The trees are getting finished faster than I am coming up with anything interesting to say about them. To pick up a few loose ends: On the one hand, when some of my friends and acquaintances heard what I was doing this season, they wanted to know if I liked working outdoors, or if the trees were cut down before I decorated them.
On the other hand, however, the job description of "tree trimmer," along with my glittery countenance, has made me memorable to the people I'm taking a class with on Wednesday nights. I feel a little sad that I don't have too many new anecdotes to share with them.
Monday, October 29, 2007
Sunday, October 28, 2007
From Nesting to Wiring
Well I am just so impressed with myself. Only a short while ago, I was building nests; now I've evolved to wiring whole buildings! Not too many jobs offer such breadth of experience.
The Brotherhood of Electrical Workers need not worry, as the wiring I'm doing (fortunately for all living beings) has nothing to do with electricity; it's simply a means of anchoring larger-than-usual ornaments, which happen to be shaped like buildings, deep within the branches of a tree. Like--tree houses. Or--birdhouses. Uh-oh, the more I think about it, the more similarities I see between human architecture and nests--it's simply just that we people tend to build our houses on the ground. And so perhaps I had best quit thinking now, before everything turns into a pineapple.
The Brotherhood of Electrical Workers need not worry, as the wiring I'm doing (fortunately for all living beings) has nothing to do with electricity; it's simply a means of anchoring larger-than-usual ornaments, which happen to be shaped like buildings, deep within the branches of a tree. Like--tree houses. Or--birdhouses. Uh-oh, the more I think about it, the more similarities I see between human architecture and nests--it's simply just that we people tend to build our houses on the ground. And so perhaps I had best quit thinking now, before everything turns into a pineapple.
Wednesday, October 24, 2007
The Half-Life of Glitter and Other Secrets of the Universe
Try sneaking up on a Christmas tree, and you may observe ornaments hung deep within the tree--practically hugging the trunk--visible only as flashes of color or reflected light when you walk by. Though it is not perceived individually, and it is not perceived in its entirety, each of these tucked-away ornaments makes its contribution to the whole. One of my coworkers claimed that the hidden decorations add "invisible girth." She is so right: You can feel their weight, sense their shape
Try sneaking up on a tree-trimmer, and you may wonder, "what is the half-life of glitter on the human scalp?"
Try sneaking up on a tree-trimmer, and you may wonder, "what is the half-life of glitter on the human scalp?"
Be that as it may ... to reprise the tea kettle theme from an earlier entry: I actually attended a tea this past weekend. The hostess had outdone herself preparing a bountiful spread of good foods, and she had three different kinds of tea in three different tea pots, each perched on a round metal platform with a hole in the center. Underneath each pot of tea was a petite round candle in a metal cup. Each candle burned with a small bright open flame. I gazed in enchantment for a moment, and then blurted out: "Wow--I didn't know tea lights were ever used to warm tea!"
Monday, October 22, 2007
autumn morning
I am up early this morning and it's dark outside, prompting reflections about this time of year in this part of the world. October is generally a time when everything seems to decline--the length of the daylight hours, the temperature, and my mood. But this year is different; only the daylight is slipping away. It remains warm outside, and I dwell within an artificially lit, thermostatically controlled environment, happily overpreparing for a holiday that is over two months away. Perhaps "gearing up" at this time of year is unnatural, but it feels healthy, even beneficial. At any rate, I wake to discover October is two-thirds over before I've even remembered to dread its snake-hiss changeability and the inevitably barren landscape at its end.
And all from hours of unwrapping ornaments apparently constructed from plastic and spit!
And all from hours of unwrapping ornaments apparently constructed from plastic and spit!
Thursday, October 18, 2007
Everything Is a Pineapple
A few years ago when I took a drawing class, I spent a month drawing a pineapple. Per the assignment, I created a semi-abstract composition consisting of multiple views of the pineapple—the pineapple viewed from different angles, at various “zooms,” and dissected into an assortment of parts.
Characteristically, I got way too into this project, not in the process of drawing, so much, but in reading and thinking about pineapples. Eventually, it seemed to me that “everything is a pineapple.”
Now what do pineapples have to do with Christmas trees? Not so very much, perhaps, but I can’t think of a better summary for my thoughts, which are about the interrelatedness of apparently unrelated things.
