Especially when it's three long years...
"They have a combined 3 years of experience.”
L.
Tuesday, November 3, 2009
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
I Know
I know, I know, I never post anymore. It's mostly because I abandoned the blog to reattach myself to real life. You know, phone calls, beers with friends...that sort of thing. And I'm glad I did.
So, from now on, this blog will basically be "Things I Overhear At Work."
They're pretty awesome as I am an intense eavesdropper and my job means that I'm around some, shall we say, "interesting" people.
Some of the posts will be rather obvious. Others will require that you "figure out the story," i.e. what do you think they're talking about? And some may just be odd all the way around.
So the first installment is:
On a cell: “Hey Stranger. Where have you been all week? We need to talk. (pause) About the bag I found downstairs. Uh-huh. I don’t believe that. I know you want me to believe that, but I don’t.”
This is a prime example of why you should take personal calls outside.
L.
So, from now on, this blog will basically be "Things I Overhear At Work."
They're pretty awesome as I am an intense eavesdropper and my job means that I'm around some, shall we say, "interesting" people.
Some of the posts will be rather obvious. Others will require that you "figure out the story," i.e. what do you think they're talking about? And some may just be odd all the way around.
So the first installment is:
On a cell: “Hey Stranger. Where have you been all week? We need to talk. (pause) About the bag I found downstairs. Uh-huh. I don’t believe that. I know you want me to believe that, but I don’t.”
This is a prime example of why you should take personal calls outside.
L.
Thursday, June 18, 2009
The Land of Opportunity
A big part of my job requires me to spend an exceptional amount of time with mayors from some of the smallest cities in our great state.
During the past two days, I've spoken, laughed, and worried with mayors from cities all across the state. We've talked about problems with sewers, hospitals, and tornadoes all while taking a moment to smile about how lucky we are to live where we do.
For those of you who have previously or maybe, currently, live here you know that we're lucky to live in a place where the people are nice, friendly and honestly care about each other. As the Governor said today, "When a tornado hits one city, the first people on the scene are the citizens from the last tornado disaster."
We understand each other and what it means to live in a place that requires, and, quite frankly expects, the love and respect of a neighbor. That neighbor may be from a city 200 miles away, but we're all in this boat together, and we'll make it to our destination only with everyone taking a turn at the helm.
The Governor also said that he's tired of hearing stereotypes about our lovely state--we're hillbillies, we're thankful that Mississippi always falls one step below us because it keeps us from being 50th in something, that visitors are always "pleasantly surprised" by what this state has to offer.
He's tired because we aren't last in the state rolls anymore. In fact, we're at the top of early childhood education, we're at the top of advanced placement education, and we're faring much better than most states during this economic downturn.
Let me be the first to agree. Aside from working with small town mayors, I also write grant proposals. To qualify for many grant applications, areas often must be "at least one percentage point above the national unemployment rate."
As I sat down to write a grant application two days ago, I felt sure that the counties selected in eastern Arkansas would far exceed this requirement. I was wrong.
The national unemployment rate is so high that many of our most poverty-stricken cities and counties have unemployment averages far lower than the national average.
Surprised?
I was.
Poverty rates here are still catastrophic and will likely continue to be for some time, but unemployment isn't as high as you'd expect.
Now, for the soap box. So, our citizens are employed, but they're wages are so low they can't actually support their families. They may, in fact, have jobs, but they can't pay the bills. They work everyday, but they still live in poverty. It's unacceptable, but...
They do have jobs.
What does this say? I have my own thoughts on the matter, and I'll leave it to you to come up with your own.
The question to ponder is: Do we need more jobs in general or do we need more high paying jobs?
One answer is linked to current stability and one is linked to education. Now it's up to you to decide which is most important to you.
Why?
Because your answer to that question answers where you want your tax dollars spent. It's a question we can only answer individually, but a question that answers where we go collectively.
In the meantime, we'll still be the Land of Opportunity even if it's no longer the state motto. If only because, we all care so much about each other that we'll make sure that the day you move to Arkansas is the day you find your long-lost family in her wonderful citizens.
L.
