The Hardest Part of Being Downsized (and the Easiest)

The one thing you have to do after being laid off, the one thing that never fails to be awkward, is to start telling people about it. For me, the first thing was telling my family. They took it well and were very supportive, and I loved them for it. The thing was, for the last few years I'd talked about leaving the job on my terms. What I meant by this was finding a job that was a better fit, turning in my resignation, shaking hands with co-workers and supervisors, and driving off into the sunset. Granted, I'd probably be driving away from the sunset, but you get what I mean.

However, there I was, telling people that I had been laid off, repeating a lot of the same information and opinions, and managing to stay fairly positive through it all. Here's the thing—it's not the end of the world. There was just the loud sound of one door slamming, and I'd had to announce, very publicly, I'd failed to achieve the goal I'd set for myself.

When you call people to tell them you've been let go, there's another issue that comes up—how do you phrase it? In corpspeak, my position was eliminated due to financial concerns, a heaping mouthful of sterile verbiage. So how do you translate that into everyday terms? Saying I was fired means I was at fault. My usual term, "laid off," suggests that I would be hired back if work increased. I could probably go with "downsized," which seems to dance around what actually happens. Maybe that's for the best, though—I don't really want to talk get into the whys and wherefores of what happened at my last job, other than it's over and I'm moving on. Also, let's be honest—I'm covering my bases, here. There are a lot of ways to foul up a job search, and smearing a former company is one of the Top 10 ways to do so.

If telling people I'd been downsized (what the heck) was the hardest part, waking up the next morning was the easiest. I woke up at 8, when I'd be starting my job, and instead of panicking or thinking about all the projects I had to get through, I looked up at the ceiling, took a deep breath, and let myself relax. Eventually, I'd have to turn in the severance agreement. Eventually, I'd file for unemployment. Eventually, I'd start looking for new and exciting positions on the Internet, contacting people about jobs and joining in the grind of the unemployed looking for work. For now, though, I was at peace.

The Onota Film Festival, Take 2

It’s been a good three weeks since I attended the Oneota Film Festival, and I’m still not entirely sure how to write about it. Part of this is because I covered the Oneota Film Festival back when I first started this blog and there was a lot to write about. Now, I feel like I’ve run the gamut, and the things I see are starting to get less and less important. Do I write about the historical mill when a lot of towns have a similar sight? Do I stick with the unique restaurants? Or do I simply have to devote more time on the weekends to exploring the area to find something new to write about? On the other hand, the last time I went to the film festival it was as an outside observer, emphasis on “outside.” So it seemed appropriate to go this year and experience as much of the event as I could. 

One of the things I like about the film festival is that it’s held at Luther College in Decorah. I’ve written about the college, but never much about the events there. This is because the college mostly shuts down on the weekend. For someone who went to a Big 10 school in a verifiable city, this can be hard for me to wrap my mind around. Go to Luther College’s campus on the weekend, and you will see a couple of students out walking around, but if you go in the afternoon and there doesn’t happen to be, say, a home football game, then you could be forgiven for thinking everyone in the college had gone home for the weekend. The bottom line is that Luther College is a closed system to me, and I would love to be able to get inside just a little bit to see if there are any similarities to the university I attended. 

The film festival provided an excellent opportunity to get inside Luther College. Mostly because it took place in the morning and early afternoon. Partially because if there’s one universal truth, it is that if an event like a film festival is big enough to involve at least two buildings on a college campus, the energy seems to spread across the rest of the campus, infecting students and nearby residents with its energy. People want to see what is going on, or they’re inspired to get out and do something meaningful to them. Of course, when I was in college and, say, a football game was drawing everyone to the stadium, that was my cue to take off for either the local bookstore or gaming store and spend the next couple of hours seeing what wonders were available. Either that or spend it in bed next to a girlfriend, enjoying the fact that we were having our own moment while the rest of the world marched on. 

So the Luther campus was busy that morning. There were more than a few students crossing between buildings, and a lot more people, dressed in decidedly not-student clothing such as khakis, loafers, flats, overcoats, sport coats and professional-style dresses in appropriately dark colors. I joined the crowd, went to the admissions booth, and prepared to pay the entrance fee, which was nonexistent. This was my first surprise. This is not a small event; the film festival lasts from Friday to Sunday. They have about 20 independent movies showing, plus a question-and-answer session with some of the filmmakers. Perhaps it isn’t the Cannes or Sundance, but it is a legitimate film festival. That the organization charges nothing is both ludicrous and wonderful, and if you don’t feel the urge to donate at least a couple dollars after being told this entertainment is available for nothing…well, let’s be honest, you may want to see if the movies are your cup of tea. 