There is one clear connection between pineapples and evergreen trees, and that is the pine (spruce, fir, etc.) cone. Pineapples, in English and at least a few other languages, were so named because of their visual resemblance to a “pine” cone. Interestingly, both the scales on the pineapple and the “whatevers” on the pine cone are arranged according to the same geometric pattern, an arrangement that serves in Nature to pack the most punch--it fits the greatest possible number of seeds into a given available amount of space. The patterns involve Fibonacci numbers, those same Fibonacci numbers that figured in the plot of The Da Vinci Code: 1, 1, 2, 3, 5, 8, 13, 21, 33, 54, 87. . . . This series of numbers has, historically, been used to determine pleasing proportions in architecture since the time of the Ancient Greeks. The proportion is so appealing to human eyes that it is often called “the golden mean.” Anyway, at the time I was working on my project, the more I looked around me, the more I saw real-life evidence of the golden mean. Hence my saying “everything is a pineapple.”
Ah, well, at any rate . . . I hope I’ve at least suggested the general theme of design. Now that I’ve taken the idea this far, I am going to hijack it in a different direction—remember, I’m trying to explore relationships between apparently unrelated things.
For millennia, my day job has been that of a copyeditor and proofreader. Editorial professionals make a vital contribution to published writings of all types. They are not, however, usually the authors of the material. In the most general terms, the copyeditor’s job is to discern the author’s intentions and then tweak the language—the author’s use of words, sentence structure, and so on—so that the message (that is, what the author wants to say) will come through to its intended audience with maximum clarity and style.
I thought perhaps I might be making a career change, but I find that tree-trimming is more like copyediting than I ever would have supposed. In contrast to professional designers, who are judged in part by the individuality and originality they bring to a project, copyeditors are accustomed to interpreting and implementing another person’s message without leaving their own distinctive mark on the work. In this respect, the copyeditor-turned-tree-trimmer has an advantage over an interior decorator, say, or a florist. . . .
Oh, man, I am too tired to think any more right now.
Characteristically, I got way too into this project, not in the process of drawing, so much, but in reading and thinking about pineapples. Eventually, it seemed to me that “everything is a pineapple.”
Now what do pineapples have to do with Christmas trees? Not so very much, perhaps, but I can’t think of a better summary for my thoughts, which are about the interrelatedness of apparently unrelated things.
There is one clear connection between pineapples and evergreen trees, and that is the pine (spruce, fir, etc.) cone. Pineapples, in English and at least a few other languages, were so named because of their visual resemblance to a “pine” cone. Interestingly, both the scales on the pineapple and the “whatevers” on the pine cone are arranged according to the same geometric pattern, an arrangement that serves in Nature to pack the most punch--it fits the greatest possible number of seeds into a given available amount of space. The patterns involve Fibonacci numbers, those same Fibonacci numbers that figured in the plot of The Da Vinci Code: 1, 1, 2, 3, 5, 8, 13, 21, 33, 54, 87. . . . This series of numbers has, historically, been used to determine pleasing proportions in architecture since the time of the Ancient Greeks. The proportion is so appealing to human eyes that it is often called “the golden mean.” Anyway, at the time I was working on my project, the more I looked around me, the more I saw real-life evidence of the golden mean. Hence my saying “everything is a pineapple.”
Ah, well, at any rate . . . I hope I’ve at least suggested the general theme of design. Now that I’ve taken the idea this far, I am going to hijack it in a different direction—remember, I’m trying to explore relationships between apparently unrelated things.
For millennia, my day job has been that of a copyeditor and proofreader. Editorial professionals make a vital contribution to published writings of all types. They are not, however, usually the authors of the material. In the most general terms, the copyeditor’s job is to discern the author’s intentions and then tweak the language—the author’s use of words, sentence structure, and so on—so that the message (that is, what the author wants to say) will come through to its intended audience with maximum clarity and style.
I thought perhaps I might be making a career change, but I find that tree-trimming is more like copyediting than I ever would have supposed. In contrast to professional designers, who are judged in part by the individuality and originality they bring to a project, copyeditors are accustomed to interpreting and implementing another person’s message without leaving their own distinctive mark on the work. In this respect, the copyeditor-turned-tree-trimmer has an advantage over an interior decorator, say, or a florist. . . .
Oh, man, I am too tired to think any more right now.
Monday, October 15, 2007
What Next?
