And now a little about the “work” aspect of our road tripping lifestyle.

Over a year ago I committed to finally making good use of my overpriced journalism degree by building my writing career and expanding my editorial capabilities beyond the world of three legged dogs and bone cancer.

Although I was a regular contributor to the Eureka Times Standard Newspaper for about a decade (the main newspaper of our old stomping grounds) and wrote daily articles for our Tripawds.com community, I never seemed to have time to pursue actual paid writing gigs from new clients.

Faced with the reality that my current writing efforts weren’t going anywhere or generating income unless I made an honest attempt to pitch my services, I started looking for outlets that could improve my talents while actually paying something.

My efforts are slowly paying off. Here’s my latest piece about the beautiful area we fell in love with back in 2009:

“Red Feather Lakes: Northern Colorado’s Best Kept Secret.”

I wrote this for Go Colorado, a fantastic website about the gems that make the Centennial State our ideal place to homestead during summer.

Enjoy!

My dad once told me a similar joke where an immigrant gave up on learning the English language after reading that headline. But yet again, I digress.

Though I have said it before, whenever I go AWOL around here you can rest assured it has something to do with three legged dogs. This time was a big deal.

I recently completed the long overdue Tripawds site makeover with a complete overhaul of the site’s theme and active plugin structure. Anyone interested in the easiest way to make random header images or how to integrate multi-site stats into a site-wide header might be interested in the bit I wrote about how to customize the WPMU-Nelo custom homepage CMS WordPress theme.

Suffice it to say, however, that this undertaking was a crash course in php and css. And so far, it has paid off. Speaking figuratively, not literally. My prime directive for overhauling the Tripawds site was to improve performance in the discussion forums.

We started Tripawds using Mandigo, the same theme behind this blog and the RVblogz community. It has served us well. Mandigo is massively configurable, with lots of java and many files. Over the past few years, Jerry’s blog infrastructure had become bloated.

Too many hacks, scripts and widgets were bogging down the site.

So how did I do it?

One word: WPMUdev.

Seriously, there’s no way I alone could make the Tripawds Blogs community what it has become without my WPMUdev premium subscription for the best WordPress themes plugins and support. That’s how during the recent makeover I easily implemented robust new features like a global site search and searchable directories for blogs and members.

It’s also where I got the lean and mean WPMU-Nelo. Hacking this slick WordPress theme to bits was relatively easy, even for me due to it’s code simplicity and parent/child theme structure.

Did someone say digress? We’re in Quartzite now with the Nü Crew, and I haven’t even written about Walla Walla. As much as I hate reading blogs that bemoan infrequent updates, we gots some catchin’ up to do!

Ah, California. Land of sunshine, beaches, beautiful people and . . .

The most outrageous fuel prices in the country!

When we arrived, diesel was just up over $3.00 a gallon. Now, it’s almost at $4. The longer we hang out, the higher prices climb. It’s like a flashback to 2008. Scary stuff.

After several weeks of hanging out, the L.A. basin is starting to remind us of crabs in a pot.

Soon, we’ll beat a path out of here, and head somewhere far away.

Here, actually.

A small ranch in Southern Arizona, where our friends Kelly and Al have been caretaking every winter. We camped there with them for a night once, and loved the peace and quiet. Last Fall, Kelly and Al hooked us up with the property owners, and now we have a short caretaking gig at their place in February/March.

We’ll have some animals and acreage to look after, along with wide open skies, big views and a whole lot of quiet.

Then in late March, as long as fuel prices don’t get too much higher, we’ll head to Big Bend National Park once again. Where the skies are even bigger, and the Longhorns outnumber the people.

Now that’s living.

In my previous life as a marketing manager with long hours, deliverables, and accountability; and during our time as small business owners, with demanding clients, overhead and even longer hours; I often told myself – and others – that I sometimes wished I could just go dig a ditch. The opportunity recently arose, in a big way, and will again soon.

This is no ordinary ditch mind you, and it’s just one of a few that will help divert water from our roof away from our house via the new gutters we recently had installed.

