Maybe I Should Just Stuff it in the Mattress

I did not find the merry month of May so very. Although our business soared in March and April, May was tepid. Lukewarm. I needed a few more 11,000 square foot church jobs to drop into my lap unbidden. The wind screamed on maddeningly, making me feel low much of the time. My blog birthday would come up at the end of the month and I thought that would set me writing at a quick pace, but May was my least prolific month since I started the blog. I wasn't reading other blogs with the same degree of frequency, nor commenting as much. I dealt with two major stressors during the month, car fears and money fears. I spent a long time trying to land on why I blog, what I expect to get from it, what I do get from it, and whether I want to continue with it. I'd endured a little angst, a little disillusionment, and I needed to rethink exactly what it was about for me. I found my answers.

My understanding of the intricacies of money management has been, mostly, elementary. I learned young that one wanted to earn a lot of it, save a lot of it, spend a lot of it. But I never learned a "plan". Money just "was". One didn't guide money. Until one became divorced and on her own at age 50. Then one learned to build the budget and handle the spreadsheets and of whom to ask the hard questions and which publications to study. Mother Badger has taught me much about money, as has David and I've gained a wealth (great word!) of knowledge from building and sticking to the budget for our company. I'm pretty savvy in my old age!

On the first Sunday of 2009, I drove through Wells Fargo Bank's stand of ATMs and juggled all my cards, seeking to handle my finances the way that I do. My pension is directly deposited to my Sun West Bank account. I do quite a bit of transferring between the two banks and I juggle several different accounts for my personal use and that of my tiny consulting business. Once a month, I go online to make certain the pension was properly deposited at Sun West. No, I don't have to look 16 times. I look once. The reader may believe, I know where my money is parked and I know just exactly how much of it there is.

I was on my way to see Christine for my haircut and color. She prefers cash payment, so I attempted to withdraw $140 from the Sun West account. "Insufficient funds". What? I knew how much money was in that account and it far exceeded $140. I did a balance inquiry that revealed I had the princely sum of $4.20 available. I didn't like it at all. None of my bank accounts ever sinks into single digits. I knew what should have been in the account and I was a bit concerned, but I knew that sometimes information doesn't translate well between banks and I needed to keep my appointment with Christine. I pulled the $140 from my Wells Fargo account and continued with my day.

Arriving at work the next morning, the first Monday in January, 2009, I sent the technicians out on their routes, but was very eager to go online to see what was happening with my account at Sun West. To my shock, there had been a series of large cash withdrawals from my account between Friday night and Sunday morning! I'd been cleaned out. Yes, it was close in proximity to New Year's, but I'd done no partying, and I felt certain no videotape of me with a lampshade on my head at the ATM could be produced. When startled/shocked, I tend to look over my shoulder to see if any Candid Camera camcorders are aimed at me. Is this a joke? It wasn't. I printed the list of transactions and ran into David's office. "Get your coat and purse! Be at the bank's door at 9:00 when they open.", he advised. I did that. I was the first customer through the door that day. I signed affadavits and sworn statements, and they reassured me I'd suffer no loss until the investigation was completed. It took very little time ~ maybe 15 days. I'd been defrauded in some way that was never explained to me. I never lost a penny. That bank took care of me and my dollars.

On Saturday, May 29th, I went online to verify my pension had been deposited to Sun West. I've banked there for 6 years, so their splash page is very familiar to me. Hey! What the heezy? "Where are the pictures of so many of the actual employees I recognize? Where is the picture of my branch in the building that has been there since the 1970s?", thought I. For here is what I saw on the screen:

On Friday, May 28, 2010, Sun West Bank, Las Vegas, NV was closed by the Nevada Department of Business and Industry, Financial Institutions Division. Subsequently, the Federal Deposit Insurance Corporation (FDIC) was named Receiver. No advance notice is given to the public when a financial institution is closed.

All deposit accounts, excluding certain brokered deposits, have been transferred to City National Bank, Los Angeles, CA. For more information on City National Bank, visit us at www.cnb.com.

The FDIC has assembled useful information regarding your relationship with Sun West Bank. Besides a checking account, you may have Certificates of Deposit, a business checking account, a Social Security direct deposit, and other relationships with the institution.

Please select the link below to read more about this event:

FDIC Bank Closing Information for Sun West Bank

Online service will remain available.

Continue to Sun West Bank's Online Banking Login:
• Personal
• Business

??!!**## ??!!**## What the ??? I reared back in my chair and looked over my shoulder for the Candid Camera that was not there. Yes, I did see the acronym FDIC on the first reading, so I felt somewhat certain the Federal Deposit Insurance Corporation was involved, but one wants to feel damned secure in these situations. With my heart in my mouth, I attempted to gain access to my accounts, using my login and password information. I was successful, and everything seemed as it should be in each account. But that was not good enough. I was alone in the office, so I radioed David who was in another county at a race. "Sir, are you actively racing right this moment?" "No, just setting up. What's up?" I read it to him without ever letting up on the talk button. He heard all of it before he could get one word in edgewise. One can't chirp while being chirped. "What do you think, David?" He said his temperature had begun to rise when I began to read, but he also took some solace in the fact that the passwords worked and the FDIC was involved. "But find out for sure on Monday!" No kidding!

