Messages By: derevna33

        Both on Saturday and Sunday, I received telephone calls from people who needed me to work for them.  Paul was dying on Saturday--throwing up.  Trisha called on Sunday because she claimed she injured her leg.  I declined. 

      This morning, I went in early.  It was payday at Wendy's, and I needed to turn in my application at Arctic Circle.  I walked in there, smiled, and I had a job.  I took Laurie's order at Wendy's!  I have my choice, 11-5 or 6-2.  I get to work on the front register.

   Setting on my desk is the application form to the Arctic Circle hamburger stand.  It is on highway 30 just out of Kimberly. 

    I have been making drinks and handing out lunches at the drive-thru window.  Wednesday, a customer asked me if she could have more crackers for her chili.  I asked the expediter, Landie, who had been irritable all day.  Landie looked up at the board, told me she had put extra crackers in the bag.  I told the customer, and the customer asked me for some more.  (Like something out of Oliver Twist)  I told Landie the customer wanted two more crackers.

     "You tell her to go get her own fucking box of crackers!"

     I refused to do this.  "There is no way on this earth that I would EVER tell a customer something like THAT!"

     The next day I explained that I had been a very bad girl to Troy in his office.  He laughed.  Now, I admit that if it wasn't me, I would think it was hilarious.

       Anyway, Troy told me I don't get to run the register up front.  I have had four nights.  That is plenty of training time.  So, he's putting me back out in the lobby.  Or making drinks at the drive-thru.

       And I am going to fill out my application for another job.       

     I didn't win the powerball lottery on Saturday, but I didn't look at the site with the winning numbers posted until this morning.  For a few days, I got to savor being rich.  I got struts for my Dodge and a new windshield.  Today, I know I didn't win, so I go back to work.

     I bought a Falls Brand ham for New Year's Eve.  I had it in the oven, and it filled the whole house with it's rich smell and deep flavor.  Troy called from Wendy's, "Carla, where are you?"

     I made a mistake about the schedule.  Sunday, Monday, and Tuesdays had been my days off for several weeks.  So, I made an abrupt exit--stage left. 

     Because there was leftover ham, I made seafood Jambalaya for New Years Day.  I watched some of the Rose Bowl parade.  My grandmother, Atha Tadlock, was born in Wichita Falls, Texas.  She ALWAYS watched the Rose Bowl parade.  I know, because I spent so much time with her.  Mary is 18 months younger than I.  I came down with German measles, and Mom got them from me when she was a few months pregnant with Mary.  It caused Mary to have a severe congenital heart defect. 

     It was 1956, and Mom's doctor suggested she obtain an abortion.  There was a loophole in the law in Idaho.  If a doctor could hear a baby's abnormal heart, he could obtain the court order necessary for a "termination of pregnancy." 

     Mom had a fit.  She wouldn't do that.  So, when Mary was born, she was very, very ill.  I was sent to stay with my grandma.  I spent huge chunks of time at her house.  By the time I was 6, I had spent half my life with her.  (Mary had tuberculosis of the lymph system, epileptic seizures, hepatitis, etc)    

     Many years later,  I am in Sonora.  Mom told me on the telephone that Grandma was in the hospital.  I called on New Years Day to watch the 1992 Rose Bowl parade with her.  She knew who I was, but she forgot the parade was on television and she didn't feel like watching it.  I hung up the phone, knowing that was going to be the last time I talked with her.  

   I found the diary entry about Dad irrigating.

   Bonnie's New Year Resolution is for her daughter to actually move to Wyoming with her her husband.  They have been staying with her since September.  Every other morning, she comes over here for coffee.  Bonnie usually says that she has told her daughter that she has a final move out date.  It is now January 7.

    Bonnie lives in a house two doors down on the opposite side of Wiseman street.  She has two dogs, her daughter , and her granddaughter.  Bonnie is mentally disabled.  She has a form of autism.  She receives SSI and SDI.  She has Medicare, so she wants me to come with her every morning to go to the new gym system at the YMCA.  The Y bought out several fitness centers in Twin Falls.

    It seems like a good idea.   

   Today is Matt's 26th birthday.  He came over here with Mary.  They were waiting for his friend, Diana, so they could go up to Pocatello.  Mary plans on going to Blackfoot, where Debbie lives.

    Yes, I know that for someone as ill as Mary, she sure gets around a lot.  But don't ever say anything like that to Mom.   She won't tolerate even the slightest criticism of her dear daughter or her beloved, Matt. 

   I thought I wrote a diary entry yesterday about Dad irrigating, but today I couldn't find it.

   There is a 70% chance of more snow.

    We've been getting a trace of snow every other day or so, and yesterday we received two inches.  I live in an area that has an average of 10 inches of water per year. 

