Clouds and rainbows

Bittersweet.  That was the first word to come to mind when the much-anticipated, but much-dreaded, official job offer came.

Tomorrow, as they say, is the first day of the rest of my life.  It will have been 530 days since the last day I actually worked (before starting my sabbatical), 347 days of being unemployed (after ending my sabbatical, and losing my job), and 286 days of job hunting (after taking the summer off to play).

The bitter part is about the end of an experiment with freedom.  During this experiment, I was free to get up each day whenever I felt like.  I was free to choose anything I wanted to do each day, with or without Colin.  I was free to go to bed each night whenever I felt like.  I was completely in charge of me and my time, reporting to no one.  I was free.  Bitter is perhaps rather harsh - the feeling is more of a nostalgic sadness.

The sweet part is about the work on which I am about to embark.  Starting the hunt at the beginning of September last year, I contacted 47 people, passed out 22 resumes, and attended 21 meetings or interviews.  In a small handful of those, I discovered something that could make me excited, and people I could potentially be happy to work with.  And of that handful, only one job was "right up my alley", as many of my friends have commented - the one I am about to start.

I did not receive a single interview from resumes submitted to online job posts.  I received only one courtesy PFO from those online submissions.  It was like I clicked submit, and off the bits and bytes flew, disintegrating into the deep void of suspended bits and bytes from all those lost emails and submissions that never made it through to reassembly at destination.  As for the actual meetings and interviews, nearly all were a result of a contact initiated through friends, friends of Colin's, or myself.  Except one.

Remember another experiment, where I hand delivered a resume?  Earlier in March this year, I printed off a copy of my resume, along with a note, and personally dropped it off at a place in which I was very interested.  That, my friends, is what led to this bittersweet moment.

Cracks on the Trail

Is it bad etiquette to swear out loud on the trail during a race?  I'm thinking the bad energy disturbs the other animals, both four-legged and two.  Probably wilts some greenery in its wake.  Unfortunately, it is a bit of an innate Tourette's-like reaction that can shoot out when I am focused.  It happens in the kitchen too, for example when I am making a masterpiece (ie. my lunch), and put an ingredient back in the fridge before I've actually used it, my concentration temporarily wandering off or worse, interrupted.

So when, during the first half of the "Survival of the Fittest" race this past weekend (Coast Mountain Trail Series), I rounded a bend to see the trailway to heaven continuing on up into the clouds, and not tipping over to a downward angle like the map in my head said it should (it had been going up for hours), I couldn't stop the "OH FOR F*** SAKE!!".  It just shot out.  I looked behind me - I had just displayed a crack of weakness in my I-am-tough armour, and hoped none of the stalwart trail warriors around me had heard the crack.

I popped a reserve sugar chewy thingy into my mouth, normally saved for near the end, soon happy again in time for the rowdy downhill.

The assumption is: everyone else out there is tough as nails.  I imagine a regimented hard-core training program which involves uphill sprints onto overhanging trails, all-nighter long runs into trail-less bush by light of the moon only, sprints pulling boulders - not tires - roped behind, and weight training that would shame an Olympic weight-lifter athlete.  So that means, for everyone else this must be a jog in the park, and I am certain they are lovin' it.  And not swearing.

Even the volunteers stationed along the course - happy, smiling, cheering and seemingly unaffected by the steady rain and cold air - are tough.  So I had to smile back, salute, wave, banter, pretending this was great fun for all of us.  All of which, incidentally, made it quite fun again, my armour suddenly all shiny.

About three quarters of the way through the race, on yet another climb, I began losing control of the cracks.  I was heading up the steepest prolonged climb, the trail like a river, me without a paddle.  It was now more a series of mad dance steps around fearsome bottomless puddles and thick mud than running.  A few more f-bombs.  The rain of the past 24 hours had caused a sudden surge in brush growth that morning, and the soggy-leafed branches hanging into the trail whacked my face again and again.  More f-bombs.

I popped a second sugar chewy thingy as the climb angle lessened (but still climbed), and regained some cheeriness.  Allowed a small smile even - I can beat you, you bonking blood sugars RARRR!  I passed, then put some space between, those two people I kept shuffling order with.

