Signal to Noise

Lest you think that I am worked off of my feet, I tok a little time today to make a panoramic view of the Sun-N-Shade looking from just outside of the office toward the entrance. I used Hugin (after seeing what Peter Rukavina created with a few pictures outside of his door) with my iPhone camera (advertising slogan: “it is what it is”). It turned out quite well considering the camera and the overcast day. I am going to play with Hugin more.

Campground, campground, campground–how I love the lessons you teach. I have amused more French-speaking campers than I can count (in any language) with my attempts to communicate. One of the families that came through was as hopeless in English as I was in French and we almost laughed ourselves foolish through pantomimes and gestures. The teenage daughter excused herself to laugh on the deck outside of the office because she was giggling too hard and eventually realized that she should be self-conscious because she was, after all, a teenager laughing like mad in the presence of her parents. Rather than describe the actions I will leave it to your imaginations to picture the discussions on the size and quantity of mosquitoes and the quality of the College of Piping’s dance performances in Summerside.

People on vacation want to be happy. That is the best part of being here (dancing in the office and making funny faces while pretending to swat mosquitoes is a close second).

The variety of people is wonderful. Not always the individuals, but the variety is amazing. I have accumulated many more stereotypes (very few are negative) and many more exceptions to them. I like to think that I am cheerful, polite, and resourceful enough to eventually figure out what people want and get it for them. I did blow one situation today through and only through the greatest of luck did things work out very well–all thanks to a lady from California.

For reasons known only to the gods that govern camping traffic near large bridges, there was a rush of people (about five groups at the same time) this evening around 7:00pm. This is quite unusual for a Sunday evening. As I worked through the groups that were in the office I had my head down quite a bit and when I had a piece of paper slipped into my view I was surprised. Two gentlemen passed me a piece of paper that asked me if I had a cabin to rent. I answered that I did not. They looked puzzled and wrote another note. It said that they would like to have a cabin but would take a tent site if there was no cabin. I again said that there was no cabin available but I had a tent site available if they wished.

I am sure at this point you, the reader, have figured out that they two men were deaf and me telling them that there was no cabin was very close to useless. How I could remain so damn stupid after these two exchanges staggers me. I figure I am pretty clever and astute (I even mentioned my cleverness above, remember?). Yet, I did not catch on that speaking to a deaf person is not the best means of communication–ESPECIALLY WHEN THERE IS A PAD OF PAPER RIGHT IN FRONT OF ME. But, stunned I was. Then, because I have more good fortune than I deserve, a lady from California was waiting behind the two men and she was very capable with American Sign Language. She and the two men had a great conversation and quickly forgot about me and the cabin. I was able to help the remaining people in the office find camping sites and then waited and watched the silent and beautifully expressive conversation.

One of my deeply held beliefs is that communication is fundamental to understanding (obvious) and understanding reduces conflicts (reasonably obvious, I hope) and fewer conflicts makes people happier (not going to prove it but it has held true for me). Being in a situation where I was unable to communicate I immediately felt awkward and helpless. It was only a small step from that to being embarrassed at my gaff, worried about causing offence, and becoming more nervous than I had been when dancing and swatting mosquitoes to the mortification of a stranger’s teenage daughter.

The lady from California allowed all of us to communicate easily and, dare I say it, comfortably. She and her family went to settle into their camper and the two guys went off to pitch their tent. I came in here to write and think a bit. I will do better next time.

I am tempted to write a book about working at the Sun-N-Shade campground this summer. There have been enough laughs, quandaries, and pearls of wisdom in the last two weeks to at least fill a trade paperback. If I could come up with a touchy-feelie title that evokes folk knowledge and caring (perhaps something involving chicken soup or self-healing) I might just might make my fortune and be able to ride the talk show circuit for a few years and retire in the splendour deserving of a modern-day oracle. Of course to do all of this I would need some reasonable stretch of uninterrupted writing time; so that idea is out.

I have come up with a chapter title for the portion of the book that relates the wisdom bequeathed to me by George, the social hub of to campground. George does everything from stand-up comedy to emptying garbage cans and is able to find humour in most any situation (self-deprecating or not). The chapter will be called “Grab the Easy Stuff First.” This is not so much a philosophy as a way of life that has been honed by years sailing off of the east coast of Canada. Even though he professes what might be construed as a lackadaisical attitude toward work I have yet to see any of his jobs undone. To abuse a nautical metaphor, he gets where he is going with minimal tacking and almost no wake.

Speaking of time, I have been writing this post for five hours now and I … cripes, I just got interrupted again and this sentence has taken me twenty minutes and I forgot what I was going to write. I cannot wait to see the narrative of this post when I am finished.