See, most of the movies are documentaries, documentaries with a definite liberal slant. I watched a documentary on women and the gun culture in America, which was very informative and remarkably even-handed, as well as a documentary about wounded veterans being taken to Montana to fly fish as a type of therapy for the wounds, mental and physical, they sustained while in Iraq and Afghanistan. Others include a documentary on why the fight to eliminate “entitlements” is wrongheaded, a documentary about the pollution of the Ganges River in India, documentaries on the environment, unemployment, and one about people living in Detroit now, trying to make their way in a city that is constantly on the edge of failing, if it hasn’t tipped over already. I watched part of that too, having lived in Michigan most of my life. 

To be honest, the documentaries were good, although they lacked that smooth coat of polish professional documentaries have. This actually served to make most of the movies better. The lack of polish let the filmmakers’ passion shine through, and some of the best moments were where subjects would just talk for a few minutes. No sound bites, no quick camera shots to bits of film that would make the sound bite more memorable, no music in the background—just someone talking, pouring their heart out to the camera in a way reality TV producers wish they could repeat. 

Would I recommend the Oneota Film Festival to anyone else? Yes, although I’d warn people that these are films with a message, and you might not always want to see what they have to say. If you’re in the mood for, say, Miss Congeniality 3 or the latest entry in the Die Hard franchise, then these are not the films for you. It’s hard to dismiss these films, though. An obvious amount of time and effort has gone into each of them, and I can honestly say I would recommend everyone see them. 

I’m not sure where Decorah got the idea for a film festival, or how they’ve kept it going for so long, but I really enjoyed it. Hopefully I’ll get the chance to go again.

Broken Bones and Medicine in Howard County

Happy New Year! I hope everyone had a great holiday season and spent time with their loved ones. I definitely did, what with spending time with all my brothers and actually getting out to play Lazer Tag, which kind of shows you never really grow up if you don’t want to. It was as close to paradise as I think I’ve gotten in a long time.

I’m back in Iowa, though, and I have an appointment set up with the Mayo Clinic in early February to take a look at my poor left foot, which is still in an air cast two months after it had been broken. The usual time it takes a broken foot to heal is eight to ten weeks, according to my kendo sensei, who has dealt with broken bones before. The ten week mark has come and gone, and it will be a good three weeks before I get to see the doctor at the Mayo Clinic. I’ve almost gotten used to this stupid cast, but there are still times, like if I’m trying to climb stairs, that it’s particularly frustrating. What makes it more frustrating is that the doctor’s office here in Cresco has, after years of being quite reliable, decided to turn into a Kafkaesque nightmare.

I suppose it started with the doctor I went in to see being very sure I had just sprained my foot. Just in case, though, I should get an X-ray. This isn’t exactly unknown—when I broke my leg in sixth grade the doctor was sure I’d sprained my leg until the X-ray showed a crack through both the tibia and fibula. And I would have bet money against a broken bone this time. Still, she gave me and air cast, and said I might want to think about going to a podiatrist.

The past couple of times I’ve gone in to get my foot checked, though, the diagnosis has been reversed. On the first follow-up visit, the doctor didn’t think I was healing at all, and that I should probably go to Decorah to see a podiatrist. Two days later, I got a call from the doctor’s office, where the doctor’s nurse told me that a radiologist looked at my X-rays and said that actually, my foot was healing up nicely (but wouldn’t I like to see a podiatrist anyway?).

The next trip in, the doctor said I was healing up nicely and actually gave me a boot that would give me more mobility than the air cast. Two days later, her nurse called and let me know that actually, the radiologist hadn’t seen any significant healing and I might want to think about scheduling an appointment with a podiatrist.

A couple of things have bothered me about this series of events. First, why not tell me to visit a podiatrist? It’s like they keep trying to upsell me doctor-wise, but they don’t tell me why. Just that a podiatrist might have a better idea of what’s going on. It’s my choice, though. This is what the doctor has told me over and over again, as though she were selling me on the idea of going to see a podiatrist instead of saying I need to, although to be fair she’s now said I need to because there hasn’t been any healing, which of course comes after she said I was healing. Oh, and if my foot does need some more care, then why not send me to, say, an orthopedic surgeon? Someone who can determine if I need surgery or not?

This is why I am more than happy to switch doctors. I am taking advantage of the fact that I live an hour away from one of the best medical clinics in the world and going to them. While a copywriter who lives in the middle of nowhere with a broken foot is a far cry from the prestige of treating the king of a foreign country with a wasting disease, I will have the privilege and the comfort of knowing some of the best doctors in the world will be examining me. I want a straight answer and good advice more than anything else right now.