A branch suddenly tore my number from all but one safety pin. BIG FAT F-BOMB laced with religious iconery (why is that so much more powerful, in cultures and languages all over the world??).  If I lost my number, I was hooped - no timing chips.  Pulling over, I ignored my disintegrating armour as my two nemesises passed me by, and fumbled with frozen, dripping-gloved fingers and swears to get at least one pin back in through the torn number.

Hunting down my nemesises, I caught them both on one last slap-dap-happy two-step down the slime.  Weeeee!  Alas, I could only keep one at bay as my empty legs barely sputtered up the last hill to the finish.

Mind's view of the Race Course profile - yes, physically
strange how the Finish was at much higher elevation
than the Start, even though they were one  and the same...

I didn't cry until I was through the finish line, past the people, and had begun hyperventilating - that huge relief-cry that occasionally follows Type II fun.  I don't think I have ever been so physically and mentally spent after a run.  My armour in tattered pieces, I had no shame.

We pick our battles.  On the one hand, Squamish really is paradise, with out-your-front-door access to almost anything you like to do.  Recreating is easy here, in as many things as you can fit into a day.  But people in Squamish are tough, driven, and train hard.  And that's for the things they do for fun.  If you want to compete, them's the minimum standards.

As my dad likes to say, "in the land of the blind, the one-eyed (wo)man is queen/king" (I paraphrase).  There are very few blind people here.

Driving myself home, rain streaming down my windshield (for added tragic effect), I lamented my +30-minutes finish time over the female winner, plus not finishing in under 2 hours like I had "planned".  Then I thought of my brother-in-law, a mountain bike racer for many years.  He used to get so mad at recreationist racers who, seeing their results compared to the top finishers, were sad and hard on themselves. "Open your eyes you eedjits!!", he'd rant, "We're not born this good, we work and train our asses off!!"

Hmmm.  Respect.

Dickie Dee

There is an ice cream truck in Squamish...!

I don't think I've seen a mobile ice cream anything since I was a kid in Edmonton.  And back then, the only engine mobilizing the ice cream was the pedalling capacity of the person rolling it along.

Photo from CBC article: Dickie Dee ice cream bike circa 1959 

While the fellow in the photograph (right) is from 1959, other than a few more flavours, updated decals, and some modernized bike parts, this is exactly what it was when I was kid in the 1980s.  Minus the hat and jacket too.

What kid, who was fortunate enough to be in a town or city where there were Dickie Dee ice cream bikes, does not know that magic jingly-bell sound?  Regardless of the enthusiasm of the vendor pedalling the bike, the rocking bells on the handle bar were an irrefutable message: ice cream!  Incidentally, I learned from a recent CBC article that Dickie Dee was actually a Canadian icon, born in Winnipeg, MB in 1959, rolling its fame country-wide and into northern US before being sold off in 1992, and alas folding completely in 2002.

The ice cream truck coming up my road did not have any jingly bells, but instead repeated 'The Music Box Dancer' tune on its loudspeaker.  Even without the bells, my first reaction upon hearing it, for I knew instantly what it must be before I saw it, was one of sharp nostalgia - great memories of just being a kid.  Not specific memories, but an aura of those simple summer days, romanticized through age into the meaning of life, stress-free innocence and happiness.

Immediately followed a pang of sadness.  Would kids today appreciate the great childhood experience of something as simple and tangible as mobile ice cream at their doorstep on a hot summer day?  Would the poor driver meander his way through the neighbourhood streets, ignored, sad and lonely, braking as the tumbleweeds rolled by, while children sat, oblivious, in air-conditioned rooms playing with digital things?

Nevertheless, just like when I was a kid, hearing the distinct jingle of those ice cream bells, I dropped everything.  I must have been lost in my reverie for longer than I thought, for the truck was already past the house by the time I grabbed my wallet and ran outside.  Ah, but he had to come back this way.  I fetched my book from the house, and posted myself out front for his return.

Every minute or two, the fading tune of 'The Music Box Dancer' would stop mid-bar for a moment, then would start up again from the beginning.  At long last, the tune grew louder again, coming back down my road.  I raced out to the street and waved.  The truck stopped, the music stopped mid-bar for a moment while we chatted and I picked out an ice cream each for Colin and I, then started up again from the beginning as he moved off down the road.  In a few seconds, three children ran up to the side of the road and waved him down - the music stopped mid-bar...