The length of the tree-trimming season is uncertain. It might be succeeded by a holiday merchandising season, but I don't know my schedule beyond tomorrow. They "keep stringing me along" and "leave me hanging." (Sorry, couldn't resist.) The uncertainty is OK with me, but it makes it hard to plan ahead. In any event, I hope to continue until the day after Christmas and then--then what? Maybe I can be part of a team decorating for New Year's Eve, as I am unlikely to gain fame and fortune via this blog.
Of course, there's always editing and proofreading to be done.
I spent most of the day today scouring stock rooms for various SKUs. This involved searching both high and low. Searching "high" meant reading the sides of boxes with numerals that were legible only from the top of a very tall ladder, and searching "low" meant crouching down to check the sides of boxes that were sitting on the floor. Although the search was frustrating and felt unproductive, it did put editorial work in a new perspective. Pages are flat and uniform. Any given page in a book can be grasped securely in one hand and viewed in its entirety in a single glance. Gotta stop complaining about the little things.
Of course, there's always editing and proofreading to be done.
I spent most of the day today scouring stock rooms for various SKUs. This involved searching both high and low. Searching "high" meant reading the sides of boxes with numerals that were legible only from the top of a very tall ladder, and searching "low" meant crouching down to check the sides of boxes that were sitting on the floor. Although the search was frustrating and felt unproductive, it did put editorial work in a new perspective. Pages are flat and uniform. Any given page in a book can be grasped securely in one hand and viewed in its entirety in a single glance. Gotta stop complaining about the little things.
Sunday, October 14, 2007
This Job Is for the Birds
This job is for the birds! That doesn't mean I don't like it. Just, I have a new appreciation for the work of our feathered friends. How the h--- do they weave nests out of not-very-flexible materials without being possessed of two five-fingered hands?
In the birds' nests we have woven we have placed artificial cardinals. We are waiting to see whether anyone notices they are two male cardinals. I think birders are more likely to be offended than anyone else--but we're prepared with arguments about being "progressive."...
Please appreciate the intensive research and development that has gone into the preceding two paragaphs. First, I needed to look up the proper participles for the infinitive "to weave." Second, I tried to find online videos of birds weaving nests. For the first item, you see my choice above, right or wrong though it may be. For the second, I didn't find anything dramatic. However, I was able to learn that birds weave nests using their beaks, and that they stand on or in the nest while working. Owing to relative disproportion of size, I didn't have this option.
I am trying to start a blog. So far I can't access it.
In the birds' nests we have woven we have placed artificial cardinals. We are waiting to see whether anyone notices they are two male cardinals. I think birders are more likely to be offended than anyone else--but we're prepared with arguments about being "progressive."...
Please appreciate the intensive research and development that has gone into the preceding two paragaphs. First, I needed to look up the proper participles for the infinitive "to weave." Second, I tried to find online videos of birds weaving nests. For the first item, you see my choice above, right or wrong though it may be. For the second, I didn't find anything dramatic. However, I was able to learn that birds weave nests using their beaks, and that they stand on or in the nest while working. Owing to relative disproportion of size, I didn't have this option.
I am trying to start a blog. So far I can't access it.
Thursday, October 11, 2007
Trials and Tribulations of A First-Time Tree-Trimmer
9/11/07
I started a seasonal job a few days ago. I am helping decorate Christmas trees for a regional department store, and ... I love not being behind a desk. I feel like a big kid who has access to all the beautiful (gaudy, glittery, tacky) things in the world, and gets paid for playing with them! I am astonished when it's time to go home. (I'm not astonished by lunchtime--I get hungry in the middle of the day.) What am I going to do once Christmas is over??!!
My thoughts might flat-line temporarily but my hands keep working of their own accord. I cannot possibly get too far lost and confused in my work because all I need to do to get back on track is look at what I am doing. It's OK for me to have wacky ideas a mile a minute, and also to chatter with my coworkers. Wow!
Today I helped light the Christmas tree from hell. To make a long story short there were a series of improbable electrical problems (fortunately for me, I was not the one who got shocked). But, um, if there are going to be problems to be dealt with, best to learn what to do early on--especially when it's not busy yet, right?... In fact, despite all the time-consuming problems there was some concern that we'd run out of things to do today and have to go home early. I suggested, in my sweet angelic way, that if we finished putting up lights, then we could carefully remove them again just to look busy. In actuality we were able to stretch tasks out to almost the end of the day without resorting to such dastardly measures. Nevertheless, I am in my element here.