    The Snake River Valley in Idaho is the far north tip of the Great Basin of Nevada, an ancient sea.  Beyond us to the north are the Sawtooth Mountains, Sun Valley, and the Wilderness Area.  That is picture postcard Idaho.  To the east of us, the Snake River has its headwaters in Yellowstone Park.  Snow storms form in the northern Pacific, and then come ashore drifting north of us into Yellowstone.  A series of concrete dams, the Palisades, American Falls, and Millner  begin the irrigation project.  It capture this snow melt, and we use that water in our traditionally dry area.

   When the Butler and Homan families first arrived, the Twin Falls Canal System had been built in 1905.  Farmers traditionally ask the question, "How much water do you have?'  It refers to the number of inches of canal water granted to the property.  We never ask, "How many head of cattle?" Or, "How many acres?"  If you know "how many inches," you can figure how many head or acres.

    Water is VERY important here.  Family legends abound of one farmer attempting to murder his neighbor with a shovel over a quarter inch of water.  And, a shovel is a deadly weapon in this area.  I don't mean one of those dull things used for gardening.  I mean, the machete like edge on a prized irrigation shovel.

     My father was a master of the art of irrigating.  With his rubber boots up to his knees and his shovel slung--carefully--over his shoulder he patrolled the alfalfa fields twice a day.

    Every summer morning, he called the ditch rider in Twin Falls, and he told him how much water he needed.  Then, Dad met the ditch rider on the road on the right hand side of the Low-line Canal, which "snaked" across Twin Falls County.  (The High-line Canal goes across Jerome County)  This levee system delivers half of the Snake River throughout the Valley.

     At the Butler place, the Low-line Canal was 45 feet deep and 25 yards across.  It was built of gravel and earth, and the levee was wide enough for the ditch rider and Dad to park their pickups on top.

     After the ditch-rider used his official yardstick and the key, he opened the head-gate from the canal, and the water gushed into a cement head-gate on the property.  It swirled and swirled, slowing down to a manageable stream, and then it flowed into the field ditch. 

   The main pasture sopped up the water from the ooze along the levee.  Several head of Angus cattle, three dairy cows, and a few retired stock horses grazed here throughout the summer.  The field ditch flowed from the head gate across the pasture to the alfalfa, barley, and bean fields.  It emptied into feed ditches, flowing parallel to the field ditch.  The feed ditch was flanked by corrugates, still smaller ditches that brought water to the actual crops.  At the foot of the field, the corrugates emptied into a waste ditch. 

    The art of irrigation is to slow the flow of water to a mere trickle, and not to fill the waste ditch with sediment. Dad was proud of his waste ditch.  It proved he was a master irrigator.  By the time the water reach the waste ditch--well--it was a ditch in name only.

     Oh my.  I have spent too much time on the message board!  About an hour everyday.  Everyone there seems to run their own agenda.  There is a nut advertising books on Borderline Personality disorder--every day.  It does not seem to matter what the subject is.  Some fellow in the Netherlands says "Hi," everyday.

    It's getting boring.

    So, I have returned.

    Troy Flowers IS a man of his word.  Some days, I work in the lobby.  Some nights, I work at front register.  It was amazing how much I still remembered from last year.  I work tomorrow night, 5 to close.  Robin watched me when I was working last Saturday night, and she left me with the till.  She said I was doing OK. 

    We at a Wendy's Christmas Party on the 16th.  I took a green salad--which hardly no one ate.  I also took a poinsettia for the gift exchange.  I empathizes gift exchange.  We sat in a circle as if it were a game of musical chairs.  Landie read a story about the Wright family.  Every time she said, either Wright or right, we passed the gift she was holding to the right.  No one wanted to pass my poinsettia, so I got to take it home with me. 

     It was sure different from the Christmas Party I attended at McDonald's in 1989.  I was living in Sonora at the time.  James had been born in April, and in June I had tested positive for cervical cancer.  I had a hysterectomy.  Larry was very worried.  He told me that if all the bills were added together, we were still $300 short of paying them.  So, I got a job at McDonald's to pay for my cancer.  I went to work at 6 in the evening and I got off work sometime after midnight. 

    It was winter, and I stoked up the fire.  I tried to wake up at 3 am to do this again.  Then, James and Laurie woke up at 6:00 am. (James was 6 months old and Laurie was two)  I took care of them, kept the home-fire burning, and went back to work at 5:30.  I did this for a year and a half, and I was chronically tired. 

     I had been working there about two months when the Christmas party was held.  I told Larry that he and the kids were my guests.  I will never forget the expression on Larry's face when he realized how miserable I was.  Awards of $25 were given to each employee winning in such categories as Best Evening Closer.  Favorite Smile.  Quickest time in Drive-thru.

     I won Most Inept Employee, but there was no cash award for that. 

     No, I am not kidding.   I was known throughout the store as THE dumb blond broad.  And, if I had the audacity to argue that this was neither fair nor true--well--it proved that I had no sense of humor.

    On top of everything else, I was robbed.