The ice cream man told me when we were chatting that he had the best job ever.  As he pulled away from the three children, one of them called out "Thank you so much Mr. Ice Cream Man!".

Truth and Fiction

Truth:  The Coast Mountains are NOT the Rocky Mountains.

It does not typically drop to -25 C at night.  In April, it seems, you can ski in a t-shirt if it weren't for the fry-factor coming from both the sun and reflected off the snow.  Which explains all those more-than-one-day trips in the guide book - why wouldn't you want stay out there??

The sun is warm, the snowpack is stable, the glaciers well filled in, the sunsets glorious, the stars plentiful, and the early mornings chilly but quite bearable.  Even the socked-in fog is alright, once you get moving.

I was heartened by the irony right from the start of the "Length: 1-3 days" ski tour:

For three days, my friend and I followed the Spearhead Traverse, beginning from the top of Blackcomb, skiing a horseshoe around the head of the Fitzsimmons drainage, camping on glaciers, ending with a long ski down to the last remnants of slush at the base of Whistler.  And a beer.

Fiction:  The made-up stuff in your head.

Funny that the reality outside your head is what is stranger...

Another group on a similar mission

Coastal Vicissitudes

While finding a job has become a bit of an obsession, it is certainly not the only thing to do in Squamish.  As they say, all work and no play makes Jill a dull girl...

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

I hate being cold.  I am afraid of it, because once it happens, unless I find a heat source other than my own piddly engine, I remain cold.  And the fear sets in that I will remain this way for all of eternity.  And beyond.

When we picked up the West Coast backcountry skiing guidebook (John Baldwin's "Exploring the Coast Mountains On Skis"), our eyebrows remained in perpetual pop-up as we flipped through the dozens of tours:  Length: 3 days.  Length: 1-3 days.  Length: 2-4 days.  Length: 1 day (Distance: 27km).  Length: 14 days.  Er, where's the 1-day-back-before-midnight section?

I'd already demoted my mountain biking skill level last summer since moving here, and it seemed I might have to do the same with skiing.

Over the winter, with the help of local friends, or often on our own, we put a wee dent in the more than 300 trips in the book, as well as venturing out into some un-guide-booked territory.  But all remained within that 1 day limit.  I have a job to find, resumes to write...  And I really don't like being cold.

Current temperature - April 7

The past couple weeks at long last have put out some fantastic sunny days.  A friend with whom I had been skiing - a true west coast warrior, touring with her young lad on her back in a good ol' MEC baby pack - was banking on the young lad being fully weaned before April was out.  Meaning in time to get out for a "Length: 1-3 days" ski tour.

Sleeping in a tent, in the snow, no hut, -25C, raging mountain winds, or worse, socked in by a cold damp fog...  My last foray into the winter wild involved nearly freezing to death while wearing all my clothes in my seemingly useless sleeping bag, when the temperatures dropped well below what I had anticipated.  But, this was not the Rockies, and the current temperature outside was in the far +'s...  Could I make winter camping my friend again??

It occurred to me that I expend great reserves of energy fearing things which I know I am eventually going to do anyway.  I get grumpy, angry, blame inanimate objects and shake my fist at nothing in particular, delving into a panicked search for that excuse that will secure my escape.  ...I was recently bit by a dog (true story), and still anticipating the onset of rabies.  ...I live at sea level now, and my lungs have shrunk to the size of a grape each.  ...My ski boots smell like mouse poo when I take them off.  Exhausted, I will sulk en route to the whatever the escapade, stewing over the evil forces (or friends, or boyfriend) that have put me in this intolerable situation to which any intelligent person would have put a stop at the first glimmer of thought.

So inevitably, I commit to the ski tour, adventure trumping fear.  Looking on the bright side, hell's not likely to freeze over, so I might as well get on with it.

I nearly forget to pack a down jacket as I scurry around the house in happy-sunny-land shorts and t-shirt, collecting piles of gear.  For future reference, I should just skip the fear mongering and save the energy instead to put towards my piddly engine for keeping warm.