Honey-do projects are one thing, but installing gutters are another. Yes, we could have easily hung DIY rain gutters. But going seamless is not just about aesthetics, it’s the smart choice up here in the mountains.

The issue is not so much that snow will pile up and tear off gutter sections – it can, and does as we’ve seen happen down the road. It’s more about what happens as snow thaws in them, freezes and repeats. Seams simply can’t take it.

Back to that ditch. As illegal as it is to collect water off our roof according to our subdivision’s augmentation plan, René wanted to try. Apparently I’m building a box garden when we get back to Jerry’s Acres next Spring. But there I go digressing.

I obliged by inquiring about nonperforated drainage pipe at Home Cheapo. Thus we learned why using such a thing for the amount of ditch I was digging is a bad idea. Stagnant water sitting in solid pipe stinks. Quite literally. I for one am very happy to discover this before burying all the pipe I did.

About ten inches deep by 40 feet long in less than six hours. That’s how I spent last Saturday. An impressive feat if I don’t say so myself, but then, I just did. This weekend calls for another 30 feet, easy. Well, not exactly easy. Remember my Colorado geology lesson from the ranch?

There’s a reason they call these the rocky mountains, and I encountered more than a few Leaverites. Ya know, those rocks that you hit and realize … you better leave ‘er right there.

How to Dig a Ditch

The right tools make any job easier. But if you must dig a trench by hand, here are a few pointers:

• Know your terrain. Unless you’re digging up a soft lawn, recommended tools include a pick axe, pointed shovel, square shovel, and rake hoe.
• Don’t bend the blade on your pick like I did. See Leaverite above.
• Keep drainage pipe ditches at least 8-10 inches deep. See Stink.
• Loosen ground with pick by swinging big and letting gravity do the job
• Square off legs and shoulders, holding pick handle low.
• Use your legs, not your back.
• Use hoe to remove movable rocks before digging.
• Switch tools often to avoid burnout and work all muscle groups.
• Avoid buried gas, water and electric lines at all costs.
• Stretch and stay hydrated.
• Don’t dread what remains to be done, keep your eye on the goal.
• Wear eye protection and listen to rockin’ tunes, or railroad work songs.
• Never, ever, try to dig a 40′ ditch in one day.

Whenever I go MIA around here, it usually means I’ve been wrapped up is some major project – one that probably has something to do with three legged dogs. This time is no different.

I haven’t written since that silly Valentine’s Day post because I have been busy launching the all new and much improved Tripawds Gift Shop. This required dusting off the old right brain bits and lubricating my creative gears to come up with loads of new graphic designs for inspawrational three legged dog t-shirts, cards, stickers, mugs and other gift items.

It was fun designing all these new graphics, and it felt good doing it for something I am passionate about, without some client breathing down my neck telling me to make the text bold and red.

Oh, wait … the type on our new Tripawd Power design is bold and red! Well, not really… it’s Cooper Black actually, and more of a crimson. But there I go digressing, here’s the link if you want to talk about typefaces.

I would like to think this represents some of my best work. But that’s not saying much considering I haven’t done any real graphic design work since we sold our business nearly three years ago. But it is a nice feeling knowing that I still got it – if I ever really had it, that is. And it goes to prove that graphic design is like riding a bike, in more ways than one.

If you think you may have lost the touch, just jump back into your favorite Adobe product and start pedaling. And if your chain falls off and you just can’t get it to work right, call a professional. Anyone need a logo?

It wasn’t the work that did me in. It was the fact that I cannot be part of an organization that does not value the Individual.

From high school to my first office job at an insurance company, large impersonal institutions and I just never got along. Had I remembered this before I decided to work at Satan’s Castle, I could have spared myself some grief (and been in a warmer climate by now).

Last week we were supposed to start 12 hour shifts, but instead, almost every day, we got sent home after just a few hours of work. “The volume isn’t there,” said the outbound shipping department manager. Soon it became clear that the long hours and overtime Satan used as bait wasn’t going to materialize. His cheerleaders have been hitting the airwaves on NPR and CNBC, yet things have been very, very slow for us here at the Nevada warehouse.