During the past two days, I've spoken, laughed, and worried with mayors from cities all across the state. We've talked about problems with sewers, hospitals, and tornadoes all while taking a moment to smile about how lucky we are to live where we do.
For those of you who have previously or maybe, currently, live here you know that we're lucky to live in a place where the people are nice, friendly and honestly care about each other. As the Governor said today, "When a tornado hits one city, the first people on the scene are the citizens from the last tornado disaster."
We understand each other and what it means to live in a place that requires, and, quite frankly expects, the love and respect of a neighbor. That neighbor may be from a city 200 miles away, but we're all in this boat together, and we'll make it to our destination only with everyone taking a turn at the helm.
The Governor also said that he's tired of hearing stereotypes about our lovely state--we're hillbillies, we're thankful that Mississippi always falls one step below us because it keeps us from being 50th in something, that visitors are always "pleasantly surprised" by what this state has to offer.
He's tired because we aren't last in the state rolls anymore. In fact, we're at the top of early childhood education, we're at the top of advanced placement education, and we're faring much better than most states during this economic downturn.
Let me be the first to agree. Aside from working with small town mayors, I also write grant proposals. To qualify for many grant applications, areas often must be "at least one percentage point above the national unemployment rate."
As I sat down to write a grant application two days ago, I felt sure that the counties selected in eastern Arkansas would far exceed this requirement. I was wrong.
The national unemployment rate is so high that many of our most poverty-stricken cities and counties have unemployment averages far lower than the national average.
Surprised?
I was.
Poverty rates here are still catastrophic and will likely continue to be for some time, but unemployment isn't as high as you'd expect.
Now, for the soap box. So, our citizens are employed, but they're wages are so low they can't actually support their families. They may, in fact, have jobs, but they can't pay the bills. They work everyday, but they still live in poverty. It's unacceptable, but...
They do have jobs.
What does this say? I have my own thoughts on the matter, and I'll leave it to you to come up with your own.
The question to ponder is: Do we need more jobs in general or do we need more high paying jobs?
One answer is linked to current stability and one is linked to education. Now it's up to you to decide which is most important to you.
Why?
Because your answer to that question answers where you want your tax dollars spent. It's a question we can only answer individually, but a question that answers where we go collectively.
In the meantime, we'll still be the Land of Opportunity even if it's no longer the state motto. If only because, we all care so much about each other that we'll make sure that the day you move to Arkansas is the day you find your long-lost family in her wonderful citizens.
L.
Friday, June 12, 2009
Well, You Know What? I'm Cool
"Since I'm the leader of the free world, I'll just go ahead and lounge right here on these steps. Yep, I'm just that cool."
L.
Sunday, June 7, 2009
65 Years Later
This weekend marks the 65th anniversary of D-Day. An occasion that happened so long before my birth that it seems like lifetimes ago.
It's a historic occasion. One marked with death, sadness, and pride in the faith and sacrifice of so many men.
Men like your husband, your father, your boyfriend, your nephew, your brother, your son. Men with wives, daughters, sons, mothers, fathers...families...were willing to give their lives to the cause of freedom.
Freedom from tyranny. Freedom from oppression. Freedom to live how we live today.
My Grandfather Matteson fought in World War II. He wasn't in Normandy. He didn't brave the beaches at Omaha. In fact, he rarely spoke of his experience at all.
He was in the Navy on an aircraft carrier in the South Pacific during most of the war. He was simply a mechanic. He didn't fly the planes. He didn't drop from the sky with a parachute on this back. He maintained the aircraft that allowed others to do those things.
When he left for the war he left a wife at home. A woman pregnant with his first child. He boarded the carrier and served his country proudly. After a year, his superior officer gave him the opportunity to return home reportedly saying, "Worth, you've served your time, and you can leave, but this war needs your skills here."
My grandfather, realizing this importance of this statement, and the opportunity it presented him, said, "Sir, I have a child at home I've never seen. I have to go."
And he did.
Two days after his departure, the aircraft carrier where he was stationed sent a plane carrying an atomic bomb to Hiroshima. The carrier was on its way there...the thick of the war. He was part of a crew delivering one of the final acts of World War II.