Ah, the jobs. I am fascinated by the number and variety of small jobs. The bigger jobs such as collecting the garbage, cutting the grass, and cleaning the facilities are all running without me getting involved to muck things up. There have been a few times that I have wandered in to clean up a large mess or move things about to make cutting the grass easier, but I am not needed much there. It is the “everything-else” jobs that fall my way. Here are some of the “everything-else” that I have undertaken (skilled in the area or not):

• wasp nest removal
• clothes dryer repair
• golf cart repair
• lawn mower repair
• reversing and parking obscenely large trailer
• argument mediator
• computer technician (including wireless network)
• tour guide
• restaurant critic
• delivery and shuttle services
• fan belt squeal remover
• and so on …

There are a ton of little jobs like that (some longer than others) and every one of them interrupts something–usually supper.

I would have to say that I am enjoying the variety and challenges that I am getting these days at the campground. There is a fair bit of tedium when it comes to checking people in and taking reservations and doing the books but the rest is a very interesting adventure. There is, however, a significant downside: the evenings.

I am alone in the evenings. When all of the jobs are finished and all of the music has been played and songs sung–then I am alone to finish my work and go to bed. I never suspected that this would be the hard part of the job. I have been married (with children) for quite a long time and this stretch has been the longest period I have been away from my family at night. I am missing my family at night a lot. It is just too quiet. There is no conversation, no discussion, no planning for the next day … just quiet.

I was talking with a man a while back who is a widower and he was telling me about how empty his house has become. We talked for about ninety minutes about this and that with always the underlying theme of emptiness. He was not unhappy, it was more adjusting the the change of not having a loved partner around to maintain their well-established pattern. I found myself trying to be sympathetic but not really understanding the nuance he was trying to convey. I suspect that like many people, I had simplified the situation to fit my understanding and past experiences.

My situation is a temporary dislocation and not a permanent loss. But I cannot help but feel that there is a part of both circumstances that is common, the disruption from comfortable routine and companionship. I have been struggling to put my finger on why I am bothered by this at all and this is what I have surmised. It may be complete twaddle and I know it sounds (borderline) silly, but so be it. As a footnote, part of the discussion on loss was the fact that very few people discuss that type of loss (I was told that it was discussed more with women and less with men) and it is very difficult to put into words. Maybe I understand the nuances a little better and maybe I don’t. I know I am looking forward to getting back to my comfortable routine.

I saw this and thought it was funny enough to implement and post. Of course I don’t get out much and have been spending my time at the campground so a little physics and HTML humour may be exciting the portion of my brain dedicated to hilarity to unnatural levels. Regardless, here it is in all its splendour.

<implementaion>

</implementaion>

<funny_comic>

</funny_comic>

As I am going numb from doing bookkeeping at the campground I noticed an article on reddit.com. Reading Reddit is no substitute for information but there are enough tidbits that I seem to give it more time in a day than I should (that was my obligatory I-am-not-really-addicted-to-a-social-news-site disclaimer).

The article mentions a Canadian from Chelsea Quebec who was stabbed in the neck and then sat down with his attacker and called the police. During the call to 911 the operator ended up speaking to the attacker who gave his name and birth date and awaited the police. Not your every day sort of occurrence.

Now the bit that I was startled to see, the man who was attacked is named Christopher Holloway. I met Christopher a number of years ago when we were both working for Bell Northern Research and Northern Telecom was a company that was making buckets of money. He had recently finished skiing across the Arctic from Russia to Canada via the North Pole. The trek was called Polar Bridge and there is a short blurb about it on Richard Weber’s Wikipedia page. I did not know Christopher very well but I knew enough from his stories to know that he was (and likely still is) very capable and pretty darn hard to faze. So even though the article states that he was “surprised last week by an intruder in his basement who had been eating his fruit and using his clothes dryer” I picture him being surprised in the “that’s unusual” sense rather than the “what am I going to do now” sense.

I am very glad he was not hurt. My first thoughts were very much about hoping he was okay. My subsequent thoughts (not the caring ones … ) were much more along the lines of the look on his face and irritation of being stabbed while he was trying to figure out what to do about a guy eating fruit in his basement who had just stabbed him in the neck. I have no idea of the circumstances but I cannot imagine anything else but a matter-of-face expression (some concern about weak legs, bleeding, and the knife, I am sure) and one more story to add to his already substantial quiver of tales.

