An Oldie but Goodie (not that I would know)

Friday on My Mind

The Fish Farm

Finally - our first day of work. Mass confusion in obtaining gear for the line; hair nets, cotton gloves, rubber gloves, ear plugs, jacket, plastic smock, boots, plastic sleeves that cover the arms. 100 staff ready to work, but no one to lead them.

First job, piling fish in a neat pile and placing them across to the other line in front, both on conveyor belts. Easy enough, but then Sabrina and I were summoned "You two, come with me" in a chinese tone that always seem to be angry, but in this instance they were.  Next job, scraping excess filleted salmon meat off the bones. 6 newbies scraping away until we were the only ones left in the plant, dead silence. apparently it is coffee break and no one told us, or guided us.

We undress our gear and reach the lunch room and within 5 minutes someone yells to the workers "GEAR UP NOW. YOU BETTER BE READY AT YOUR STATION, OR GO HOME".  I gulped down one much needed pop, but no time to pee. Gearing up took 5 minutes and usually your gear was stolen, so you had to spend a few extra minutes scrambling around to steal someone else's.
Back at our scraping station we completed every last fish with a result of several large trays of salmon pate, which probably would be sold off to Safeway or Superstore as "salmon patties". The remaining salmon carcasses piled high in our throw bin and I felt pleased that nothing is being wasted in this plant. So there we are, 6 first day newbies standing around with nothing to do, until the idiot beside me starts waving her arms in the air. The 5 of us are angrily telling her, 'dude, no one bothered about us before and we missed our break, let them do THEIR job'. Too late. The familiar tone "YOU TWO COME HERE" took us to another station, gutting.

Large salmon moving down the belt, 4 gutter workers on each side, each equipped with long water hoses dangling down with a scraper spoon attached. Lots of scraping in this place, which meant lots of wrist work. I enjoyed this task - didn't bother me one bit, having acquired this skill from my childhood years fishing at Loon Lake with grampa and gramma. Every once in awhile a worker across the belt would accidentally spray their hose in my face, or fish guts would spatter me, in which case I would merely turn to Sabrina and rub my face off the back of her smock. There was just one other person who spoke in this line, the dictator 'YOU DO WRONG - NO CLEAN' ..... and myself "OOPS, SORRY" *snicker*

 The head slicer machine beside us stops, and we were forewarned by our first team lead, an older kind lady, who told us "once that line stops, run like hell". So we did, signalling us to lunch and a much needed piss. Workers who have been here 3-4 days already know what to expect, so all the microwaves are in use. Hubby packed huge lunch boxes for us, I eat 4 chocolate chip cookies instead. The lunchroom is represented by many nationalities, language, colour, food smells and it is at this time I learn of other work lines, such as: scale watcher (stand and watch numbers on a scale), fish packer in a box, person who yells "GET BaCK TO WORK".

Back on the line, Sabrina is pointed to move to the line behind me ---a much faster gutter line. I was really annoyed pleading with team lead 'we are supposed to work together, work with friends and family' the ad posted, 'have fun' the ad posted. SUCK IT UP SHE SAID, IF YOU DON'T LIKE IT, TRADE POSITIONS.
So I did.
Within a few minutes, the fish miraculously stopped conveying. Suddenly it was break time again, just 55 minutes after lunch break.

Back on the line, I couldn't keep up. The fish kept coming, faster and faster and I no longer had Sabrina's back to wipe my brow sweat. DO WRONG - NOT CLEAN. yell, yell, yell !   I missed lots of fish. Lucy & Ethel all over again. at one point I started grabbing them and throwing them back up the line. Except the person to the right of me was the membrane slicer lady, with a very sharp knife, which she kept sharpening with the expertise of a Food Network Star. When she missed her fish, she crossed over my arms into my space, slice slice, while I'm trying to extract guts in the same fucking fish. Is it fish blood, or mine? Then I have a fat body builder to the left of me, squeezing me as he pretends to do a good job.

We are all missing the fish.

I complain. Well, not really complaining, I am pleading with the head-head team lead person (who happens to be caucasian), I can't keep up, the line is moving fast and is making me dizzy.

 'oh, come on now white spoiled lady, you'll get use to it'  Well, that's what I thought he inferred.

 You are dragged here and there, at the disposal of any lower, mid managing team lead, who probably have been on the line months at best, appointing their bestie newbie, or cousin, to the slow pace scale job. Final straw was asking when our next break will occur, and the answer was until the end of the shift **3-1/2 hours later**, we gave you your second break already (when the fish machine broke). In an instant, I threw my hose down, yelling "I QUIT". I said it numerous times, "I QUIT" almost feeling like Sally Field hoisting up a union sign. I walked to Sabrina's station, heavily smeared in salmon entrails, let's go.

one hand leads to another

The Band - The Night They Drove Old Dixie Down

One of my favs --- I notice the link no longer works on an older post --- so here it is again.

Brandon's Grad Dinner & Dance

The Frozen Day

Growing up in North Delta I remember finding those renegade skate ponds, full of tall, dead grass poking out from the ice.  We would skate for hours, our blades becoming weaker and duller, like the sunset.  I know, sounds cliche, but it really was like that. The end of a frozen day.

We scuttled home with our skates flung across our shoulders, laces tied at the ends like pretty bows, the skate blades jostled and stabbed our chests as we ran home for dinner in cautious steps.  The street lights flickered like mosquitoes caught in bug repellent lamp, snapping off and on.  The wind forces us onward, biting at our ears, crispy notes whirring past our faces.

