Jobbing

A vintage ballot box from the
Rosenberg Library Museum.

Currently, I'm the bread-winner in the Sunshine household. I keep telling Marty I'm supporting him in the fashion he's used to--mind you he grew up one of seven in a one bath, single-wide located in the middle of the desert.

Anyway, I've been hired to help with the Bowie County primary recount. My gig is for two days and pays slightly more than minimum wage. We take a sealed ballot box, unseal it, empty it, sort the ballots into political party and then hand count several of the races. 

Several of us sit in a locked (from the outside) room with several tables. There are three at each table. We are given a specific race to audit--like dogcatcher. One person selects a ballot. Calls out the name on the ballot ("Jones"), a second person marks a tally mark next to Jones on their sheet. The third person watches the entire process making sure the person calling out the name and the other who marked the sheet do it correctly. Lather, rinse, repeat. The goal is for our count to match the count that came out on election day. Today our table recounted more than 1,200s ballot in five races. 

Though tedious, I'm working with great folks and the day flew. However, I let it slip I won't be working in the polling places for the next election. I've been told there will be "methods" to change my mind. I offered to work behind the scenes (if I'm available) but the polling place? Nah... 

Someone asked me if I was "afraid" to work the November election. Another woman pointed to me and said, "Not her. The voters are afraid of crossing THAT Yankee." No. I'm not afraid of voters. The voters are great. It is fair to say I have zero interest in standing up for 18 hours and working with an unpleasant co-judge. 

In other news, Marty has been contacted for a potential job. The kind of job that comes with benefits. That doesn't mean an interview but it means a company has told him they are interested in maybe, potentially, possibly talking to him sometime in the near future. Perhaps. Nobody here is holding their breath. But it is nice that someone noticed Marty's talents. 

Around the World in 36 Hours

The Eiffel Tower in Paris Texas

This past week, Marty and I went on a road trip. We went to Dallas, Paris, Reno, Detroit and Boston.* And, we didn't leave Texas. By the way, taking the back roads took no longer in time and distance than taking the Interstate.

Sadly, we didn't make it to Athens, Carthage or Naples. We don't even have to go go as far to see these three places! 

While in the Dallas-Fort Worth area, in addition to buying groceries, checking out an 1860s historic village in McKinney TX and shoe shopping (a bust), we bought a new-to-us car. Marty named it "Stebbins"** because he's is a big believer in unfortunate nicknames. 

*If I understand the lore correctly, Boston is actually a suburb of New Boston. At one time, the area was once made up of Boston, Old Boston and New Boston Texas. Currently, New Boston gets most of the fame and glory, but "Boston," exists within the boundaries of New Boston somewhere. 

**Marty is insisting you know that the car is named after Purley Stebbins from Rex Stout's Nero Wolfe mysteries we both love.  

Tacky. Even in Texas

This past weekend I went to a gender reveal party for Polly's pal, Margo and Margo's husband, Ralph. I hadn't met Ralph before this weekend. But I'd heard a lot about him from various folks who aren't Polly. 

This shin-dig was held in the local Baptist church's all purpose room. I'd like to point out, the attendance included about 30 folk in ages ranging from 6 months to 90, with the younger set playing tag and running around throughout out the room. 

To find out what Margo's latest bundle o'joy was going to be, Ralph was to shoot a toy arrow into a balloon. The balloon was against the wall. He missed from four feet away. So, what did he do? Something reasonable you say, you know... like reshoot the arrow? Nope. Ralph pulled out his firearm and began waving it around.* 

Now then, this isn't a second amendment conversation. This is a: "Don't be a dumbass, it's just a balloon and we can wait until the baby's born if you can't find a reasonable way to let the rest of us know if you are having a boy or a girl," chat. Or if you prefer: "Obviously your frontal lobe isn't fully developed and why are you breeding?" talk. However, Sherman summed it up for the rest of us when he barked: "Put your weapon away!" In the end, someone handed Ralph a knife and he managed to successfully neutralize the balloon to convey they are having another boy. 

I commented to Sherman that I'm apparently a fuddy-duddy and would have been perfectly fine to have just read the news on Facebook. Sherman thought that would have been a better solution than spending an afternoon playing baby bingo. I knew I liked Sherman, but I'm not so sure I'm a fan of Ralph. 