I sent e-mails to my personal financial advisor, Mother Badger, and to the Badger himself. "Um, how badly would this disturb you on a Saturday afternoon of a 3-day weekend?" The e-mails fairly flew for awhile, and the consensus opinion was that I was probably OK. I am. David saw it on the news on Sunday night. By Monday morning, City National Bank had a welcome page on the website to reassure Sun West customers and those of other failed banks they've recently taken on. Yow. We're advised to continue using the checks and bank cards from Sun West until further notice, and the existing employees have been retained. The only visible difference to the customers will be the new sign on the building. Relief? No. I'm transferring everything to Wells Fargo. I believe I mentioned in my last post that if a car fails me, I want nothing to do with that car again. It pales in comparison with what happens to me internally when my bank fails.

At work, we slithered out of May on our bellies like a snake, but - to my surprise - when I crunched the numbers, I learned we actually turned a small profit. For reasons I should no longer try to divine, for it will surely make me ill someday, the phones began to scream on June 1. Why that specific day? What were the conditions? Was Jupiter aligned with Mars? Stop it, Leslie! I've booked more jobs in three days than I booked in some weeks in the heart of darkness after the economy slid. We fired a technician we love who had returned on a 90-day trial basis after we fired him at the holidays. He won't get a third chance with us. David started his two high schoolers at work today - their first jobs, with the world in front of them to be enjoyed. Today I ran more vans than I have on one day in months. Some men were running solo, which means they were earning at their highest level of income. We like that.

Matt radioed in after his first job, just like he is supposed to do. "I've experienced a first, Leslie." I asked what had happened and he told me he killed a customer's pet. ??!!**##??!!**## What could have happened? Did he run over a dog or squash a cat in the driveway? Suck a bird up the wand while he was dry-stroking? "Matt, what??" He arrived at the customer's home to find mother and child crying hysterically. In the house was a large adhesive rodent trap and the child's hamster had become stuck in it. The customer had tried to remove the hamster, but he was good and truly stuck and was clearly in distress. The woman asked Matt to kill the suffering animal - to put it out of its very apparent misery. Matt is a big, gruff, tough very emotional and sensitive human being. "Oh, lady, no. Oh, no, no. I can't do that. I love animals. No, no m'am." She begged him, explaining that her husband could not come home for hours and she had no one else to ask. Her small son was becoming more distressed by the minute. Matt took the animal out to the van and attempted to dislodge the hamster using various tools and even some safe cleaning solutions to try to break the adhesive bond. He attempted to loosen the animal by cutting its fur without causing further harm. Nothing worked, and the animal was now in trauma. Matt killed it, out of sight of the mother and the boy. I have seen Matt in deep distress. His ears would have been bright red and his eyes full of tears. No, not crying like a little girl. Just showing obvious signs of pain while he did the right thing. He performed a sterling carpet repair and told the little boy his pet was in a better place now. Then this 23-year-old got in his mighty war wagon and continued to his next job where he was treated badly and thrown out on his ear. So go our days.

In my ears right now: My favorite of Gillian Welch's work, April the 14th (Part I).



Something that charmed me: In huddle, we talked about what Matt encountered, how humane he had been to the animal and how he overcame his own misgivings to assist a mother and child. It took only seconds for him to be dubbed the Hamster Hit Man, but that was done in a pat-on-the-back manner rather than hilarity about a pet that died. The assembled homes began to talk about the various ways each of them would have euthanized the hamster once he made the assessment it could not be released from the trap. I scanned their faces, looking for any traces of inappropriate amusement. There was none. They were serious about thinking how they'd handle a distasteful situation with the least distress to anyone involved. I'd be pleased to have any one of them on my tea, if I were in bad circumstances.

The Week in Review

I felt that was a very lofty title for a piece about a set of anecdotes not so lofty, but I'm a little silly today. David has been on vacation and I have experienced a rebirth in my job, a flowering. I'd stopped living, just a little, without realizing it. My edge had dulled, in some respects, simply due to repetitive motion. I'm back. I'm alive. I remember how it feels to be creative and risk-taking. I remember how good it feels to laugh my ass off and continue to dig deep inside myself to find the positives and the support I can give as a gift to others.

I am surrounded in my work life by males exclusively. I care for each of them tremendously, and for different reasons. Each of them brings a raft of fine qualities to our world. Each of them is challenged by certain obstacles. Just like every other human being. Our work backgrounds could not be more diverse. The homes may be a little intimidated by the things I know how to do, and well. And they awe me with what they do that I know I'm not capable of doing. We just have different roles in the drama.

While David has been away, I've conducted morning huddle each day and the full-on staff meeting on Thursday. These gatherings are where we talk about the day's work ahead - what I gleaned from talking to the customer on the phone, what we ran into the last time we cleaned for this or that repeat customer, which vans or steam cleaning machines have issues, what product needs to be reordered and who did what last night. These are also the times when we air personal grievances or do a little hollering or give public kudos to one of our own who took a bullet for the team. In huddle, we rah! the Badger in his latest race and applaud the achievements of someone's child and ask about the health of someone else's mother. And before or after huddle, almost invariably, comes our version of the bedtime story - the blogs.

An entire culture has sprung up around the blogs. The homes now know the players and ask about them. "What's Tag got to say on either of his blogs?" "What's the Badger aiming his fine camera at today?" "What kind of mischief is Kass trying to draw you into, Les?" "Tell us about some of the new bloggers you've found." I read the blogs (they want to hear it aloud, not read it for themselves) and we cackle mightily, or react with sober silence or look at one another to say, "I have to go think about that for awhile. I'm not sure what I think/feel." They peer across my shoulder at the monitor. They ask me how it's done, how one adds pictures, how comments work. And now the homes want to give input to my blog! I've lightly tossed out the comment, "You know, you could have one of your very own. I'd help you." No one has taken me up on it. But they're decidedly curious and into these blogs.