AVCV - The Visual Sound Byte Resume

While I am too chicken to stage on open house on 'me', afraid that nobody would come, I have been having conversations with my fellow unemployeds about strategies and tactics to get that initial "in" for a job, or with a company.

My friend Joe suggested an infographic resume.  I've seen one done - looks pretty cool, but also makes me think of the graphical representations of the earth's geological periods.  I did just have a Big Birthday, but I'm not that ancient...

   

Geological History
http://jefferson.kctcs.libguides.com/
c.php?g=204713&p=1351025

Infographic Resume
http://svish.com/vis-res/

I decided instead to try an audio-visual resume, or what I have termed the AVCV - a slight variation on my thoughts regarding the dancing resume.

Here it is:

---

The Railroad Company   2000-2015

Office Engineer
Calgary, AB   2005-2015

Field Operations
Calgary, AB   2005
Golden, BC   2003-2004
Cranbrook, BC   2002-2003
Various Cities, Towns, Hamlets, Prairies, Railcars and Bunkhouses, CAN and USA   2000-2002

---

Note:  I chose the somewhat "rough" version of the audio for 'Field Operations' since the corresponding video depicts a good portion of the equipment and operations I worked with in the field.

Oh human interaction, how I miss thee!

A strange but obvious thing happened the other day.  I decided to take a chance on the old world ways, and "drop off" a resume.  Literally.  In person.  As in, a printed out, manually signed, paper resume and cover letter.  In an envelope, personally addressed.

The company of interest had a number of jobs listed on their website, but nothing of interest to my abilities.  I still wanted to introduce myself though, in case they hadn't yet thought of the position they needed me for.  I scoured their website, then google in general, looking for a contact, an in, so I could send my unsolicited resume direct.  When I had about 17 tabs open in my browser, and found that they were starting to duplicate, I new I'd reached a dead end.

I went back to the tab highlighting the company's management team.  A photo and bio of each senior manager - a-ha.  I looked up a couple of them on LinkedIn, and while finding them was easy, there was still no way of personally contacting them directly.  Fine.  They were going to have to deal with ME, personally.  Persona, take the day off - go play video games or something.

Relativity - M.C. Escher
www.mcescher.com/gallery/back-in-holland/relativity/

No matter how often this happens, the frustration boils up inside, then out my mouth in steaming profanity, each time I cannot find a path to human contact.  Oh I know this is done on purpose, otherwise companies would have to hire an army of HR bodies to handle the new world's onslaught of applicants.  But as the ga-ga-ness over the growing Internet of Things continues to escalate towards euphoric expectations of paradise-at-last, I remain firmly grounded in our millions of years of fantastic and complex human evolution, and our advanced sociability among food chain members.  I still revere human interaction - not just eye contact and verboseness, but those finely tuned instinctual signals we consciously and subconsciously send and receive from each other.

I remember debates with managers in my previous life over the complete automation of a safety-critical system or process, with zero need for a human watch.  I argued that it was a lofty goal, but that until we could code facts + rules + experience + common sense in a neat, complete and always up-to-date IT system, it was far too serious a risk.  The most powerful AI systems, which are not likely assets of a regular company, still have beans compared to the human synapses.

I understand I am giving a lot of credit to the human race at the moment, when on the other hand we are still capable of and regularly practice inane stupidity.  However, by taking us out of the interaction completely, we risk erasing our need for human existence.  Because, contrary to euphoric expectations of a paradise involving the digitization and automation of everything, resulting in indefinite free time, haven't we already proven to ourselves that we are not capable of a life of only idle pleasure?

The strange but obvious thing that happened the other day was that, after having seen portraits of my potential contacts, read bios, seen some of their history and values through their LinkedIn profiles, it took only minutes to dash off a cover letter.  It usually takes me well over an hour, and much editing, to try and write something personable to nobody in particular.

While I was not able to hand my resume to the VP of HR directly, the nice lady in reception promised to pass it on.  Within a week, I got a personal note from the VP - he was interested, was going to pass on my resume where I might be of use, and if I hadn't heard back in a week or two, please bug him again.

To date, all my interviews, meetings, coffees have resulted from the involvement of some form of human interaction.  I have not received one call/acknowledgement/interview from an online job application.  And yes, I have sent a few.