*Even though I am certain it was loaded, at no time did I feel in danger and I don't feel like anyone else felt like it either. Ralph just looked like a fool who doesn't respect his firearm. 

My Latest Catch Phrase

The only phrase I seem capable of uttering in answer to anyone's questions these days is, "I don't know." 

Anyone: "How's Marty's job search?"

Me: "I don't know." 

I do know. The recruiter he spoke with said his resume makes him look, "old." Which is true but there's no way to hide 35 years at the same company. The same recruiter said he gets around one hundred resumes a day from folks who've been replaced by AI--just like Marty. In addition, the Nation's job's numbers just came out, they stink.  

Anyone: "What are you going to do if Marty doesn't get a job?" 

Me: "I don't know." 

The truth is, I do know. It's complicated and we aren't ready to reveal our plan because there are many moving parts that spark more questions and unknowns. I can summarize it by saying I suspect I won't be living Texarkana by September. I guarantee I won't be moving to Yoakum, Texas.  

Anyone: "Has Sherman picked a law school?" 

Me: "I don't know." 

I know Sherman has options. He has to make a decision by the end of the month. He will be gone by July. 

Anyone: "What's going on with Polly and Sherman?" 

Me: "I don't know." 

This is half-true. I have enough life experience to interpret what I'm seeing and hearing. But it isn't my relationship and I'd rather be adjacent than in the middle.  

Anyone: "How's Luna?'

Me: "I don't know." 

Luna is struggling. I've had to lift her onto the bed a couple of times because she isn't always capable of jumping. Other days, she is nuzzling Roosevelt or letting Leon attack her tail. 

Anyone: "How are you doing?" 

Me: "I don't know." 

I'm fine. Tired of being in a holding pattern. Tired of uncertainty. Tired of 20 legs at home all hours of the day. Tired of living without sunshine--I miss vitamin D and UV light--I really need these clouds outside and the ones in my life to go away. 

Yoakum Texas

Hello. And welcome to another edition of, "Are we desperate enough to move here?" 

Today's contestant is Yoakum Texas, which as the song points out, is "1,000 miles from nowhere," and I'd be willing to believe that is highly accurate.  

Seriously, when Marty told me about a job there, I looked up this place. If I agreed to move here--which, for the record, I won't--it is closer to Beeville Texas (Y'all remember Beeville???) than anywhere else. And that's still an hour away, along Texas backroads. It is also about smack-dab between Houston and San Antonio, but to get to either place also requires navigating back Texas roads for a longer amount of time.  

A few details about the (I'm sure) charming metropolis of Yoakum. The population is hovering around 5000, but smaller than Wake Village, TX. There's a Catholic church. And it appears Yoakum is ambitious, because there is a "College Drive," but alas, no institute of higher learning. Lately I've raised the bar on my qualifications for any small Texas town to be in the running as a future Sunshine home. One of them is it must have more than one Dollar General. Bummer. There's just the single location. 

Let's talk about medical for a moment. There is a hospital. Honestly, it looks like a repurposed Baptist church. 

Welcome to Yoakum General Hospital,
where they'll save your life or your soul. 

 But that's not what exactly got me. While searching around, I found this article: Here's How to Spend the Night in a Haunted Texas Hospital.  You're welcome. 

Now then, I'm certain Yoakum has charm. After all, according to the Internet, Yoakum is rooted in deep history. Named after Benjamin Yoakum, the town was formed in 1887. Several notable people claim to be from Yoakum, but they've all fled. 

I told Marty when he mentioned this place, if he felt like he needed to take a job there, fine. I'd be listing our modest Wake Village ranch home for $2 million and stay here and wait for it to sell.  

Random Texarkana

I found out today, as a Texas resident, I can join the Houston Public Library system for free! I am so thrilled! As a resident of Wake Village, I can pay $20 a year to use the Texarkana Library--which has a limited selection of reasonable reading and listening material. This is a game changer! 

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Last week I went on a little road trip with Tessa, who needed to get her car serviced. The closest dealership for her car was in Dallas. Marty has new-to-us car fever and wanted a play by play on every vehicle I "looked at" while at the dealership. I saw a blue car and a black car. They both had air conditioning. Because I hate shopping, I invested more time buying my last toaster than I did looking at car's on Marty's behalf. 

By the way, I had a great time with Tessa, who understands I'm dealing with a bit o'cabin fever around here. 

