, so that should be do-able. Just need to apply myself. As usual.)
And yup, the L stands for "Ledley." Not sure of the origins -- probably somewhere in the Olde Country. In my dad's family's case, I guess that'd be Scotland - there are some great, unique names on that side of the family, like Rheunez (my aunt) and Denson (my uncle, who died in '98) -- my dad's middle name, the one he used, in fact was "Delmon." My dad was the only other "Ledley" I knew, though a Google search revealed a few more. Any other Ledleys out there?
Must be off. 'Til later ...
Current books: Harry Turtledove's "Worldwar" series, Dante's "Divine Comedy."
Current music: Johnny Cash's "The Man Comes Around." See you at suppertime, Johnny.