I've written about Matt so many times, it led a woman friend to ask if I have a crush on him. What? No! It's just that he and I have a connection that is deep and electric. (If the reader wishes to learn more about Matt than I am going to write in this post, look for the label "Matt"). We are fascinated by one another. Matt has more IQ points than the law should allow. And yet he is innocent. Naive. Simple. Young. Things startle him. He's been around the block and has seen some of what the world contains. But it's as if someone took him around the world, showed him the sights, and failed to explain what he was looking at. He still possesses a huge sense of wonder. He is large and loud and blunt and hilarious and relentless.

Matt acts as my personal shopper at yard sales throughout the valley. He once located a solid oak dresser for me, sent a picture by the BlackBerry, fostered my negotiation with the seller through the BlackBerry and drove around all day with that dresser in the van like a passenger. The thing was so huge he could not see around it, not even to use the mirrors to drive. When he arrived back at the office that evening, he had to ask another technician to guide him into the driveway so he wouldn't be hit by another vehicle. He is full of surprises! This week he chirped me and asked, "Hey, Les, do you want a brand-new microwave, never out of the box?" Apropos of nothing. I wondered what was up, but I could hear his mother in the background, so I knew it wasn't a prank. "Ummm, sure. I've got the huge built-in one in good shape, but one can't have too many new, still-in-the-box microwaves, Matt." Where did he get the several microwaves he was handing out? Oh, it's very Las Vegas-y quirky. No, they're not stolen.

All right, so Matt has an up-and-down history with us. He was good and truly fired at Thanksgiving and we didn't hear from him for awhile. He stopped in one afternoon and spent hours with me. I commented to David that I sensed a difference. When he came to ask for his job back, David gave it to him with some conditions. He's succeeding this time, due in part (we believe) to a new addition to his life - a young lady with her head screwed on properly. She works and goes to school. She expects certain behaviors of Matt and gives him love in return. It's a beautiful thing. Alas, Miss Erin's parents retired and she was expected to move in order to remain living in the family home. Matt took a week off to help move the family to northern California. While staying in Shasta County, Matt encountered many signs for a political candidate for County Assessor-Recorder who has the same name as mine. This so fascinated the young man, it seems he nearly crashed the car every time he saw a sign. He has not been able to stop talking about it since he returned. I've finally said, "Matt, look in the phone directory of any sizable city. You'll find lots of people with my last name. And Leslie is a pretty common name among people of a certain age. In school, I always had to be Leslie M because there were other Leslies in the class." No. It's not computing for him. He knows the person who possesses my name and it's me and nobody else. Never mind that I've Googled that impostor in Shasta County and shown him her picture on the County government website. "Leslie, I think you're going to win, too, because you've got more signs out than anyone." OK, homey. It'll be a hellish commute, but once I'm elected, I shall do my best to serve the citizens of Shasta County. Yesterday, Matt chirped me from the van. He's loud when he whispers, and now he was shouting. I could hear Cesar in the background, trying to shush him. Miss Erin has had enough after 10 days away from her Matt. She's coming back to start a life with him!

We've drawn closer this week, the homes and me. We've laughed while delivering a week of stunning performance. But there's more. The homes got playful. They began to express some things that were funny to them and became a little creative and I like that because I've never seen it in them. One came up with an idea for a tagging blog that I may soon post. He thought it up on his own, too. Another asked if I had my camera at work. I did. He asked if he could take a picture of something he thought was hilarious and if I'd post it. I had to be diplomatic. "I'll post it as long as it doesn't completely mortify me." And so, I present the photograph that reveals my feet don't touch the floor when I sit in my chair. The good red leather Coach loafers just dangle in the air. This amuses them! Homey stretched out on his belly on the floor to take that picture, too. Everyone agreed that Matt and I had finally, officially, become twins this week, fostered by the many discussions about my upcoming election. "Hey, Les," came the request, "could we put up a picture that shows how much twins can look alike?" "Sure, guys!"


But it wasn't all fun and games. Something profound happened this week. Profound is a relative term and ours is a tiny little world, but profundity occurred. I am an efficient office monkey. I have perfected the art of the nearly paperless office. I sputter when David offers to buy us more file cabinets, because we're not going to collect any more paper here, thank you very much. I stand by the old administrative assistants' adage, "Touch every project as few times as possible." There has existed a cruel plot to mess with my sense of smooth operation. The homes, on every job they undertake, have to mess with a lot of numbers. Charges for various services, discounts, fuel surcharges, waste disposal fees. They are often hit with a counteroffer: "OK, you're quoting me $579.14 for that. Will you take $500 out the door?" Of course they will! No one walks away from a $500 job. The rub comes when homes start crunching the numbers, for the fuel and waste charges cannot be adjusted. Those belong to the company. The only movable part of the feast is the cost of their services. My men are not mathematicians. Not one of them. They radio in an amount they hope is pretty close to right on. Later in the job they sell a little teflon stainguard or pick up some tile and grout to clean and the numbers change again. Each time they call in numbers, I update several different tracking documents. When the numbers change, I update again. And again. And again. When the work orders come in at the end of the day, more times than not I discover that the numbers weren't correct in any one of the conversations. Last week I did the slow burn for the millionth time. We're busy now. I can't pat them on their heads any more and be their codependent. I took one particularly hideous job and counted how many reports and documents I had to adjust because the math was wrong. Again. 17 documents and reports. Literally.