The roads are slippery as we heave ourselves in sliding motions, our feet so cold we don't notice the pebbles and debris that have built up within the icy layers, dirty sandpaper created by days and nights of unsettled weather.  The skyline blends in water colors of purple and orange and dusty shades of blue and the sun is melting away into twilight as we approach our sleepy street.

Our hands are cold despite the woolen mittens encrusted in dirty ice chips, crumpets of who knows what, yet we thirst for it.  We bite them off our mittens, bit by bit and suck away the day's worth of play, moistening our lips,  crunch by crunch.

It has been a satisfying day in North Delta.

We kick off our boots at the front door.  Our socks are heavy wet, soaked in hockey combat and thin ice survival tactics.  My sister's feet are purple, my brother's feet have already reached the kitchen and are poised for pork chops.  The muffled coats and long johns are strewn into a pile of laundry at the bottom of the stairs and puddles of water have already formed in the foyer.

We are slowly regaining feeling in our fingers and toes.  Our faces now burn in painful thaw. The remains of the icy wind now bridled behind the door, banging against it, urging us to come back outside where we belong.  But as each minute passed it's cries softened and weakened, the furnace hummed defiantly until the frozen day was no more.

Post by Телеканал "Культура".

Dry Shoes

My foot slips off the log and I hesitantly look down to see which one.
I am off balance and shaking like crazy.  "Go get help"  I calmly cry out, hoping my quieting voice tempers my footing which is 20 feet above the creek below.

At first I panicked and screamed "GET MOM!", and to think just minutes before my feet had confidence when they decided to cross the higher log.

The first steps were easy as I began my crossing.  I can do this.  The other kids would never attempt this, opting for the regular route just steps away.  Slipping off the regular log just gets you a few bumps and bruises, possibly wet runners, but slipping off the higher log you surely will die.  And this is what I am thinking as I stand dead still in the middle of it, untouched and untravelled, as I suddenly discover.

My feet death grip the rotten pine that has toppled and landed in the middle of the ravine, suspended only by dead roots on one side and languished tree tops on the other.  In between a worn and smooth pathway has been gilded by seasons, allowing my renegade foot to firmly reattach itself to it's spine.

Most of the other kids have run off, leaving me stranded and the contest winner.  My sister, at first, teases me to get a move on, but I can't.  I drop my eyes briefly towards the depth, but my knees remain locked, my arms waver and flop in the air as if conducting orchestra, trying to maintain harmony and even calm.

I am alone and the wind is heavier in the emptiness.  I feel it's weight bending me.  Pushing me.   The sunlight is also being pushed away into shadows of tree trunks and caverns combining into one big patch of black.  I twist my head and my sister has now straddled the log and is shimmering herself towards the sunset, towards me.

Richard's mom is calling him in for dinner.  Their backyard is close to the ravine and I can smell what they're having.  Corinne inches her way closer to me, yelling "SIT DOWN.  SIT DOWN".  I am frozen stiff and can't move a muscle.  All around me is lush evergreen.  And bacon.  She is telling me to sit my bum down and bump my way backwards to the edge.  "I will be right here", she promises.

I close my eyes, realizing no one, not even my sister,  has run off to get my mom.  I keep my eyes shut and can hear the creek below.  I actually believe I can hear salmon spawning and currents jostling amongst the boulders for the best path to the river.  Then I heard the river burst into the ocean, then the ocean burst into the horizon fading away.

My eyes opened just long enough to fall down.

We shimmied our way back to the edge, together.  It's dark now and we're late and will probably be "grounded" for a week with no T.V.   At least, Corinne concludes, our shoes are dry.

Suddenly

I felt safe.  That's the last thing I remember.  Being safe, secure and in control.  When I opened my eyes I realized I was floating horizontal and just inches away from rock bottom.  My knees banged against the rocks, the branches and twigs.  It was a sunny, hot day and I felt safe in the gentleness of it's summer.

We purchased two huge inner tubes, huge.  Not baby floaty type toys you take to the neighbourhood swimming pool. No. We tied those mean action drifters from an army surplus store with water ski rope lines, a case of beer and our two young kids.

We cast away into the middle of the river like everyone else.  Our cars neatly parked in the middle of no where, in the dusty heat of forest fire embers.  Daniel tied the lines, and we would float in pairs along the other pairs of families holidaying in the wilderness.  Our agenda is to drift downstream, maybe catch white foam, an eagle, possibly a bear.  All I want is calm and to get drunk.  Maybe a tan.

Suddenly.

As I was pushed downstream the salmon drifted with me, eye to eye, watching me tumble in the river's current.  I gasped for air left and right and he followed me.  His gills kept pace with my heartbeat, swallowing air until I reached the beaver dam, when my foot caught in twisted branches and caged me in the soup of mountain's thaw.  The water is transparent and I can see the sky and clouds outline dead trees floating above me.

By now I haven't breathed in 20 seconds, possibly more.  My head spins and jerks in the watery turmoil, and I gain 10 seconds of air here, another 5 seconds there.  I am wearing a life jacket that keeps my torso afloat, my shoulders, my arms, but it doesn't save my airway.  I fight to keep my head up high in only inches of angry river.  I am searching for the salmon.

I am pulled down deeper.  How deep can this river go.  How deep before I drown and am lost forever.  My hands catch rock but they are slippery and I can't hold on.  They are so fucking slippery!  Branches.  I catch branches and they are so slippery.  How deep do I have to go before I am forgiven and remember to jump up.

"MOM". Over and over again.  "Mom, jump!".  I hear faint sounds.  I look up for one more breath towards the picnic sky and birthday party bubbles, I look up and she is blowing me kisses.  I grasp her last kiss and return to summer.