I apologize that this is kind of an introspective blog, with a lot more complaining about the doctors in the area than actually talking about the neat things I’ve encountered in Iowa. Doctors screwing up is not restricted to northeast Iowa. It’s not limited to small towns, for that matter. Still, getting out of this cast is a pretty important part of my life right now. I promise I’ll come back next week with something neat about the northeast Iowa region.

Christmas in Cresco: A Pictorial

I haven't really had the chance to upload many pictures onto this blog, despite some urging from friends and family. This is partially because uploading photos onto this blog is a pain and causes the site to crash more often than not. It's also partially because I'm lousy at remembering to take photos.

So, this is a way to make things up a bit. Here are some pictures of Cresco decorated for Christmas. Happy Holidays!

A house on Highway 9. It's not a big house, but it's on a lot of property and the owner loves Christmas lights.

Beadle Park on the corner of Main Street. Note the decommissioned train in the background.

More of Beadle Park. This one shows the frontier cabin, preserved as it was in the 1800s.

The most festive funeral home ever.

The Howard County Courthouse, all lit up for the season.

Even the second-story apartments have lights put up!

Trees have been decorated on Main Street.

Another Main Street shop with a very festive light display!

Surviving Winter in the Midwest

This year has not been a typical winter in northeast Iowa. There has barely been any snow, and the temperatures, while cold, aren’t as bone-chilling as they have been in years past. In my first ever winter out in Iowa, I went to my car, started it up, and the external thermometer read -10. This was the first ever time I had seen the gauge dip below zero, and I thought for a few moments it was malfunctioning. This turned out to just be the product of wishful thinking and a very sheltered life.

Winter in Iowa is synonymous with extreme cold and nasty blizzards, even though right now there’s very little of either. For now, the only real threat the weather has thrown at northeast Iowa is a thick blanket of fog that comes down heavy on the weekends. Not so much like the little cat feet Carl Sandburg wrote about, but more like a giant hand while cars and people move about under its smothering embrace like ants. In this way and this way only is northeast Iowa like London.

So for now the residents of northeast Iowa are all breathing a sigh of relief. Farmers, landlords and construction workers are putting in extra time to get just a few more projects done before the inevitable winter storm hits and shuts things down until the temperature rises and the inevitable snow melts.

Until that happens, I’d like to list five ways that Midwesterners use to survive winter. While these are most useful in rural areas, cities will probably also get some use out of them, although cities in general can take the battering of a snowstorm better than smaller towns. Also, if you don’t live in the Midwest, I can’t guarantee that these will work.

Step One: Be Prepared – When November hits, good preparation is a requirement. I won’t go into the multiple and various steps farmers have to take because I know nothing about them, but I will say that farmers are up until late at night and begin early the next morning getting their fields ready for winter. According to one farmer, he spends twelve to fourteen hours a day working, except during the winter when he only works eight. I’ve said it before and I will say it again—farmers are some of the hardest working people on earth.

Even if you don’t have an outside project that needs to get done, you need to start preparing. Breaking out the winter clothes is a good first step. So is getting your car winterized. Make sure you’ve got a working shovel or a snowmobile handy, too, unless you happen to live in an apartment building. Then you just have to make sure your landlord has one. If you’re more than a few miles away from a town you might want to make sure that you get some grocery shopping done before the storm hits, and you will definitely want to make sure you have enough wood or gas to get you through the winter.

Step Two: Learn to Drive – Idiots are on the road almost immediately following a really bad snowstorm. You’ll be able to see them in ditches every so often on the road, giving the nearest garage a call to send out a tow truck, or if they’ve had particularly bad luck, they’ll be inspecting the vehicle in front of them to find out just how bad the damage really was.

No one will argue that these people are idiots, including the people themselves. “I was such an idiot!” they’ll say, and the people to whom they are talking will nod right along with them, only it will be an understanding, sympathetic nod because everyone driving in winter is a potential idiot. Let’s be clear, this is not the type of idiocy that compels someone to link the death toll in an earthquake with the number of abortions performed that year or something like that. This is the type of idiocy that no one can escape, and during the winter it starts with the first time you get in your car in the winter. You have to learn what the right speed is on each road every time you drive on it, not to mention how well your brakes will be working, whether or not you can expect black ice on the road and how bad the snowdrifts are going to be. It’s not easy, even with a vehicle that was built to handle tough weather.

Step Three: Enjoy it – Really, the big secret about winter that no one talks about is how much fun it can be. When I go home and spend Christmas in Michigan with my family, we will be all bundled up in my mom and dad’s house, and we will be having a blast playing board games and drinking some holiday tea that my mom has brewed. We’ll be opening presents, swapping stories and in general having a wonderful time. When we go outside, we’ll be going on hikes through the forest that surrounds my mom and dad’s house, and we might go on a sleigh ride, too.