It occurred to me while I was walking. A 10-mile walk in the dark before dawn allows one to solve many of the world's problems. I remembered something a wise person told me when Amber was a toddler. "Tell her what you want her to do. Don't tell her what not to do. She'll just land on something else that still may or may not be what you want her to do." Hmmm . . I do not suggest that my men are naughty children who need to be controlled. But maybe they simply don't know what I want or how to do it. In huddle I made an announcement I wasn't sure would fly. "I need everyone to get a calculator and a pen or pencil and some paper. Don't sit anywhere near each other and do not talk to each other. Although our golden rule is always to help each other out, this is a solo exercise. I need to find out your own personal stumbling blocks." I passed out a real, particularly harrowing math exercise. The one that I'd had to adjust 17 times. They got to see all the scritch-scratching on the work order and while they could easily visualize what the technician had gone through during that transaction, they didn't know how to sort it all out. "Your assignment is to provide me with three things: the correct amount for services, fuel and waste. If you don't even know where to begin, then man up and say so. I will give you a jump start." To my amazement, they were quiet and immediately started to work. No objections. No exchanged looks of pain. Justin spoke up after 5 minutes. "Les, I don't know the first thing to do. Looking at this paper with all these numbers just confuses me." Oh! OK. I needed to underwhelm Justin. We went into David's private office and after just a few reminders, he was able to get started.

That first day, a couple of them were successful at landing on the correct number. But that wasn't good enough for me, because those two were already pretty adept at it before I presented the challenge. The second day, another couple rose above the surface of the water. By Wednesday, they appeared in huddle with calculators and pencils without being reminded. By Wednesday, those who were feeling sturdy began to tutor those who struggled. "Are we going to keep doing this, Les?" "Yes, homes, because I believe the way we learn things is to do them. And then do them again." On Friday I looked around the room and I was touched by how much they looked like gigantic children, silently working. I'm not being humorous here. I expected to get grief for this, and they each took it seriously, just going down the path where I pointed. Today is Saturday. "No math exercise this morning, homes!", I announced. Oh. I detected a little disappointment. "But I have the mother of all evil for you on Monday morning." They perked up a little. And then I heard it. For you see, I always preface the exercise with some lecture and I debrief the exercise with brainstorming and free input from everyone. I've used new phrases and descriptors they've never heard before. Some of them are sturdy enough to say, "Please explain that. I don't understand."

So this morning we had an in-depth discussion about the day's work. I was asked about my 2-hour massage last night and reported it "the best one ever". The fact that I called a woman a bitch on the telephone yesterday was poked and prodded by one and all. This was big copy for two reasons. I do not risk losing business except in the rarest of circumstances. And I do not believe bitch is a word that should be applied to anyone. I had a lapse in my usual balanced affect. Troy chimed in, "She was really level and reasonable until she wasn't any more. The woman doesn't know her and couldn't see her, so she didn't know Les was about to go off. But I knew. I couldn't look at her or I'd have started laughing. And she called her a bitch in a really calm voice, too." They began to drift away and mill about. Two of the men were talking about one of the week's math exercises. And then I heard it. "Naw, dude, the value of the job . . . . " A wide grin slowly took over my face. For you see, Justin - the crustiest of them all - had just naturally spoken a phrase I had coined and explained. "The value of the job." I said I felt that something really important had happened to us this week, and they all said they agreed. A homey consensus. And that's when Mr. Crusty said, "Hey, we should have a potluck like other places do. Let's bring what we know how to make and enjoy a meal together!" We're going to do that, too!

In my ears right now: I consider it to be her best. I'm disappointed that she is terribly under-represented on YouTube.

Something that charmed me: I'm soon to go visiting. I'm very excited, and it seems Mother Badger is also looking forward to it. She's about to have cataract surgery, but before she does that, she's lining up the stores where we'll shop, and what would I like to eat? How about that chili relleno casserole (meatless)? Cesar is vetting my car for me as I will not have cell phone signal for much of my journey. It has been too long since I got in my car and went away for the simple purpose of seeing someone I care for and just enjoying one another's company. It will be warm near Phoenix and there's that marvelous cushy walking track made from recycled milk cartons . . .

What If ~ Spring Sprang, the Final Part

What if . . . . . the wind shrieked sufficiently to nearly tear the hair off of my head? It does. I don't care for it much. I am more tired of the wind than I can express, and it makes me crabby.

What if . . . . . our little band of angels was doing the largest job we've ever done in our company's history? They are! I'm watching all of my service vehicles and all of my homes on GPS. They're heading for the Catholic church where they'll clean carpet and upholstery for 8-10 hours. The Catholics don't mess around about Easter and it's coming this weekend. We've sent homes off with a cooler full of water and other drinks, sandwiches and more. I'm leaving early so I can go see if they want some dinner (as if they wouldn't!). I also just want to watch them execute a job as enormous as this one is, Cesar performing as lead, everyone working. I want to take photos for our website and the homes want me to come join them. There's been some talk about saving some of the 156 pews for me to clean. I can swing an upholstery tool even if I can't manage the carpet wand! All morning I sang - "Get Me to the Church on Time" and "Going to the Chapel". Homes laughed at me. I want to run that American Express card tonight! It's March income. And although this March has been a big stinker in all manner of ways, that job acts as an air freshener.