Dancing Hardware

I know, what if I just plan an open house, all about me!  Prospective employers, entrepreneurs, people with money who want to pay me to do something useful can come by, check out my skills, see some gnarly spreadsheet samples, TALK to me...

Because this life-sucking persona-branding of myself in one resume page or less is shriveling my soul.  The recruiter I met last week says I have too many words.  I lose them at "Hello".

The new world wants to be entertained, wowed, smitten, things to jump out and dance for them so they only have to burn one, maybe two calories of effort to decide whether to bring me in for an interview.

The previous world wants the nuts and bolts of what I have done so they can decide if I have enough skills to be useful sooner rather than later.

My resume is max four pages.  How to make nuts and bolts dance in two pages or less???
Hours of my life.........

Me, My Persona, and I

I still don't have a job. Which in many ways is great, as I learn the art of free time. Back from three days of fantastic skiing, eating, wine-ing with good company up around the Duffy, to temperatures in the double digits and sunshine. So I set up a chair on the balcony and grabbed the last few rays of the afternoon sun with a beer and my book. The first thing on the morning-after to-do list was follow up on a posted job I was actually excited about. While the job was still posted, they were already in the final interview stages with a promising candidate when I talked to them before the ski trip. Alas, the candidate managed to avoid destroying his shiny credibility, and I was out of luck. Again. Which instigated an aimless few hours of moroseness while I contemplated my next steps. Because, after 5 1/2 months, my current approach is not working. Clearly, nobody has caught on to me, and the fabulousness I have to offer. I am straddling two worlds: in my previous world, there exists an entire sector and infrastructure for hiring, job searching, career paths, leadership development, creating a "ridiculously awesome resume", etc. - this is actually the new world; in my current world, it's not what you know or how much you paid to get your resume makeover, but who you know - this I liken to the old world.

Rohr Ridge Across the valley from Rohr Ridge

Because I grew up in my previous world, I naturally still gravitate towards the tools that I know.

An article in this month's issue of the PEG (Alberta's Engineering and Geoscientist Association magazine) discusses tips for "getting noticed" among the 7+% of other unemployed people in Alberta [1, page 50 of the pdf]. What it seems to come down to is the necessity of "branding yourself" on the internet - having a clean presence on Facebook, Instagram, LinkedIn; "liking" the right things, posting articles in LinkedIn relevant to your industry and values, commenting on these via the various social media, joining "interest groups", following "thought leaders", getting as many good LinkedIn connections as you possibly can whether you actually know them or not... because search result rankings, according to the article, are driven by your connection count, among other things.

I read David Eggers' "The Circle" a couple years ago, and while it seemed hastily written (I suspect to get it published ASAP before his foresights become realities), it was a good story in its disturbing outlook on our internet-ized (and never-ending-survey-feedback) future.

I am on the end-cusp of the pre-social media generation, and still find it rather foreign to want to post my entire self on the internet. I reluctantly created a LinkedIn profile on the advice of friends when starting my job hunt in September, and I regularly get hit up by LinkedIn to market myself further by trying "a free trial of the Premium Experience!" ...so I'll get even more noticeably internet-ized...? With digital fireworks behind my photo while an "I'm" variation of Tina Turner's 'Simply the Best' tinnily blares out upon clicking my profile???

At the time I was getting into all of this, I coincidentally caught Terry O'Reilly's 'Under the Influence' episode on CBC radio (a fun little show on marketing today and some great historical anecdotes) about "the art of personal branding". I picked up some good common-sense tips which helped start my LinkedIn profile and resume dusting. But again, the key message was about relating everything you put out there on the internet back to your "personal brand".

Meanwhile, Canada's spy agency is up the St.Lawrence for having accidentally shared a pile of Canadian identity metadata with partner countries [2].
(I don't even know what all the app logos are for at the end of the article!!!)

And the FBI and Apple are heading towards the final knockout round in an extended fight over security and access-to-private-information rights on Apple devices [3].

But I digress. While the electronification of myself in the form of an internet persona is unappealing in so many ways (topics for other posts!), I have yet to find even underwhelming success with the current/old world approach - not a bite from all the people with whom I've "mingled" and to whom I have tried to offer my fantastic self since moving to Squamish.