    There is no other way to describe it.  I was placed on the front register.  It was the weekend before Christmas, and the main till was jammed full of money.  The crew chiefs were supposed to make a money drop and leave me with my base of $200 or so--I forget the exact amount.  I told the assistant manager--who was frying burgers that something was wrong.  "I can barely close the till because of all the money."

    Fifteen minutes later, the crew chiefs showed up.  They ordered a long, lost list of obscure items. I couldn't even find the items on the board.  Finally, one of the crew chiefs leaned over my till--and so help me God--hit the key that opened the till.  At least 6 hands began grabbing cash.  All they could get before I slammed the door shut and yelled, "BART!" 

    Breathing heavily and in partial shock, I explained to Bart what had happened. 

   The crew chiefs looked very innocent as they  lied to the manager, reminding him that I was THE dumb blond broad.  I didn't know what I was talking about.  I was the Most Inept Employee in the store, after all.

    So Bart told me to shut up and get back to work.

    "Count the till!" I demanded.

    "GET BACK TO WORK!!"

     About 10:00, Bart finally made the evening money drop.  And, I could prove what had happened.  But they could not prove how much money had disappeared from the till.  "I don't know.  I didn't count it."

    Anyway, I was known as the Dumb Blond Broad.    And, I'll always be sensitive about that.

     I've spent too much time on the message board, oh my. 

    Last night, I had a dream about Dr. Phil.  I dreamed I was back in my high school world history class.  We had a survey taken by the US Department of Education because there were 3 National Merit Finalists (top 2%) in my class of '72.  I was in the bottom fourth of my class scholastically, and I was still in the the top 25% of the nation. 

   The Department of Education had this theory proclaiming that all they have to do is boost funding to lower class students.  That theory fell apart when applied to my school mates.  Why did my public school mates in a poorer- than-hell-rural area preform so well?

    But that is not why I dreamed about Dr. Phil.

    Part of those tests involved the social structure among my classmates.  Dr. Phil took me aside during my lunch hour.  We were standing out on the football field between the fancy new round high school and the lunch cafeteria in the elementary school.  Dr. Phil wanted to talk to me about why I am so unpopular.  I didn't take the criticism,  well.  In the dream, I was wearing my swimsuit to gym class.  Dr. Phil reminded me that I had opinions.  I spoke up in class. 

   Girls can't do that.  We are supposed to simper and tell the boys,  "O  how wonderful you are!"  Looking up at a man and making him feel like God.  (It's easy, and it works every time)

   I made a speech right out of Gone with the Wind.  "Be different and be damned."  That's Rhett Butler, not Scarlett O'Hara. 

   When I was a teenager, I dreamed of being Margaret Mitchell.  I cared passionately about writing, well.       

  Today I voted in various categories for the company Christmas Party.  It will be held on the 16th.  After the figure skating, I will come in and help set up for the party. 

  Sunday, I went to the grocery store.  I stopped at Wendy's to check on the vacuum cleaner.  I had closed on Saturday night, and I wanted to check that I had put the filter in it correctly.  Trisha saw me, and offered to let me work her Sunday for her. 

   How big of her.  I had offered to work for her on Wednesday, but she told me her husband wasn't working any longer and she needed extra hours.  Then when I showed up on Sunday, anyway, she decides I ought to work for her .

    People pull this kind of shit on me all the time.

    And what really makes me angry, is that I feel guilty.  I stand up for myself, and I feel guilty.   I even feel guilty for asking for the things I  need.  I've had a backache for the last few weeks.  It is a backache that seems familiar.  I had a similar backache in 1998, I developed a large polyp that was pre-cancerous.  It pressed on my back.  The only thing Dr. Ward could promise me was that there would be others.  He also told me to get an other colonoscophy in 2004.  It has been another three years, and I wouldn't be surprised if I have other polyps.    

   It isn't as simple as a screening.  It costs $5000, and I know going in I probably am not a negative.  And, I can't get health insurance.  So, if I am worried, too bad.  I guess I will just die of the cancer.  And, it is a damn miserable way to die.

   Yesterday, Mom and I went over to Mary's house in Kimberly, which is about three miles away.  I helped Mary move the furniture in her front room, and we found her Christmas tree.  It was in a big box in the garage. 

   Mary loves Christmas.  We shook some of the dust off the fake limbs, strung up the lights, and admired our work.  Mary purchased that tree in 1983.  She found it on sale at K-Mart after the Christmas holiday for about $100.  She was the first person in the family to buy a fake tree.

    I also moved all her ornaments and decorations into the front room so Mary can finish decorating at her leisure.  Her friends have given her Christmas do-dads and do-hinkies every year.  She received a very nice globe from Avis Wasko (her friend Debbie's mom) in her will.  Mary was tired and breathing heavily--her face was as white as a sheet.  So, Mom and I brought her over to the house here in Hansen so she would rest.

   While we were putting up her tree, we decided that I will host Christmas Eve dinner.  We plan on going to Mary's for Christmas breakfast.  This way I can nibble on Christmas day, and I am not stuck in the kitchen all day.