What if . . . . . I were to scuttle my usual routine and take a flyer? I've been invited away. Away meaning not Las Vegas and not camping in the desert. It's been awhile since I went girlfriend traveling. I want to shop and we know all the best places to do that near her home. I want to poke around in the garden and go to the yard and estate sales. She lives in a retirement community, so there are a lot of estate sales. They freaked me out a little until the day I stepped into the walk-in closet of a woman who had had very good taste and whose body must have been precisely the size of my own. I want to sit on the patio at dusk, cold one in hand, and watch the quail and bunnies and, sometimes, coyotes. I want to walk my daily miles on the cushy, springy walking track made from recycled plastic. I want her to show me her most recent craft efforts in every type of medium with which she creates beauty. I want to take the long drive there, scoping out the familiar sights. I want to talk and talk, and I want to let her kick my ass at cards in the evening. Actually, I have no choice about that. I don't let her kick my ass. She just does it. Old age and treachery trump youth and skill!

What if . . . . . I just delete that other post I felt so good about, but which I now deem inappropriate? It was a good piece of writing. It satisfied me, and my writing does not always satisfy me. It celebrated some new things I have learned to do. But it should not be presented for fear of causing strife or offense. What if I just detached myself from the resentment of not posting it and move on? I can do that. That's what I do. Appease and move on. Try not to harbor any resentment. Remind myself that when you make a deal with the devil, you're going to spend some time in hell.

What if . . . . . we hired Matt back as a carpet cleaning technician? We did! I saw him come up the staircase and thought, "Hmmmm, what's this?" He went directly to David's private door, so I didn't intrude, not even to say hello. When I walked to the coffeemaker, I passed the door and smiled at Matt who was sitting on the sofa. David saw me pass by and called me in. "What do you think?" I put both hands and arms in the air, for I was taught to vote early and vote often. Matt teared up. We're starting to boom again. I am having difficulty covering all the jobs, simply for lack of technicians. Matt is experienced and talented. Better yet, he's experienced in our ways. The world didn't treat him kindly during his 90-day shore leave. But he's met a really nice and level-headed young woman to whom he listens, and he manned up sufficiently to come and tell David why he wanted his job back and how he'd treat it differently. It's a good match. Matt's back!

What if . . . . I get out of Puckerbrush, USA and off of my hill? I'm ready! It was a day full of adventure, but it's time to end the telling as another whole fun-filled weekend has passed and I want to write about that one, too. Having spent the day making animal, spirit and human friends, having eaten an al fresco meal standing up by the car, I was ready to put some miles on myself. I play the MP3 stupidly loud and the Temptations were pumping me. I did the Temptation Walk for a few feet and then started to stride in earnest. Far distant and far below me, I could see the highway that was my destination. As I descended, the first hill of 8-10% grade reminded me that I walk mostly on the flats in Las Vegas. I felt pulling in muscles I never knew existed. And this was going downhill! I was moving at a pretty remarkable pace, given the angle, and soon enough I reached the bottom. The legs got a little break while I motored over a (fairly) flat section at the quickstep. And then I was at the crest of the really steep hill. First, I had to curtail my pace. This mighty Alp was an invitation to a face plant if taken too quickly. I adjusted my speed and found I was pushing backward with my shoulders and spine to maintain balance on that hill. It was hell on the muscles alongside the shins, and I'm no slouch in the leg muscle department. After about half an hour, I'd left that hill behind.

The area at the bottom of the hill was so low, I felt as if I were below sea level. Granted, I had just come off of Mt. Everest, and "low" is relative, but I felt like I was in a hole. There were mud smears across the highway, indicating to me that when the springs overran, the mud overflowed the shoulder. Many gigantic downed trees lay in the fields, their petrified root systems rising 40 feet into the air like gnarled witch hands. I felt small and insignificant and just a bit like Red Riding Hood walking through the forest ~ just a little vulnerable, though I'd neither seen nor spoken to a wolf. I was still walking at a very brisk pace, and although the device played Alanis, Aretha, Natalie Imbruglia and Natalie Merchant, when the little white-tailed rabbit hopped across the highway, I grinned and sang Little Bunny Foo Foo, remembered from Amber's youngest years. I trudged on, going through the Backstreet Boys (Yes, I do like them. My daughter is the age that forced me to become familiar with them. But I only have one of their songs in the MP3.), the Beatles, the Byrds and the Beach Boys. Finally, I crested a little rise, took a wide curve near a ranch house and arrived at the highway. To mark this feat, I ceremoniously smacked the mile marker sign with the flat of my hand and turned myself around with some sass. Now it was time to return.

The forest didn't seem as threatening on the return trip and I zipped through it like a streak. Arriving at the base of the steepest and longest hill, I stopped, drank water, scoped out the terrain and wondered what in the hell I was thinking. It loomed before me, long and so high I had to crane my neck to take it all in. I'd planned to take it at a fast pace, but even the beginning of it was so steep, I couldn't build up any speed. I walked back about 1/4 mile and started to walk very fast. I figured I'd just glide over the threshold to that precipice and gently float upward. Not so! The beginning of the incline was so sharp it was like crashing into a brick wall. All right. So I couldn't charge up the thing like the Light Brigade. I'd just walk it. And so I did. Clumsy footed, plodding foot planting, walking. This time I leaned forward with my head, chest and shoulders to gain my equilibrium. The journey took far longer than the descent had taken. I was mouth breathing about half way through my ascent, and asked myself why I was doing this. Oh, yes. Because I feel that good and confident. When I reached the top of Kilimanjaro and the false flat (a grade that seems flat because it's only 3-4%), I stopped for a long drink of water and to let my heart stop pounding. I didn't need a mirror to know my face was beet red.