Squamish is not a base for any one big industry or company. Instead, it is home to a few box stores, local shops, industrial and artistic entrepreneurs, Quest University, the bare scratchings of a few start-ups and tech industry initiatives, along with its municipal operations. It's a place for the individual to make of it whatever they can. So how the heck do I go about finding a market for the geeky analytical stuff I like to do?

I'm taking my Self to North Van tomorrow to meet with a recruiter. She's probably going to tell me I need to work on my Persona.

Absurd.

p.s. The irony of my writing this blog on the internet is not lost on me...

Absurdity

"They" warned me.  Not necessarily directly, but through those pointed leading questions, hoping your answer will show your ignorance so that they can expound their in-the-know experience, or friends' experience, or distant-relations' experience, in gory detail to educate you on the matter.

I half-listened while nodding and making appropriate sympathetic faces to the sad plights of these many folks, while my harsh inside voice thought dammit people, just pull up your socks and get on with it!

And then it hit me.  This past weekend, I was sad.  For some inexplicable reason, I could not get over the fact that life was "absurd and meaningless", as Alan Alda so eloquently observed.  I saw this "absurdity" in every direction I looked, felt this "absurdity" in each task I thought about undertaking.  I panicked when I realized that the rest of my life was actually just an endless stretch of sad, absurd, lonely, grey-cast days.

Another grey cloudy rainy dark day

Cerise Creek, off the Duffy Lake road

It was one thing to Talk about skiing the next day, while sitting in the rain-pelted car, driving through the grey, but to actually Think about getting everything together, and then to actually Get everything together... draining.  My harsh inside voice spoke - at least I can exercise my muscles, oxygenate my blood, and try to keep pain and carcass degradation out of the future of my life of absurdity.

The rain continued to pour down the next day, and driving north through the dawn barely changed the dark blue-grey night hues into cloud-engulfed foggy medium-grey.  Again.  For the umpteenth day in a row.

But then something happened.  As we silently skied through the forest, I stopped and looked up - and it wasn't raindrops hitting my eyes, but gently falling snowflakes.

Later, up on the spine of a high moraine, was less gentle - the winds raged and the icy snow granules repeated pricked what bit of exposed skin I had left (my nose, and a bit of cheek).  But it was invigorating.

I pulled up my ski socks, and my inside voice silently cracked a wee smile.

Trees

A Good Book

Do you ever finish a book, close it, shake your head, and say "wow, that was &#% great"...?

I just did.  Sebastian Faulks' "A Week in December" - I laughed out loud, my eyes welled up, and when it finally dawned on me part way through the book what he was getting at, I found myself saying every so often "this is &#% great".

It's not perfect, possesses a few loose ends and not enough depth to be considered a literary great.  But, if you want a good satire and perhaps some insightful a-ha moments, and are not too worried about the use of somewhat stereotypical characters for the purpose of rolling out the commentary on "reality", enjoy.

It's all so EXTREME

Hard sun, hard rain.  And hard snow.  ...above the freezing level, that is.

Canadians love to talk about the weather.  It irritates my dad.  We brag about our sufferings and wear the extremes like a badge of honour when talking to friends and relations outside the reaches of our thundercloud.  The weather news throws us weather stats like candies at a parade, which we in turn throw at our friends and relations in a full-on candy-throwing war of who's got the best shot.  We've earned these badges, with awe-struck gazes out the window from our warm couch vantage points.

"They" told me when I moved here that Squamish might see a dusting or two of snow throughout the winter, but it wouldn't stick around.  In December, I went outside one evening to rescue the little trees from a potential long night of forward bending under the accumulating heavy snow:

Dec.17:  Snow falling heavily on shore pines

Dec.18: 21 cm / nearly 9 inches of snow in 24 hours, in a place that is said
to see a "dusting" or two of snow in the winter

The following morning, in solidarity with the neighbours, we worked on clearing 21 cm / nearly 9 inches of snow with dee-dee little avalanche shovels (or similar).

I didn't own a proper sidewalk-shovel - "they" indirectly told me I didn't need one!  My very nice neighbour next door eventually went out and bought one (I am picturing mad auctions and fights in in front of the Home Hardware, people bidding $1000 on the last couple of shovels remaining), and kindly helped me finish.

