When Mama Is Distracted

Definition of distraction:

In an attempt to be helpful and get the Last Chick to leave the family nest off to a good start, you mixed up some of your favorite, all purpose, three ingredient, easy-on-the-budget cleaning spray to send with him.

Except that you used witch hazel instead of alcohol.

Oh well.  At least his fixtures and windows will not suffer from skin irritations, inflammations, or infections.

Whishy-Washy Whoopsy

Thursday morning in Ohio.  The Trucker and his Passenger are both in "get 'er done" mode.

But first, a wash for the truck, which is carrying a week's worth of road salt, grit and grime from snow in the west and northwest.  Snow has dropped off, though temperatures up til now have not been conducive to a wash, unless the Trucker wanted to proceed inside an ice block. The weather forecast at home, complete with rain and melting snow, does not give much of an option for a wash there.

The wash bay lines were long, but the Trucker decided a wait to be worthwhile.  He remained in the driver's seat, periodically moving the truck forward in line.

The Passenger used her "sitting still time" to organize and pack up the bunk in anticipation of returning home.  That completed, she settled back in her seat, laptop and notebook open, and began fine-tuning the coming week's school menu, and preparing an email to the cooks.

Reaching the head of the line and pulling into the wash bay, the Trucker turned his key and hopped out to pass time in the waiting area.  His Passenger opted to remain, continuing to type in the dimmer lighting.

High pressure hoses were turned on and employed along the trailer, and up the right side of the cab.  Apparently the Passenger's window was not tight, as a spritz of soapy water squirted around the edges and dotted her laptop.  Yikes!

She speedily set the laptop on the Trucker's seat, and reached for paper towels.  Almost simultaneously, the high pressure hoses hit the left side of the cab.  The Trucker had forgotten to check his window, which was actually open about a quarter inch.  A wave of soapy water shot through the window, drenching the open laptop, the notebook, the dashboard, the Trucker's headset, AND his cell phone, which he had so thoughtfully left for his Passenger to use as a hotspot for WiFi access in his absence.

The Passenger hit high gear, scrambling to close the window and mop up the mess.  Carefully and quickly, with a prayer that all electronics would survive their impromptu bath.  Sigh.  She could have chosen to do this another time, that would have saved the laptop, notebook, and phone.  Yet, the Trucker could have remembered to close his window, that would have saved the seat, dash, and headset; the Passenger could have remembered to check both.  Then again, the truck could have waited for its bath, and we'd all have been done and home that much sooner!

The Passenger, as she wiped bubbly liquid from small places not equipped to handle it, thought about all the small choices that led to this minor catastrophe.  And the events beyond human control, like the snow, which gave rise to the road salt and muck in the first place.

Whether to avoid responsibility or search out a scapegoat, one can always find someone or something on which to lay the blame for inconvenient happenings.  Following that thought down its road, the Passenger could eventually find herself blaming the Almighty for allowing her electronics to be compromised by water!

In reality, God has given us all free will to make our own choices, for good or for ill.  Our lives are comprised of a multitude of small choices, one leading to the next, that affect our own lives and the lives of those around us, continually.  The challenge is to recognize where our actions will lead, and take responsibility for their consequences.  Whether it be remembering to close a window, choosing a project at a given time, stopping a thought before it is shaped and released into words by the tongue.

With His help, our lives can honor Him, and benefit those around us.  Or not.

Twenty miles down the road....snowflakes filled the air, and scudded in waves across the road.  Ah well, it was good while it lasted!

Montana Winter

It was midnight before the Trucker guided his rig into the Saltese Rest Area off Route 90, on the Idaho/Montana line.  One space remained on the hard snowpack that was the parking lot.  The day's miles were etched in his weary face.  

No quiet to be had, this night.  The thermometer stood at -2.  The engine would run all night to keep its fuel and its passengers warm.  Streetlights cast a yellow glow over the area, silent but for the the low rumbling growl of the eighteen wheeled dragons, exhaust billowing from their nostrils as they slept.

(Speaking of nostrils - those fine hairs inside one's nostrils freeze quickly in these temperatures, and crackle when one breathes.  And the Passenger learned it's best to keep one's mouth closed in such weather.  The cold is painful on sensitive teeth. ) 

  

Plows had done their work over the course of the winter months.  A good three feet of solid snow capped the building's roof.  More than that bordered the drive, in fact the building snuggled into snow up to its eaves, where the roof's cap took over.

The photos have a yellowish cast due to the streetlights.

Snow as high as the roof.

Trash cans dug out for accessibility.

The Trucker, patiently waiting.

Taken from the cab; the color change is from the headlights of another truck just pulling in to park.