It was on the false flat that a man came along on a bicycle and wondered out loud if I had had car trouble somewhere. I told him I was doing this for pleasure and exercise, but I thanked him for inquiring. He gave me a look that told me Puckerbrushians don't use the hilly road as a treadmill. He gave me a look that said he thought I was insane. That frosted me sufficiently to energize me up and over the (only) 8% grade remaining hill and finally, I could see the car. I confess that my entry to the car was more like falling into it than gracefully seating myself. It was late. It had been a grand outing. And now it was time to go home. Driving out of the little hidden place, I wanted to stop and take a picture of something I had seen while driving in. I like goony signs. I like signs that tell me what to do. I'd been mystified by the large letters spelling "loom". I saw no weaving device. I wondered if it was a message to me and I'd decided I'd certainly loom through my day if I could, although I don't believe I actually did that. Stepping out with the camera, I looked up the post and started to chortle. I hadn't seen the top figure from the other side of the highway. It was an animal's head, and "loom" was the Loyal Order of Moose. The sign remains, even though there is no remaining part of the lodge, or even an indication that the ground here has ever been graded. I stumbled back into the car, tired from my wonderful day, and mused that if "loom" was direction, those hills had certainly paid attention.

In my ears right now: Backstreet's back! I repeat. I truly like it. I also knew the names of each of them, and probably could bring them to the forefront still today. Of course, I was also the mom who took a mommy van full of young girls to the 'N Sync No Strings Attached concert tour on a Thursday evening during the school year with five acts preceding the homes. I don't know what happened with the other girls. My kid understood that the price of the ticket for this concert was that she'd be at school and at attention the next day, sleepy and laryngitis or not! Hey, I got a thrill when the guys descended from the ceiling of the sports arena and slid down the ropes like marionettes. I was 48. She was 11.


Something that charmed me: Matt's first day back was today. He stands a foot and a half taller than I and he weighs precisely twice what I weigh. The bear hug was pretty overwhelming.

Matt's Bathroom

This morning, most of the service teams started out in the field early. They had come and gone before I took the stairs just before sunrise. I made the coffee, greeted the parakeets and betta fish, opened up all the programs I run every moment I'm at work . . . . and stepped out onto the deck to watch the fiery ball of light squirt up over Sunrise Mountain into a pale blue sky brushed with peach clouds. Matt arrived soon - on time today - and I was almost disappointed because I enjoyed the quiet, familiar surroundings in the cool air. For a wonder, there was little in my ears right then. Maybe just the least bit of traffic noise coming from Rainbow and Sahara at 6:45 a.m. I knew my reverie would screech to a halt as I watched him climb the stairs. For when Matt and Limes are in a room, there are words and noise to behold. "Mornin', Limes." "Hey, Matt."

Ours is no different from any other flock of seagulls. Natural pairings and groupings occur for different reasons. Some of us have an affinity for others that probably can't be explained. I probably have some magnetism for being both oldest and the only female. David commented long ago that the only way he learns anything about one of the homes is through me. That man seeks me out for company and discussion regularly, whereas some of the others seek out David. There is no strain about who goes to whom. These are simply observations about people connecting with others.


It happens that Matt seeks out both David and I - frequently. He talks and asks about everything in the world. He is 22 years old and you've already read my words about how intelligent and artistic he is. But I've never stated outright that Matt is a hard case. When he is having fun, the entire neighborhood can hear him bellow like a bull moose in the lot between the vans. When he is messing up and is called to task, the din from behind closed doors is frightening.

I once had to deal with his unruly behavior. I asked one home dude to come in as a witness to the words I was about to deliver. When we started the proceedings, another home dude came to stand beside me out of concern Matt might attack me. He didn't. It was an event that gave rise to a legend - Limes. My bodyguard later went to David to say, "You don't need to worry about who will prevail in an altercation. She is something." One might think this would make Matt run from my presence. He doesn't. We are drawn to one another, maybe because of that dust-up. And once in awhile when we're joking around, I'll hear Matt say, "If you don't watch out, I'll let Limes off of her leash." He talks openly about the time I tore into him. I think he respects me for it.

Matt knows I'm blogging about him today because I told him. I thought to do so after he showed me something that caused me to sit back in my chair and ponder how complex humans are. Layers upon layers of stuff forming a person. Time and experience shaping the raw material. I will now ride the razor's edge attempting not to violate Matt's privacy, but to clearly show the many facets of the young man.


I am slightly older than Matt's parents who seem to be very nice people. They own a small business, reared two sons, enjoy spending time in their RV. It is clear there is a closeness because they come to Matt's aid when he asks for that and Matt is attentive to their needs as his father has muscular dystrophy and sometimes needs assistance. He frequently takes a company van to go to their home to clean carpet as well as tile and grout. His older brother spent some time in the Navy and now has a job, a fiancee and a dog. Cesar says the parents' home is decorated with photos of the boys as they were growing up. Pretty regular folk, it would seem.