Oh yes! Some time next week Marty and I are limping the minivan to Dallas to buy a new-to-us car. We were going to do this six months ago and decided to wait until Marty got a job. He doesn't have a job yet, but we are in serious need of transportation.   

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Polly's bestie is having a gender reveal party this weekend. Polly is dragging Sherman along because he has yet to meet the bestie and her ginormous family. I was invited because I know the ginormous family (plus Polly's friend is very sweet). I like Sherman and offered to go as his emotional support human. I like Marty too and told him he could stay home and spend that time surfing Web sites of Dallas car dealerships. 

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Weird small-town quirks that I just don't get. I get text messages from people our family knows asking if Buckaroo or Polly might be available to help out with something or another. These same people have both young adults' phone numbers, but instead of reaching out to them, they reach out to me--like I'm setting up a playdate on my offsprings' behalf. My adult children are responsible enough to manage their own schedules. 

This past week alone: Bob who owns the quilt shop asked me if Buck could help him move something. I remind Bob I don't know Buck's schedule. Deb, the Queen of the Coronas, asked me if Polly was available for an odd job. She then sent a second text asking if Buck was available for a different odd job. I know she has their number! The head of Bowie County elections sent a reminder text to me, because Buck and Marty* were expected at a meeting the next day. I responded with their phone numbers, saying, "just in case you need to let them know, here's there numbers." But he'd already sent a message to both of them. Sheesh! 

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Now then, this bit of hypocrisy goes both ways. I once called a doctor Polly (who was 23 at the time) was seeing and I had zero affiliation with. I called and asked for Polly's prescription to be sent to a different pharmacy. They did it without questioning me or confirming with Polly. A few weeks ago I thought about starting our taxes. I needed Buck's interest statements from his investment account (he's a saver!). I just waltzed in to his investment guy's office, asked for it and explained to the receptionist I was Buck's mother and I was getting taxes taken care of. No questions asked. No calls to Buck to see if it was a problem. To be fair, Buck knew I was out running errands and I was heading there. He had his phone on standby in case someone needed Buck's authorization. Apparently they didn't. Try that in a big city. 

*Buck and Marty were hired by Bowie County to set up voting machines for this election. Buck has done it before. It's a real job with procedures and it pays better than being an election judge. I doubt anyone else's spouse was sent a reminder text for their hubby to "remember" to show up. Double sheesh! 

The Day After

We had eleven of these left
at the end of the night.

Yesterday was a long introvert-hell day. Not only did I have to interact pleasantly all that time, I stood from 6 a.m. to11:45 p.m., when I finally collapsed into the minivan at the New Boston* courthouse and let Marty drive me home. Though the polls closed at 7 (our last voter left at 7:45 p.m.), new election guidelines passed down from above say that every unused ballot must be counted at the courthouse. There are 25 precincts in Bowie County. And I got home earlier than most.  

Today, I'm brain dead. I ache from top to bottom. Even with my glasses on right now, my vision is blurry. My phone is off. I'm sitting at my desk, with headphones on, listening to nothing. This is recovery day. 

Our voter turnout was one of the best in the county. I hope I did my part to give them a great experience. That's what I'm committed to. Voters were mostly pleasant. The ones that weren't can live in their own karma. Very few had to be told to get off their phones. We had moms and dads who brought their littles with them to vote. I used to do that when my babies were small. And we had a couple of first-time voters  we celebrated and got the other voters to celebrate with us. 

As promised, Tish handled the paperwork--and I'm thrilled she did. She's good at it and I am not. My clerks were wonderful and good sports. As for Tish, my life will go on quite peacefully if I never work with her again. I wish her a beautiful life. 

I've enjoyed my time working at the polls. Even if I don't leave Texarkana, I think I'm done with elections for now. Perhaps I'll change my mind, someday when I'm willing to take my headphones off. 

Side note: nobody who recently changed their name had trouble voting. Nobody had to produce anything other than a state ID--though we took handgun licenses, passports and military ID. It wasn't a problem. So, no matter what you might hear on the news, please don't believe it. Nobody who was registered to vote was turned away. 

*Bowie County's county seat is New Boston, a town of 4,612--smaller than Wake Village in population, but much larger in land mass. It is 20 minutes either via back country roads or through the construction on I-30. I remind myself when I drive to New Boston, it would be like driving to Chandler or Queen Creek if I lived in Mesa, but with less traffic. Living here, it feels very far.