He returned to Arkansas to hold his first born son a year after his birth, and lived to see his wife give birth to a second son...my father.
He never spoke of World War II or his experience there. The only comment I ever heard him say was, "You'd be surprised to know how fast aircraft carriers move."
That was it. It was long after his death that I heard the story of his decision to come home. He never said it, but I'm sure he lived most of his life wishing he'd stayed to serve his country longer. He was just that kind of person.
I, on the other hand, am glad he chose to come home. Otherwise I might not be here today, and I might not have ever known such a brave, loving, caring and extremely secretive man as he.
Today I think of you, Grandy.
I thank you for your service to our country. You served your country behind the scenes, doing what you always did best, and you kept our country safe by doing it.
I wish I knew more of your time during the war. Maybe you knew there was an atomic bomb on that ship, and I'll never know you did. Regardless, you served our country proudly, and I and so many others thank you for your service.
I also thank you for being a simple and amazing man.
A man who, yes, kept his dark war days to himself, but also a man who taught me not to peel out in gravel. A man who taught my father to be a good father, my uncle to be a good uncle. A man who taught my brother and cousins the importance of respecting women. A man who taught me what to expect out of men.
But most of all, a man who held me on his knee and called me Sweet Potato.
Grandy, I love you, and I miss you.
--Sweet Potato.
It's a historic occasion. One marked with death, sadness, and pride in the faith and sacrifice of so many men.
Men like your husband, your father, your boyfriend, your nephew, your brother, your son. Men with wives, daughters, sons, mothers, fathers...families...were willing to give their lives to the cause of freedom.
Freedom from tyranny. Freedom from oppression. Freedom to live how we live today.
My Grandfather Matteson fought in World War II. He wasn't in Normandy. He didn't brave the beaches at Omaha. In fact, he rarely spoke of his experience at all.
He was in the Navy on an aircraft carrier in the South Pacific during most of the war. He was simply a mechanic. He didn't fly the planes. He didn't drop from the sky with a parachute on this back. He maintained the aircraft that allowed others to do those things.
When he left for the war he left a wife at home. A woman pregnant with his first child. He boarded the carrier and served his country proudly. After a year, his superior officer gave him the opportunity to return home reportedly saying, "Worth, you've served your time, and you can leave, but this war needs your skills here."
My grandfather, realizing this importance of this statement, and the opportunity it presented him, said, "Sir, I have a child at home I've never seen. I have to go."
And he did.
Two days after his departure, the aircraft carrier where he was stationed sent a plane carrying an atomic bomb to Hiroshima. The carrier was on its way there...the thick of the war. He was part of a crew delivering one of the final acts of World War II.
He returned to Arkansas to hold his first born son a year after his birth, and lived to see his wife give birth to a second son...my father.
He never spoke of World War II or his experience there. The only comment I ever heard him say was, "You'd be surprised to know how fast aircraft carriers move."
That was it. It was long after his death that I heard the story of his decision to come home. He never said it, but I'm sure he lived most of his life wishing he'd stayed to serve his country longer. He was just that kind of person.
I, on the other hand, am glad he chose to come home. Otherwise I might not be here today, and I might not have ever known such a brave, loving, caring and extremely secretive man as he.
Today I think of you, Grandy.
I thank you for your service to our country. You served your country behind the scenes, doing what you always did best, and you kept our country safe by doing it.
I wish I knew more of your time during the war. Maybe you knew there was an atomic bomb on that ship, and I'll never know you did. Regardless, you served our country proudly, and I and so many others thank you for your service.
I also thank you for being a simple and amazing man.
A man who, yes, kept his dark war days to himself, but also a man who taught me not to peel out in gravel. A man who taught my father to be a good father, my uncle to be a good uncle. A man who taught my brother and cousins the importance of respecting women. A man who taught me what to expect out of men.
But most of all, a man who held me on his knee and called me Sweet Potato.
Grandy, I love you, and I miss you.
--Sweet Potato.
Sunday, May 17, 2009
A Little Strange
I lived half of my childhood on Matteson Farms.
A farm my great-grandfather started, but a farm on which my grandfather managed to make a hell of a profit.