Matt says he has Attention Deficit Disorder and was medicated for it. Maybe that's when his education began to derail. For, as bright as he is, by middle school he was attending special programs and he did not graduate from high school. He found the gangs at an age far too young, and went into that life up to the neck. He's experienced incarceration, being shot, seeing a fellow gang member shot dead in front of his eyes. He learned how to make a lot of money illegally at a very tender age, so the notion of "work" at a "job" is newer to Matt. He had a girlfriend for seven years and since she left him, he has not tried to find another. He is incredbily, unbelievably tough and yet we have seen him weep many times. He is full of emotion and angst. Matt and David meeting in a room when Matt is in a spin can be a loud, upsetting event.

Since we have known him, Matt has roomed with his brother, roomed with Cesar, rented a suite at a residence inn, slept in his car for nights on end, and David has offered to let him bunk in the office which has a shower and kitchen facilities. None of this has worked out well. He moves around constantly, all his possessions in his small car. I heard David chewing him out one morning, "Do something about all the *%&# in your car out in that parking lot. If Limes walked past it, it would scare her."

He has lost both grandfathers since coming to work for us. Each time, he flew to the east to attend funerals. Once, he only had enough money for one night in a motel, so he walked around Cleveland for two days and nights. His parents were in a motel in the same city. He did not ask them to help him. They would have.

Months later came the news that one grandfather had left a nice sum of cash to Matt and his brother. This amount would not set up a 22-year-old for life, but it was sizable. He lost his check the day it arrived. Soon enough it was replaced and David pulled him in for a long, serious talk about getting himself together, not gambling the whole sum, not talking about the money in front of everyone who might be quick to ask for a loan. He continued in his usual patterns for weeks, acquiring a pit bull puppy and a pellet gun along the way. Said Limes, quietly, "If ever there was a young man who does not need a puppy and a pellet gun . . . "

And then he asked to take a morning off. He toured apartments. He was approved for one and paid several months rent. He was so excited, he brought me his "new resident packet" to admire. He offered me the coupon it contained for a free smoothie and pointed out the Halloween pumpkin pasted to the cover of the packet. He moved in his few belongings, including his puppy and her gate. He knew to gate her in the rooms with vinyl flooring when he goes to work each day. Soon he was regaling me with stories of the household products and supplies he located at a 99-Cent Emporium. "One of my favorite places, Matt!" The next day he sang about the $25 lamp he found at Target and put together himself. I shared a similar lamp tale I'd experienced. He bought pots, pans and Tupperware. I've offered a set of dishes and drinking glasses for four that Mother Badger sent me when she got new ones. He located a futon (serves the purpose of both sofa and bed) and got a gaming chair. But the best . . . oh, the best . . .


Matt discovered Bed, Bath & Beyond. He likes blue, so he purchased a shower curtain, bath mat, waste basket, drinking glass, toothbrush holder - the same things everyone would buy to start a household. I was a little hard pressed to contain myself when he told me he'd bought a little basket and in it placed small rolled up fingertip towels, "You know, Limes, not for people to use, but just to look nice." "Sure, Matt, that's a nice touch." Justin walked in just as Matt was showing me a picture on his BlackBerry. Justin started to hoot and jump around. "Limes, Limes, wait until you see this!" I looked at the photo, a poor quality BlackBerry shot. It seemed to be his new bathroom and it did look nice. Justin pointed to the top of the toilet tank. "Look, look at that!" I couldn't really tell what it was. Said Matt, "It's a set of bath salts, lotion and shower gel in case any females ever come over, they'll know I'm civilized."

In my ears right now: Laughter remembered. David appears to have the H1N1 flu, which concerns us very much. I chaired staff meeting and told the men about it on Thursday. It cast a little pall on the meeting. I needed to ease the gloom. I announced I had something for Matt, and I did ~ a 20% off any one item coupon from Bed, Bath & Beyond. They all started to roar, but Matt tucked it away in his clipboard very seriously.

Something that charmed me: This whole story. The reminder that no person is one-dimensional, that we're each such a rich tapestry.

Matt's Contributions

So, home dudes are kind of getting into this blogging thing, as long as I will read the posts and point out the fine points. But each of them has picked up on saying "L-i-i-i-imes . . " when they radio me. When I hear that, it's like a sweet, invisible grin. We're sharing a laugh, sharing fun, while not in one another's presence. When I read my post aloud the other day, Matt said, "Limes, that's just like listening to a story!" "It is a story, home dude! Telling one's experiences is sharing the story of life and how it affects oneself." "You do it good, Limes." "I thank you, sir."

Friday, I brought the Badger's car to work. Vicente was to detail it. Home dudes were to clean the carpet and upholstery and apply stainguard. The Badger has nearly driven the tires off of that Prius going to and from races.

Around the Badger, a certain aura has developed. Matt asked for a photo to be posted and dedicated to him. The Badger acquiesced. Home dudes listen to me tell of his many exploits and adventures. They think the Badger is the coolest old homey because of his cycling and other aspects of his life they've heard about. His magic car was admired and appreciated by all. Limes got to show off quite a bit during the day. "Damn, Limes, you can't hear a thing!" "Limes, how can it get 100 mpg even for a moment? Is that legal?"

