Rachael

I found a kitten this morning. I was driving to work and I saw it, sitting peacefully right on the white line, just out of traffic’s way. I thought, huh. That’s weird. That kitten isn’t running away from the cars whizzing right in front of her. I passed her, and two seconds later I realized she must be hurt. I pulled over. Ran back. Picked her up.

She was about 16 weeks old, I’d guess, just at that age where they start to put on weight and fill out and lengthen. She was white and fluffy, with dark smudges at the paws, nose and ear-tips. I approached. She just sat there and looked at me. There was a trace of blood at her lips. I picked her up. She didn’t fight me, not at first. I walked as gently and as quickly as I could to my car, half a block up the street. When I opened the door of the car, she started to fight, but I held on, and tucked her into a spot by the wheel-wheel on the passenger-side floor. She curled up and just looked at me. I drove to work, just two more blocks down the road.

I made calls. I’m only visiting the area and I didn’t know who to call first. The best I could find that early was an emergency vet thirty minutes up the road. I couldn’t take that kind of time off. There was no one to work my position, and it would have been at least an hour round-trip. I wouldn’t be allowed to leave.

So I called the animal shelter. I found out where the supervisor was. I drove the two blocks to meet her at the police department (I didn’t even ask permission to leave — I was scared they’d say no, just said I’d be right back), and I loaded the kitten into the crate. There was more blood coming out of the kitten’s mouth, and she could only crawl on her belly when she entered the crate — she couldn’t bear weight anymore.

The animal shelter woman nodded at me. I opened my mouth. She gave me a look. I didn’t ask. I couldn’t.

So I can still tell myself that perhaps the supervisor fell in love with the fluffy thing and got the thousands-of-dollars emergency surgery she needed and will adopt her to a loving, happy, indoor-cat home. But really, I know that she was put down. I know that she was dying and by stopping to pick her up I helped to ease her misery by getting her out of it sooner. If I’d left her to die on the road it could have taken hours or even a day.

But I cried the whole time I drove back to work (all three blocks) and I bawled a message to Lala’s phone. Then I wiped my eyes and blew my nose and felt like a monster and went inside and did my work and ignored the others when they laughed at me. Good-natured, non-animal-people kind of laughter. But still. It was a really shitty start to the day.

The day got better. I’m done with my 14-day stint up here. I drive home tomorrow, and I’m going to take the Lost Coast home. The long way. I think a drive along the coast is just what I need. (PS to the locals: KHUM a RAD station. Luckies! You all non-locals might like it, too. I heard good bluegrass, David Byrne, Death Cab for Cutie, and Jack Johnson back-to-back. Listen HERE.)

Always been my favorite beauty salon name. I’ve seen about three of them in my life, and it kills me (HA!) every time.

I took a break today. It was well-deserved, my only break in the last 12 days of 12-hour shifts. All my work was caught up for a moment. My coworkers were working, but not on things I could help with. So I took a break. And I gotta say, I wish ALL breaks were like this one:

I hopped in my car and sped up the road. I’d heard there was a used bookstore on Main in Fortuna (Rainy Day Books), and I found it, in a small alley behind a candy shop. It was SO worth seeking out. It was the kind of bookstore I would open if I ever opened one. Pretty well-organized (VERY well-organized for a used bookstore), and an excellent selection. On one table I counted four of my favorite books sitting together, randomly. A very good sign. The owner was so sweet, maybe my age, pretty eyes. There was a windchime outside. I bought books. Life was so good.

I’d also heard there was a yarn shop in town. I looked up the address: no, that couldn’t be it — I drove that way every day to the dispatch center. I’d have seen it, right?

From the road, all I’d seen from the side was the Salon part. I never would have thought to strain my eyes to read the first part of the sign. Dude. Dude! Do you love it? That yellow sign is a big ad for Red Heart, and they had a Lion Brand neon sign to go with the salon neon that you can’t see in that picture. I walked in, expecting the worst. And at first, I thought it would live up to my expectations. Miles of Red Heart. Miles of acrylic in the worst degree. Check. Yes. There it all was.

But then, another room. Another room full of the GOOD stuff. I didn’t have time, and I didn’t want to spend money, so I only got a skein of Trekking XXL, but I was so pleased and happy to be there. And at the back of the enormous shop, sure enough, there was another room full of women getting their hair done. How great would that be? While the color sets, you browse the shelves? Knit under the dryer? I think it’s incredibly weird and very, very smart.