I played on golf carts, helped unload peanuts, corn, soybeans and milo (and by helped I mean I stood to the side while my father, uncle and innumerable workers unloaded those crops and then I played in them), hung out with my grandmother, and learned that the amazing people who worked on the farm for little money were amazing people, because they loved more and worked harder labor than anyone I've ever known.
The other half of my childhood was lived on Lake Greeson. My mother's parents worked for most of their lives, and saved a great deal, to build a house there in the 60's.
I lived a goodly portion of my life there learning that my cousins were really my best friends, that it's never a good idea to fall off the back of a jet ski with your legs wide open, and that some people in this world will always, and I mean, always, cover for you no matter what you do, i.e. that same best friend cousin.
I learned a lot in both places. On the farm I learned what it meant to care for, love and respect people who worked harder that I'll ever work.
On the lake, I learned what it meant to love my family and that my family will always love me--no matter what.
There is a lot to be said for both parts of my life, but it's the past few days that have brought home how fleeting it all can be. Below is a photograph of Narrows Dam, which holds Lake Greeson in its banks. Here it is overflowing, a thing I've never seen happen before.
I've seen the Red River, which creates the border of Matteson Farms, breach its banks a full 10 miles toward town, and I've smelled the dead fish and dead land, and I've seen the havoc a flood can produce.
But, I've never seen Narrows Dam overflow. In fact, the last time it occurred was 1968, a full 10 years before my birth.
This picture shows how much rain we've seen in the past few weeks. I can't help but consider all the people living downstream from the dam; all the people who make a living by maintaining docks, fuel stations, and recreation areas on Lake Greeson.
And, of course, I can't help but think about all the farmers out there trying to plant corn, cotton, and soybeans with just as much rain at their backs.
Maybe there will, from time to time, be a moment when both sides of my childhood will rear a head. And, I suppose that at those moments, I will always feel a little strange.
A farm my great-grandfather started, but a farm on which my grandfather managed to make a hell of a profit.
I played on golf carts, helped unload peanuts, corn, soybeans and milo (and by helped I mean I stood to the side while my father, uncle and innumerable workers unloaded those crops and then I played in them), hung out with my grandmother, and learned that the amazing people who worked on the farm for little money were amazing people, because they loved more and worked harder labor than anyone I've ever known.
The other half of my childhood was lived on Lake Greeson. My mother's parents worked for most of their lives, and saved a great deal, to build a house there in the 60's.
I lived a goodly portion of my life there learning that my cousins were really my best friends, that it's never a good idea to fall off the back of a jet ski with your legs wide open, and that some people in this world will always, and I mean, always, cover for you no matter what you do, i.e. that same best friend cousin.
I learned a lot in both places. On the farm I learned what it meant to care for, love and respect people who worked harder that I'll ever work.
On the lake, I learned what it meant to love my family and that my family will always love me--no matter what.
There is a lot to be said for both parts of my life, but it's the past few days that have brought home how fleeting it all can be. Below is a photograph of Narrows Dam, which holds Lake Greeson in its banks. Here it is overflowing, a thing I've never seen happen before.
I've seen the Red River, which creates the border of Matteson Farms, breach its banks a full 10 miles toward town, and I've smelled the dead fish and dead land, and I've seen the havoc a flood can produce.
But, I've never seen Narrows Dam overflow. In fact, the last time it occurred was 1968, a full 10 years before my birth.
This picture shows how much rain we've seen in the past few weeks. I can't help but consider all the people living downstream from the dam; all the people who make a living by maintaining docks, fuel stations, and recreation areas on Lake Greeson.
And, of course, I can't help but think about all the farmers out there trying to plant corn, cotton, and soybeans with just as much rain at their backs.
Maybe there will, from time to time, be a moment when both sides of my childhood will rear a head. And, I suppose that at those moments, I will always feel a little strange.
Foreman...
Gators...
A friend took this picture on HWY 71 at the Little River/Sevier County line--roughly 15-20 miles from my hometown.
They didn't call us the Foreman Gators for nothing.
L.
A friend took this picture on HWY 71 at the Little River/Sevier County line--roughly 15-20 miles from my hometown.
They didn't call us the Foreman Gators for nothing.
L.
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