Yes, winter has its difficulties, but the ice on the road also means that ice-skating is at hand, and a lot of snow also means that you can go out skiing, snowshoeing or snowmobiling. There are some great opportunities out there, and really all it takes is looking at the weather in the right way.

Then again, complaining about the weather can be fun, too.

Iowa After Dark

The trip, honestly, wasn’t that eventful—just another drive back to Iowa from Chicago, where I had spent Thanksgiving with my mom, dad, brother and brother’s wife, also known to friends as Jay and Natalie. While Thanksgiving is usually held at my parent’s place in northern Michigan, I think Chicago is a very close second place. It’s fantastic, at least in part because Jay is an avid boardgame collector. Our family definitely plays together, and thanks in part to Jay we were treated to a host of games. I brought some as well that I love and that went over semi-well with the family, but Jay clearly has the talent for seeking out general audience games that are easy to learn but still challenging, games like Thurn and Taxis, Ticket to Ride, Pandemic and Forbidden Island. There are a lot of other great things to do in Chicago, pretty much all of which I didn’t go to because of the cast on my foot, which is yet another incentive for me to heal quickly.

However, the fun eventually ended, and it was time for me to drive home. To those of you who haven’t driven from Chicago to Cresco, I want to give you a few facts that will put the journey in focus. First, the trip takes about six hours by car. It may take less time depending on your level of respect for the speed limits on the endless back roads between Cresco and Chicago. Second, there are three routes you can go, all of which take roughly the same amount of time. You can debate the efficiency of expressways versus the more direct backwoods route, but personally I prefer the route that takes me up to Madison, and then a more or less straight shot to Iowa, albeit the kind of straight shot that twists and turns along state highways and snakes through about five or six small towns that crop up randomly like whack-a-mole heads.

The third fact is that the drive to Chicago and the drive to Cresco are not the same trip. For me, the feeling I get when driving to Chicago is one of anticipation. Leaving Cresco behind and traveling down the back roads until I come across the expressway to Chicago is exciting. The small towns on the road fly by, with just a touch of activity to them. A couple friends stand around talking as their beat-up pickups guzzle gas at the Kwik Trip, and down the road a couple goes into the local Mom and Pop restaurant for some baseline American restaurant food with the occasional exotic menu item like the “Asian Chicken Wrap.” Then you get to Chicago itself. New York may be the city that never sleeps, but Chicago is just as much of an insomniac. There are always other drivers on the roads in Chicago, and even after midnight there’s plenty to do. Sometimes I get the notion that living in Chicago would be great, if not for the fact that you have to accept that living in Chicago is worth paying a good 30-40% more for everything.

The towns have an entirely different feel to them when I drive back to Cresco from Chicago, though. The towns are more or less entirely closed for business, and if you need some gasoline or stop at a fast food restaurant, the odds are good that you’ll be one of two, maybe three customers while the staff, mostly teenagers,  at either place tries to keep busy while waiting for their shift to end. To go from the Other City That Never Sleeps to The Comatose Town With Occasional Signs of Life can be jarring, a kind of cognitive whiplash if you will and perhaps a sign that I may be in the wrong place.

Between the sleepy little towns, though, is darkness. Not the kind of darkness you get with a city, where it is held back by an army of streetlights and muted by the ever-present stream of honking horns, sirens and automobile engines that rise and fall in pitch as they drive past. This darkness is all-pervading, threatening to get into your car and suck out the light from your dashboard and radio. It reminds you how powerful it is when you turn off your headlights and drive for a hundred feet or so. In cities, you can drive for an hour and be entertained by a bevy of radio stations, several large-screen TV billboards and of course hundreds of other motorists. In the country, there’s very few discernable objects between one town and another. In cities and on expressways, distances at night can be interesting, or at least uneventful. In the country, though, distances are keenly felt. I can understand why some people would prefer to remain in a small town, really instead of having to drive for hours through nothingness.

This is not to say that there is absolutely nothing to see. A couple of times on the backroads I saw some farmers at work in their Green and Yellow tractors, halogen lights blazing as they hauled hay bales and wagons around the farm. It’s not a sight I get to see often, usually because I’m in bed well before that happens. In fact, most people who aren’t farmers are in bed during that time. When you’re up late, though, and wishing you were just at your apartment already, it’s eye-opening to see just what kind of effort these farmers are putting in. They don’t have regular hours, and they don’t exactly get breaks. Instead, they do whatever needs to be done, whenever it needs to be done. Farmers can’t really schedule tasks, either. They deal with whatever has to be done at the time, no matter how big it is. I could sympathize, as I raced home to be in my own bed in my apartment in Cresco.