Then I was back to work, less than an hour gone. Messages were stacked to the ceiling, but it was worth it. Books and yarn. What more do I need? (Well, I need home. I need Lala. Sisters. Walks with dogs. But I go home on Tuesday after what will have been a 16-day deployment, including travel time, and MAN will I be happy to be there. And then I turn around and work 8 more 12-hour days in row. At the end of this, I will have worked 24 days in a row without a day off. And then a three-day weekend. Which will be the pajama-weekend to end ALL pajama weekends. Thus sayeth me.)

Edited to add: Right after I posted this, I walked into the bathroom to run a bath. I stood next to the hotel tub, turned on the tap, watched the water, then lifted the shower button the tap. And then I stood there, getting soaked by the showerhead, while the shower sprayed all over the room (of course the curtain was pulled back) while I tried to figure out what I’d done wrong and how I could fix it. I think I’m a little tired.

Dude. I’m having such a good time.

I’m working in an expanded dispatch center which is running resources for four federal complexes, plus a bunch of state fires. A complex is a name for a group of fires. Each complex is made of 20-30 individual fires. So my team is working on around 125 forest fires, all started by dry lightning that occurred three weeks ago. Seriously, wow.

Every single thing they have to work with on those fires came through this center. Their personnel: the firefighters, the management, the helicopter crew members, the radio operators, the prison crews, the hired hand-crews. Their equipment: the engines, the hoses, the airplanes, the chainsaws. The supply: the computers, the port-a-potties, the food, the paperclips. Also: travel to and from, hotel stays, ground support for getting people from all over the country and the world TO each fire where they need to go. It’s kind of like party-planning for a really awful, enormous party which requires really big toys.

It’s mind-boggling. And this is only for a small fraction of the fires burning here — there are other tens of other expanded dispatch centers in every national forest district, in different counties and areas of California.

(Don’t tell the people I’m talking to all day on the phone, but I’m on the coast. It’s cool here. They’re battling with pulling the bugs out of their fax machines that are run on generator-power, sweating in the 114 degree heat, and we’re out here comfortable in the all-day fog. And while what we’re doing is important and vital, what they’re doing is scary and necessary and amazing, so props to them. Mad props.)

Could you blog that we have a free show on Friday? It’s Friday at the
Oakland Museum, and we go on at 7 on the side stage.
You can tell them that they need to stand in for you! Especially if
they’re hot. And into letting little dogs out in the middle of the
night.

Our set is from 7p-7:30p on the SIDE STAGE.  Come early, stay late!

Best of the Bay Show
Friday, July 11th, 7pm – midnight
Oakland Museum of California
1000 Oak Street. Oakland
www.EastBayExpress.com/Promotions

Tiny flowers in the grass. At most, a quarter of an inch across.

Two thoughts, one bigger than the other:

1. The reason I am so tired every night: Although I always work 12 hours shifts, I am not usually THINKING so hard for twelve hours straight without a break. (Also, I’m going on my seventh day now). I know how to do my job at home, so I just do it. Here, I’m constantly having to ask questions. How do I find a cultural specialist from the Yurok tribe to go to the fire that’s close to the Hoopa when he’s not listed in the national system and he doesn’t have a house phone? How do you track an engine that’s now being staffed with all new personnel, some of whom still show attached to another engine miles away? Dunno. I’m learning. It’s great. I love being outside of my comfort zone. In most things. Not when it comes to pillows, though. Hells no. I need a flat pillow. Period.

2. You people make me a better person. Everything is linked, I know that. Everything is connected. The fact that you send me love and the best comments anyone ever had leaves me with exponentially more love to send out. I have learned more about compassion in the last month than in my whole 36 years. I’ve learned that love isn’t just words said out loud, it’s action. The washing of dishes. The emptying of a bedpan. A smile. Any motion that’s driven by compassion is love. So from me to you, I send love in these typed words.

2.1    I am sooo tired that I’m more touchy-feely than normal, and that could be explained by the fact that I’m in Humboldt, I think (no, not THAT. Come on). I believe they’re pretty granola up here. But I mean it.