At the end of the day I paused briefly before Tree from Hell and bowed my head and put my hands together in prayer. "Please Stay Lit!" I said out loud. When I looked up there was the visual merchandising supervisor. He just smiled.
Visual merchandising--that's the name of this new thing I'm interested in. Indeed, the only thing that prevented me of dying from embarrassment is that I'm so in love with this kind of work.
9/19/07
I am tired, but I know I'm getting at least some sleep, because the other night I dreamed there was a meeting for all the tree-trimmers. We gathered at a round table that was too small to accommodate all of us, so we grouped ourselves, one sitting, one standing, all around the table. Just before the meeting was supposed to start, some people decided to go get coffee. I decided I wanted to get a cup of tea, so I decided to go with them. We went to the kitchenette, which was not the real-life kitchenette. In the dream-kitchenette I discovered the provisions with which to make coffee but none to make tea. I considered getting coffee but decided no, I really wanted tea. Disappointed, I headed back to the meeting, where the manager, who was not the real-life manager, was droning on: "And as you know, the tea kettle has been transferred to the home office, where it's hyperlinked to the main computer so that we can download the latest news from Washington in real time. Therefore, we cannot currently offer tea at this location...."
I think this dream may have been prompted by the fact that, by decree, the TV in the RL kitchenette is kept tuned to CNN.
Subconscious awareness about the importance of tea kettles notwithstanding, this particular tree-trimmer forgot today was Primary day. Thus good, hard labor and the concomitant fatigue accomplished something that not even the 9/11 attacks could bring about: I forgot to vote. Instead of thinking about participatory democracy this afternoon, I wondered what to do with the last fifty minutes of my workday. I thought pretending to be a cardboard box might be a good idea.
I'll let everyone know when I perfect the technique.
[I’ve lost track of the date this was written.]
I am even starting to appreciate the color pink. Today I helped decorate a tree which is very girlish in style and has a lot of pink ornaments. Among them were little pink dresses on hangers, looking about the right size for a standard Barbie doll. And I got a great and "happifying" idea. When I was little, my mother designed and stitched together awesome outfits for my dolls. (Sometimes she'd make a real-life-sized dress for me and a matching one for my Barbie.) My dad made ingenious little "closets" for these clothes out of shoe boxes and dowels. I always put the clothes away on their little plastic hangers....You can guess the rest. Yes, I've kept these special things for all these years. Finally... I can use the fancy dresses as Christmas ornaments, and Mom will smile down upon me from Heaven.
Thursday, October 4, 2007
The trees at the main store are all ready for the "grand opening," so we tree-trimmers have taken our act on the road. Four of us traveled in my car, and four others traveled together after meeting at another location.
During our morning commute, everyone in my car voted to stop at the Dunkin Donuts on the Hutchinson River Parkway. We were feeling leisurely, so we went inside rather than using the drive-through.
When we got to the department store we found that the other crew members had arrived ahead of us. The first person to greet us had been a passenger in the other car, and the hello she gave us was, "We saw you in Dunkin Donuts when we were driving by!" I felt a little betrayed. But I didn’t have any concise way of expressing my discomfort and I let it go. Later, one of my passengers admitted to having had the same reaction, and expressed it perfectly: “Dude, why you blow my spot?” FWIW, I think our coworker spoke out of mingled admiration and regret. None of the people in the car she rode in had known there was a Dunkin Donuts along the highway and they were already passing it by the time they noticed it.
The store we traveled to was quite lovely, except perhaps the stock rooms. I didn't see much of the stock rooms, as they were dark enough to develop film in. Apparently they are not only dark but also poorly stocked, as the managers were compelled to send somebody to Home Depot to purchase two strands of red lights for us.
I started a seasonal job a few days ago. I am helping decorate Christmas trees for a regional department store, and ... I love not being behind a desk. I feel like a big kid who has access to all the beautiful (gaudy, glittery, tacky) things in the world, and gets paid for playing with them! I am astonished when it's time to go home. (I'm not astonished by lunchtime--I get hungry in the middle of the day.) What am I going to do once Christmas is over??!!
My thoughts might flat-line temporarily but my hands keep working of their own accord. I cannot possibly get too far lost and confused in my work because all I need to do to get back on track is look at what I am doing. It's OK for me to have wacky ideas a mile a minute, and also to chatter with my coworkers. Wow!