I own a shovel now, and have used it since.

My brother. John. recently moved to the extreme east coast (as in, he's as far east as you can possibly get in Canada), and posted photos of his snow-shoveling woes:

John: "Aaaaaah... nothing like a freshly-shovelled driveway. Such a feeling of accomplishment.
Time to go inside and pour myself a nice...oh look, time to shovel the driveway again..."

John: "UPDATE: Since there was no f***ing way on god's good earth that I was shovelling
all of that this morning, I'd like to introduce you all to my young snowblowing neighbour, Eric."

I am using some of my free time to "learn" weather.  For example, when you spot these lovely 'lenticular' - or horse tail - clouds floating in, silently unnoticed, on your initially bluebird day, it means some "weather" is coming:

Nov.30: Lenticular clouds floating over Sky Pilot Mountain - viewed from
Alpen Peak - followed (closely!) by the incoming storm

I am also contemplating, in terms of temperature extremes, which is the bigger hardship when heading out to ski:

(a) getting out of the warm car into -30C, fiddling with boots and latches and bags and fiddly bits while fingers turn white, then to useless little stumps at the end of the limbs that supposedly demonstrate the superiority of home sapiens in the animal kingdom; eventually starting off on the skis at a ridiculous pace in order to force the core furnace into high gear to pump warmth back to the extremities, resulting in screaming barfies erupting in multiple digits, then having to stop 8 minutes later to remove the now-soggy-with-sweat down jacket, the nicely-warmed core temperature plummeting as the layer of sweat suddenly freezes while stopped to pack away the jacket, then setting off again at a ridiculous pace to generate more heat, eyes freezing shut as the rapid breathing exhaust condenses, then freezes, on your eyelashes...., OR

(b) getting out of the warm car into 0C, after working up a sweat getting as dressed as possible in the car to the outer most layer in order to be water-proofed from the downpour, working on boots and fiddly bits in sole-deep mud while water streams down any unsealed opening on your being, leaving bags and bits protected in the open car until the last second as rain soaks the car interior, unable to communicate with fellow skiers due to the drowning of all sound other than the rain and the swish-swish of hoods accosting the ears; eventually carrying the skis while the shoulder cramps in its awkward ski-carrying position, until there is enough of a connected snow path to put them on and follow.

Both cases even out after the first half hour, when you've found the groove and are comfortably and steadily marching on.  But man...  Colin suggests I might be more comfortable on the couch at home.

Jan.21:  Avalanche Report - Sea-to-Sky Area

It should be noted, the skies and contemplations don't tell me everything.  Yesterday I was thinking of taking my skies up the gondola, until I saw the avy report...

Instead I stayed on the figurative couch, listening to the extreme rain pounding down while the extreme snow slabs built up in the mountains above, then went for a walk in the rain.

Current Job: Finding a Job

Today I sent out my 11th resume since the job hunt began.

I gave myself the summer off after moving to Squamish, with the promise that I would begin the hunt on September 1.  While last winter's sabbatical and travels had certainly aided in the unwinding process required after nearly 15 years with the same large corporate entity, the last few of which were spent simultaneously as a muzzled hamster (on a perpetually speeding-up wheel) and a frog (in a perpetually heating-up cauldron of hot water), the self-managed moving had rewound some of the unwinding.  Plus I was in a spectacularly huge new playground.

After an equally-spectacular hot and dry summer - which, among other great things about this place, meant putting off having to buy a lawnmower to cut the grass since the grass stopped growing, the entire summer's worth of rain began falling on Aug.28.  Over 200mm of rain in one week.  The average for August is about 30mm; Aug.31 alone saw over 80mm.  Hard sun, hard rain - I like it..

So I started - few days early - the time-consuming, brain-numbing, eye-crossing uphill climb of getting my resume up to date.  And creating a LinkedIn account (my friends assured me it was NOT like facebook if you didn't t let it be).  I hadn't done much with the resume for ten years, and I soon learned styles had changed, content had changed, layout had changed.  Colin saw my old resume and said "wow, that is so 80's!".  Not likely - I was in grade school in the 80's.  But I got the point.