At last, the Trucker's day is complete.  His truck grumbles contentedly under its breath, vibrating gently.  The bunk is warm.  Steps away is an equally warm building containing ample "facilities."

And tomorrow is another day.

ATI Inc., Albany, Oregon

A sunny Monday morning in Albany, Oregon.  28 degrees.  

Enroute to the delivery point, we pass a pedestrian clad in winter coat, hat, scarf, mittens, ankle socks, sneakers, and loose fitting, above-the-knee- shorts.  The Trucker's comment, "I will never understand."  The Passenger neither.  However, everyone has a very good reason for their beliefs and actions.  It's just not always apparent to the rest of the world.  And may only be correct as far as they have been willing to be informed.  Oh well.

Upon arrival at ATI, Inc. with his load of titanium powder, the Trucker is greeted by a friendly yet firm guard.  The Trucker needed to produce a laminated card from a previous delivery as proof that he has read and agreed to the code of conduct for this facility.  He also needed to show proof that he was in possession of regulation hard hat and safety vest as required by this facility.  In this complimentary attire...

...the Trucker was not convinced of the need for a photo.

With the Trucker under hard hat (the Passenger at times is not convinced it is necessary for him!), and inside vest, he was directed to proceed to building 21, which was actually the third building, the first being building 20, the second having a number not at all related to those on either side.

Given the preceding events, the Passenger understands that she will not be coming forth from the truck in this place, therefore no further photos will be forthcoming.  Instead she learns what it is about from Google.

Allegheny Technologies, Inc.  Headquartered in Pittsburg, which explains the Allegheny part.  Three locations in and around Albany, Oregon. Revenue of 3.6 billion in the last fiscal year.  

"We operate one of the world’s most advanced systems for the automated casting of large, complex, intricate titanium components for engine, airframe, launch vehicle and aerospace applications."

And the description goes on from there, but as the Passenger is lacking an engineering degree, Webster's would be needed to understand much more.  Interesting to think that titanium from this load may fly the friendly skies, or head further into space.

Within thirty minutes, the trailer was unloaded, paperwork signed.  After shedding his safety attire and carefully exiting, the Trucker is back on 34th street, and points his rig toward Route 5.  Destination, 370 miles north to Oronodo, Washington, for a load of apples, destined for the Philadelphia Market, and quite possibly the reader's table.  Timing will be tight, to arrive on the appointed schedule.

Route 5 begins in Vancouver, Canada, runs south through Washington, Oregon, and California, and finishes in Tiajuana, Mexico.  Would be interesting to drive the length of it one day, the Trucker muses.  One day....

But today, the sun is shining, a deadline looms, and apples await. 

How Does the Trucker Know?

10:00AM.  24 degrees.  Route 84, Ontario, Oregon.  A quiet Sunday morning.  Gospel bluegrass on the radio.

The Trucker swings into a rest area.  "Better stop here, before we head into the 'middle of nowhere'."

So we did.  The sparrows were twittering.  The restrooms were top notch clean, and WARM.

Back on the highway, the first sign we see?  No services for 74 miles. 

The Passenger pulls out her laptop to record an inspiration.  The Trucker comments, "Better use that thing quick.  We lose service in about half an hour."

This man.  How does he know these things??

Life on the road.  It is his life.

The Ranch House in Snowville, Utah

Late on a Saturday afternoon, the Trucker pulled up and parked by the Town Hall in Snowville, Utah, ext. 1871.  The truck, dirty and grimy from running through a Wyoming snow storm the night before.  Snow had melted off, leaving grit behind.  A working truck, we call it.

The locals' vehicles gave evidence of time of year as well; the flagpole listed decidedly eastward.

The Trucker had visited on his last trip, now was his Passenger's turn to experience this hidden gem.

The neon sign really is fully functional.  Each letter lights up individually; the camera just caught it mid-cycle.  Note the patient Trucker waiting on right.

Inside, the friendly (and only) waitress greeted us cheerfully, and ushered the Trucker to a table.  His Passenger had another stop to make first.

Cleaner than clean it was, with horseshoes for doorknobs inside and out, as well as paper holders by the throne.

Each table included a horseshoe fit into the wood at the corner, and varnished over.  Pardon the Trucker's elbow.

Each table also included a wooden rack of lighthearted reading.  A shelf just inside the door offered a small leave-a-book, take-a-book library.

Menus stored in a horseshoe rack.

The menu offered an astonishing array of choices for the size of the establishment.

And a reminder they are closed on Sundays.

The menu's back page offered local history.