Today I helped light the Christmas tree from hell. To make a long story short there were a series of improbable electrical problems (fortunately for me, I was not the one who got shocked). But, um, if there are going to be problems to be dealt with, best to learn what to do early on--especially when it's not busy yet, right?... In fact, despite all the time-consuming problems there was some concern that we'd run out of things to do today and have to go home early. I suggested, in my sweet angelic way, that if we finished putting up lights, then we could carefully remove them again just to look busy. In actuality we were able to stretch tasks out to almost the end of the day without resorting to such dastardly measures. Nevertheless, I am in my element here.
At the end of the day I paused briefly before Tree from Hell and bowed my head and put my hands together in prayer. "Please Stay Lit!" I said out loud. When I looked up there was the visual merchandising supervisor. He just smiled.
Visual merchandising--that's the name of this new thing I'm interested in. Indeed, the only thing that prevented me of dying from embarrassment is that I'm so in love with this kind of work.
9/19/07
I am tired, but I know I'm getting at least some sleep, because the other night I dreamed there was a meeting for all the tree-trimmers. We gathered at a round table that was too small to accommodate all of us, so we grouped ourselves, one sitting, one standing, all around the table. Just before the meeting was supposed to start, some people decided to go get coffee. I decided I wanted to get a cup of tea, so I decided to go with them. We went to the kitchenette, which was not the real-life kitchenette. In the dream-kitchenette I discovered the provisions with which to make coffee but none to make tea. I considered getting coffee but decided no, I really wanted tea. Disappointed, I headed back to the meeting, where the manager, who was not the real-life manager, was droning on: "And as you know, the tea kettle has been transferred to the home office, where it's hyperlinked to the main computer so that we can download the latest news from Washington in real time. Therefore, we cannot currently offer tea at this location...."
I think this dream may have been prompted by the fact that, by decree, the TV in the RL kitchenette is kept tuned to CNN.
Subconscious awareness about the importance of tea kettles notwithstanding, this particular tree-trimmer forgot today was Primary day. Thus good, hard labor and the concomitant fatigue accomplished something that not even the 9/11 attacks could bring about: I forgot to vote. Instead of thinking about participatory democracy this afternoon, I wondered what to do with the last fifty minutes of my workday. I thought pretending to be a cardboard box might be a good idea.
I'll let everyone know when I perfect the technique.
[I’ve lost track of the date this was written.]
I am even starting to appreciate the color pink. Today I helped decorate a tree which is very girlish in style and has a lot of pink ornaments. Among them were little pink dresses on hangers, looking about the right size for a standard Barbie doll. And I got a great and "happifying" idea. When I was little, my mother designed and stitched together awesome outfits for my dolls. (Sometimes she'd make a real-life-sized dress for me and a matching one for my Barbie.) My dad made ingenious little "closets" for these clothes out of shoe boxes and dowels. I always put the clothes away on their little plastic hangers....You can guess the rest. Yes, I've kept these special things for all these years. Finally... I can use the fancy dresses as Christmas ornaments, and Mom will smile down upon me from Heaven.
Thursday, October 4, 2007
The trees at the main store are all ready for the "grand opening," so we tree-trimmers have taken our act on the road. Four of us traveled in my car, and four others traveled together after meeting at another location.
During our morning commute, everyone in my car voted to stop at the Dunkin Donuts on the Hutchinson River Parkway. We were feeling leisurely, so we went inside rather than using the drive-through.
When we got to the department store we found that the other crew members had arrived ahead of us. The first person to greet us had been a passenger in the other car, and the hello she gave us was, "We saw you in Dunkin Donuts when we were driving by!" I felt a little betrayed. But I didn’t have any concise way of expressing my discomfort and I let it go. Later, one of my passengers admitted to having had the same reaction, and expressed it perfectly: “Dude, why you blow my spot?” FWIW, I think our coworker spoke out of mingled admiration and regret. None of the people in the car she rode in had known there was a Dunkin Donuts along the highway and they were already passing it by the time they noticed it.
The store we traveled to was quite lovely, except perhaps the stock rooms. I didn't see much of the stock rooms, as they were dark enough to develop film in. Apparently they are not only dark but also poorly stocked, as the managers were compelled to send somebody to Home Depot to purchase two strands of red lights for us.
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