WorkBC Squamish - #302, 37989 Cleveland Ave (thanks Google streetview)

At one point while meandering around the streets of downtown Squamish, I had noticed the WorkBC Job Centre sign.  Nice place in the new "Sea-to-Sky-style" building, and I acquired some good tips:

• the work centre compiles Squamish and Sea-to-Sky area jobs weekly from a number of websites into a one-stop-shopping list - available online or in print at the centre
• opportunities for engineers are limited-to-none - networking will be key (ugh.)
• Squamish Chamber of Commerce hosts regular "After 5" Business Socials which are an after-work open house for local business people to mingle - keep an eye on the Chamber of Commerce events to see when the next one is scheduled (advance sign-up required)
• plenty of up-to-date materials available to read about resume-writing, cover letters, interviews, etc. - I spent an afternoon there reading the centre's copy of Jane Foss's book "Ridiculously Awesome Resume" in parallel with editing a general draft of mine (0 job offers so far - blame me, or Jane??)

Networking.  Hard work, so not my style.  I attended an After 5 event in November, and instead of coming away battered and bruised by all the confident people who hit me for saying something dumb, or nothing at all, I had interesting conversations, drank some wine, and got a contact and invitation to send in a resume.  That's more than I had before.

I also sampled many of Squamish's coffee-shop satellite offices while writing and researching, including at the top of the gondola (combined with a hike or run).  A change of scenery from my own desk, plus I gained another contact as well.  The Adventure Centre and top-of-gondola tie for favourite.

Top of Sea-to-Sky Gondola - Sep.17, quietly just me, my pack and the rain

Top of Sea-to-Sky Gondola - Oct.6

Top of Sea-to-Sky Gondola - Dec.9, with a roasty fire going

So, 11 resumes since Aug.27...  And 10 meetings / phone interviews / networking events, some related to the resumes, some not...

That's roughly one resume and one meeting every two weeks, a couple of each a month.
Keeping in mind that each resume requires time to taylor it to the job, research the business, and create a cover letter.  And I'm being picky - I want to do something with my good skills, not something that will help me improve my bad ones, or one that involves a big portion of things I don't like.  Yeah, I'm OK with that for now.

"Find Job work" checked off today's to-do list.  I welcome any further suggestions.

Time to go for a run now, then off to the climbing gym.

Why are we here?

There are a good collection of reasons why we - Colin and I - are here.  In Squamish.  We were born with with the receptors and innate characteristics which feed off this kind of place.  We each individually had the privilege of being raised in an established first world home, which provided the freedom and opportunity to pursue education, play, and earn a sustainable living.  And we drove here.

The U-haul truck left Calgary in June of 2015 with us, all of Colin's possessions and half of mine (the rest came later), and made its way across the three major mountain ranges that separate the Alberta prairies from the BC coast.

Rogers Pass, BC - in the Columbia Mountains

Colin arrived via Hungerton, Thurleston, Croft, Bristol, Leeds, Bristol, London, Bristol - all UK, Hong Kong, Ulaan Bataar - Mongolia, The Maldives, Bangkok, Jubail - Saudi Arabia, London, Vancouver, Hong Kong, Bangkok, Calgary (where we met), Canmore, and Calgary.

I arrived via Edmonton, Reading - UK, Edmonton, Reading, Edmonton, Vancouver, Edmonton, Red Deer, Edmonton, Calgary, short stints in Montreal / Revelstoke / Coquitlam / St.Paul-Minneapolis / Moose Jaw / Chicago, Cranbrook, Golden, and lastly Calgary.

We rolled into Squamish, consolidated our "stuff" into our new house and now shared quarters, and here we are.

I got a telescope for Christmas, and you know what?  You have to zoom out to a 20 light-year cube centred around the earth just to get another 17 stars into the area of our solar system [1].  That's a 189,000,000,000,000-km cube,  The closest star to earth is the Alpha Centauri system at 4.3 light years away.  That's astronomical.  Ha.  The space in between the stars contains less than one atom per cubic cm (on earth, there are about 10 million trillion (10^18) atoms per cubic cm of air at sea level) [1].

All that to say, it's truly confounding that we exist, nevermind that we are here.  In Squamish.

As for why, we'll get to that...


[1] "Nightwatch" - Terence Dickenson, Revised Fourth Edition