In the top photo is Matt hand scrubbing the Badger's floor mat in 108 degrees of heat. It is his third time scrubbing it, because this floor mat is thrashed. The young man walked up the stairs several times to show me the progress made on this one floor mat. He radioed me repeatedly to jawbone about a particular spot on the upholstery or a speck on the carpet. "Matt, he knows he waited too long and he knows it can't be perfect. We know you're doing the best that can be done." He cleaned that car so well, that to continue would have caused permanent fiber damage. He cleaned all the plastic panels with tanner to get out the accumulated sunscreen and other debris. He cares about the quality of his work. He cares about doing a good job for Limes. He cares about doing a good job for old home dude.

Today we have a very full schedule (we're thankful!) and home dudes were about to set out for a very long day that will reach 110 degrees. They are all careful to carry enough water and sports drinks to keep on their feet. They work hard. Matt was grinning, holding something behind his back. "I have something gangsta for your blog, Limes." He showed me his half gallon of Minutemaid that will only be the first of several. I didn't immediately catch on. "Made with Real Limes, Limes!" Ha! And then he proceeded to tell me how I should Photoshop it and frame it and monkey with its resolution . . . yes, home dudes are kind of getting into this blogging thing.

In my ears right now: Still Emmylou Harris singing Crescent City. I guess the needle is stuck in the groove. And Matt wouldn't understand that reference.

Something that charmed me: I am surrounded by a very diverse group of people. We differ in age, gender, interests and many core values. But there is a common thread I love. "If it matters to her, then it matters to me . . if he cares about it, then I care about it." It's a beautiful thing!

Carpet Cleaner Humor

The technicians are required to keep in close contact with Mission Control. They have many freedoms out in the world and the balance is that we watch them move through the valley on GPS at all times. They must call in from every job at its beginning, tell us the value of the job and then report payment at the end. No exceptions.

When the company was young, we simply communicated by telephone. Everyone had a cell phone to call in on. But some of the home dudes didn't pay their bill, or had a plan that gave them too few minutes, or forgot their phone 3 days a week . . . OK, the company purchased walkie-talkies and required everyone to carry them. Every one of the men caught onto the walkie-talkie thing immediately. I was dumber than a box of rocks. They'd played army in their youth, I hadn't. I didn't like this device. For whatever reason, we used "handles" in the day and the technicians all took rodent-themed monikers. I named myself Dumb Bunny. I like to think none of them would have come up with that.

Then came the BlackBerries and it was miraculous ~ I was a whiz and they were a bit slower. David said, "Well, yeah, it's basically a computer and you're good at that." So the guys helped me with ringtones and I taught them what an Excel spreadsheet was. They showed me the navigation system and I showed them how to e-mail the digital video clips they take with their BlackBerries. It's reciprocal. It's nice. If you teach me this, I'll teach you that.

Rolling around in Las Vegas every day must be surreal. It is an odd place. It is peopled by the best and the worst sorts. We deal with them all. My technicians see things in homes that are enviable, disgusting, lovely, laughable. Once I had a home dude come off of his route, describe something he'd seen and ask me if I thought he should call Child Protective Services. They are offered everything from cold drinks to food, from handshakes to threats to throw them bodily off the property. They are flirted with and propositioned, insulted or asked if they can help a customer out because of hard times. Many radio transmissions include a comment or conversation about the amazing thing they've just seen or the odd situation that just occurred.

They are offered household items frequently. "Hey, Limes, would anybody want a black leather recliner?" "Have you heard of anyone who might want a kitten?" When we clean carpets for move-out, we often arrive at a point where the customer is willing to simply walk away and leave things behind. And traversing the city as they do, these guys see every yard sale there is.

Cesar and Matt finished a job and walked across the street to a yard sale. There Matt, 22, saw an item that so fascinated him, the seller said, "Take it for free, young man, and enjoy it." Returning to the van, Cesar employed his BlackBerry to send me a photo by e-mail, but didn't say a word to me. What I received at my desk:

As everyone else received the photo by e-mail, the radios began to buzz and we all became raucous. Soon I was informed that Matt had named him Pedro and Pedro was on the way in to the office. By the end of the day, I could see technicians shooting up the stairs - their workdays were over and they wanted to meet Pedro. We laughed until we nearly squirted milk out of our noses. A suggestion was made that we mount Pedro out on the barn that Troy built.

Here's Cesar posing Pedro on the barn:

We all cackled for days and visitors to our office were a bit startled at the sight of Pedro resting in a chair near my desk. We began to talk about how we knew we couldn't really put him out on the barn because the elements would quickly destroy him. So finally, Pedro was put inside the barn to lead a dark existence. He continues to startle everyone who goes to the barn for supplies or equipment - he's a pretty big boy and looks menacing in the dark.

My own private source of merriment: Matt is a young man with a brilliant mind. He's a good worker and a great salesman. He's an astounding artist. He is spiritual and both David and I have had many long, deeply philosophical discussions with him. But sometimes something will pop up - things he doesn't know about - that make one just go "What??" I attribute it to his extreme youth. So . . . Matt thought Pedro was a barnyard piggie and had to check in with me to see if the other guys were giving him the business about an animal called a boar. "No, Matt, it's true. Pedro is a boar. Barnyard piggies are pink and smell like baby powder. "

In my ears right now: the sweet warbling of my two birds and the Badger's pair of birds. Sometimes they just squawk. Right now they're lovely.

Something that charmed me today: the Badger's great placement in the race this morning; the strength and confidence he showed going into this race and coming out of it.