And creative meal descriptions.  Difficult to read here, but the Trucker enjoyed a Rattlesnake Sandwich (steak, actually) with fries so fresh they were potatoes when we arrived.

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The Passenger had the 1/2 taco salad, minus the dressings.  When confirming this was indeed a half, the waitress allowed that "she does make them a little big."  Bit of an oxymoron, that.

The small room was arranged to allow maximum seating, though on this day at this time we and three others were the only patrons present.  The young woman who amply filled the role as cook had plenty of time to pull up a chair and chat with two other ladies and a small boy of an extreme case of the wiggles.  Later, when no further orders came her way, the cook was seen to park on top of a small chest freezer and pass the time of day on social media.  

Meanwhile the waitress cleaned, tidied, organized, and kept a close eye on the needs of the diners.

A corner booth overlooked by an erstwhile buck mule deer.

The fireplace, complete with a gas log and a fan to circulate warm air dominated the room.

As did another buck mule deer left of the fireplace.  His headgear was definitely on the unusual side.

A closeup of the saddle display - each corner of the fireplace had one.  The saddle rack was - yep - made of horseshoes.

A quiet stop, delicious meal, attentive service and unique decor.  We will be back.

Snow on the Highways of Life

March 2, 2019

It was a Saturday morning on Route 80, west of Walcott, Wyoming. Due to a snowstorm across the southern part of the state, Friday leaked into Saturday for the Trucker and his Passenger, to the tune of 2:30AM before it ended in a peaceful lot at Walcott, insulated by the falling snow.

Now 9:30AM, they were on the road again. Wintry precipitation, a misty mix of rain and snow, was still falling. Route 80 westbound was mostly snow covered, though not a deep snowpack. Slick, the WYDOT website warned, and electronic billboards flashed cautions and speed limits of 45mph. Visibility was occasional.

More traffic on the road than the night before, and mostly trucks. The Trucker drove cautiously, passed carefully when necessary, and in general created as much elbow room for the truck as possible. Knowing exactly what his truck would do in every situation and what he himself was capable of, did not guarantee that other drivers on the road could say the same.

West of Green River, on the eastbound side, traffic was stopped behind a tractor trailer, which had recently slid onto the median, the mangled tractor twisted round to point backwards along the trailer, resembling a bird whose neck had been wrung. Emergency vehicles were gathered round, lights flashing. A tow truck was in readiness.

Though some traffic, intercepted far enough back, has been detoured onto the frontage road to continue eastward, the rest bottlenecked behind the wreck. Approximately a half mile back, another rig, unable to stop in time, had spun completely around to face west again, separating from its tractor. Again emergency vehicles gathered around, and a large tow truck was working to clear the disabled truck away.

As the Trucker and his Passenger proceeded carefully westbound, vehicles in the opposing lanes continued to flow eastward, only to dam up behind the wrecks. And inevitably, twice more had trucks who in their attempt to stop, slid into the vehicles already stopped. One sideways into another, ending up across both lanes, another having steered into the median to avoid a collision. Finally, a whole rig, still connected, had plowed off the right eastbound lane into deep snow, and appeared to have been temporarily abandoned.

The Passenger’s heart went out to all those whose lives had been disrupted. Schedules in disarray, insurance arrangements and repairs to make, jobs to worry about. None of these mishaps would have occurred were it not for the snow storm creating slippery roads and compromised visibility.

But when her eyes lifted away from the confusion below to the gently falling snow above, a whole new perspective appeared. Drifting earthward, feather softly coating everything in its path, the snow was startling in its whiteness. Clinging to crack and crevice in the mountain rocks, frosting all the evergreen trees and dried tumbleweeds. Concealing the road’s grime and creating bushy eyebrows on every truck visor. Danger created by roads without traction seemed a small price to pay for such beauty.

It occurred to her, this is not unlike life. The path we travel – we think we know the way, know how the road will twist and turn, think we can anticipate every potential pitfall. When people or situations  appear, showing us attractive options, we are tempted to take them in stride and follow them along the path, without knowing where we are being led.

True discernment is needed. Some help us along the way, but some merely remove our traction, then step back and allow us to self destruct. When we place our trust in other people, we cannot always maintain a clear perspective of who they are and what the future holds.

One of the sayings we repeated frequently to our children, “What you do will affect everyone around you, and everyone around them as well.” As with those trucks, when they crashed, the lives of many others were changed as well. Some were injured and needed help to move forward, time to heal. Others were delayed, potentially lost jobs. As a rule, what was damaged would never again be the same.

Where does this discernment come from?

If any man lack wisdom, let him ask of God, who gives to all liberally, and in him is no shadow of turning, James 1:5