I also remember biking to his house and when he opened the door he shouted “kill” to his very large Canadian Eskimo dog named Franklin. Although their temperament is described as “loyal, tough, brave, intelligent, and alert … it is affectionate and gentle” I did not know this and was far more concerned about the fact that I had a 90lb dog running toward me and my friend Chuck (on bikes) wearing little more than Lycra and a terrified expression. Better still, we were unable to flee and the first thing that Franklin did upon reaching us was to put MY ENTIRE HAND in his mouth and lick off the salt I had accumulated from a long ride. Chuck’s next words (when Franklin) moved to him were “Teeth, I feel teeth.” Franklin was a great dog.

I would have loved to know Christopher better but we ended up working for different companies and I paths seldom crossed. It is good to read that he is still kicking and apparently very much as I remember.

I am about to take three weeks and work at the Sun-N-Shade Campground (the world’s most underwhelming web site that belies an amazing place). This is an adventure for me and I have been drafted into the position by virtue of the fact that my parents are taking a bus trip for the last three weeks of August. My parents run the campground.

When we started with the campground we worked it together but I have spent less and less time at the campground in the last few years. As it turns out, my parents are far better at knowing what people want than I am. The result is that the campground runs in ways that are mysterious (to me). Most of the knowledge exists firmly encased in the minds of the two people who are taking a trip to Arizona for three weeks. It is a subtle thing, but I am beginning to suspect that there is a bit of fear within those same minds that they are abandoning the campground. Anarchy and horror awaits.

I, however, am confident that all will be well. I have run the campground before in a previous incarnation. I like to think I am level headed and not prone to violent outbursts. I have run companies in the past. But, I am still “the son” that is moving into my parents shoes.

When we dropped into the campground last night and all was running well. My parents were taking a break before the evening show at the hall and the people at the campground had it running like a well-oiled machine. We hung around for over an hour and chatted with campers and generally had a good time.

It was the cap to a wonderful evening to have my mother quietly pull me aside and tell me that if things are too tough for me in the next three weeks then my younger sister is willing to fly over 2000kms to help me run the place. And my aunt in Halifax can be available too.

No matter how successful or credible I might ever become … I am still a son.

There is nothing more sincere than a parent’s desire to protect a child. I will not sully the moment by allowing the possibility that the protective instinct is for the campground and not me.

It is almost quaint to hear an automated voice on a telephone call instructing the caller to insert more coins to continue a call. I got a call from my mother-in-law on June 30th telling me to gather my family and make sure we were at the Sun-N-Shade campground in Borden-Carleton on Canada Day. As this campground is owned by my family I had no problem with the request although I wondered why it was coming from my mother-in-law; she has no connection to the campground. I agreed (I am working to maintain my acceptable son-in-law status). I started to ask some questions regarding the reason we should trundle off to the campground and what time would be appropriate but the aforementioned automated voice interrupted to request more money. My mother-in-law was out of change so all I got was a “I have to go. I will see you tomorrow at the show.”

Ah ha … a clue.

It turns out that my parents (and several others) were putting on an evening performance of music and entertainment (a common happening at the Sun-N-Shade) that evening and they had been pressed into service for a bus tour at the last minute. My mother-in-law, her sister, and a number of her friends were on the tour and would be rolling in to the campground to see the show.

There were a few performers that began the show and then a longer set by the Dunromin Duo (the picture above is of them playing–and yes, there are three of them). They are (from left to right) Harold Noye, Vans Bryant, and Marnie Noye (the silent bass player). If you are a Last.FM person you can listen to their album. Jericho Road (Harold and Marnie Noye and Vans and Emily Bryant) came on after a break to finish the show.

The show was very good … really. The opening performers played traditional Maritime tunes (conspicuously evenly balanced between the provinces) and a couple of country songs. Dunromin Duo concentrated on duets (typically the “brothers” songs of the 1930s to the 1960s) and chose songs featuring close harmony including a version of “Kentucky” by the Louvin Brothers that ran close to eight minutes. The lyrics are below. As it works out to just slightly less than a minute for each line you can understand my amazement that I enjoyed the song as much as I did.

Kentucky you are the dearest land outside of Heaven to me
Kentucky your laurels and your red bud trees
When I die I want to rest upon your graceful mountain so high
Kentucky that is where God will look for me

Kentucky I miss the voices singing in the silvery moonlight
Kentucky I miss the hound dog chasing coon
I know that my mother dad & sweetheart all are waiting for me
Kentucky I will be coming soon

Kentucky you are the dearest land outside of Heaven to me
Kentucky I will be coming soon

Without disparaging the earlier acts, the evening was more enjoyable as it progressed. Jericho Road’s bluegrass and gospel music was an excellent capstone to the evening and the people I spoke with at the end of the evening echoed my sentiments. This Canada Day was far from typical for us; we usually see fireworks and sometimes outdoor concerts. I was expecting simple and homey and familiar. I got all of that–I was surprised by how much I truly enjoyed it.