With each shift cut short, I wondered if I was going to be able to cover the cost of December’s rent at the RV park. My patience was wearing thin.

Even more frustrating was that I just learned via Workamper that the lower-paid cogs in Kansas are getting more hours than we are. My theory is that Satan is cutting costs by shifting the bulk of the work to locations that pay less.

The Final Ingredients

Sunday morning, one of Satan’s minions walked up to me with a clipboard in hand. She was one of the nicer ones, who actually tried to remember workers’ names. The first thing she said when she saw me was “Rene, you’re going to hate me.”

She put her clipboard on my workstation, and showed me a warning notice that said I wasn’t “making the numbers,” one week into another outbound shipping job I was put on. The warning was based on the volume I processed, just two days into the new job.

I was stunned, because the Agency’s rules state that we have four weeks to get numbers up to that level. Yeah, I knew I was slow during my first few days, but for the last three days, I had consistently “made the numbers.” I couldn’t understand why I was getting a warning based on week-old volume.

The notice stated it was a “Final Warning,” but this was technically my second, because I had been kicked out of my first job for not being a “team player.” Every employee is supposed to receive three warnings before getting fired.

As a final insult, my name was misspelled on the warning.

Satan’s Minion was asking for my signature to acknowledge the warning. But I didn’t, and instead I said to her “They’re full of crap. This is only my second warning, and I was told I have four weeks to get to that production level. Why aren’t they following their own rules?”

The Minion got a distressed look on her face, and then out of nowhere, she started crying.

“I’m so sorry Rene! I hate this job! This is all I do all day long, and I only get fifty cents an hour more than you do! Yesterday I had to fire a 70 year old lady with Parkinson’s because she couldn’t make the numbers. They’re having me fire people after just a few days into training. This place is horrible! I just put in my two week notice because I can’t take it anymore!”

She stood there crying, while I looked on, stunned. She was very pregnant, and said she really needed the money, but she just couldn’t work for a place that treated people like crap.

I felt badly for her, but I was going to stand my ground.

I refused to sign it. I told her “I’m sorry, but I want them to tell me why this is a ‘Final Warning,’ and why I’m being expected to meet Week Four quotas. They’re ignoring their own rules. I won’t sign it, I can’t.”

She agreed it was wrong, and she said she would look into it, but couldn’t promise anything. Then she left, and five minutes later, another minion came by to announce that we all had to go home, two hours into our shift. There wasn’t enough work. “Come back tomorrow,” she yelled to us.

What’s It Worth?

As I clocked out and walked through the metal detector exit, my head was spinning. Could I stand working there for just four more weeks? Could I live with the uncertainty of the hours I was getting, or of being fired any minute without just cause? What if all this agony doesn’t even cover the $400 in rent I had just paid for December?

On my way home, I remembered that the RV park owner had said that if things didn’t work out during the first four days of the month, she would refund the rent and charge me a daily rate. That’s when I knew what I had to do.

I pulled into the park and stopped at the office. I asked the manager if I could take her up on that offer. Thankfully, she did.

I went to the rig, and told Jim what happened.

I won’t work for a company that relies on fear tactics and bullying. Maybe some people can tolerate that kind of environment, but I won’t. I have my self-respect, and cash-crunch or not, know I am worthy of better treatment. Life is too short.

Then I picked up the phone, and made my stand. I called Satan’s Agency to tell them I quit.

Jim is thrilled, and now I feel like a huge anvil has been lifted off my head.

Looking back, I realize that I took this job because I was letting fear rule my life. Almost three years into our sabbatical, our dwindling savings account is telling me that we have to get serious about making money. But instead of buckling down and earnestly working to make our new business venture happen, I opted for what I thought was the quick and easy way out; the false sense of security one gets with a paycheck. What a sham.

Instead of following our dream, I took the paved road to hell, and paid dearly for it.

I’m proud of my little warehouse worker. Just yesterday she vowed not to let it get to her, that she would just do her job the best she could and punch her clock like a good worker bee would.

This morning she apparently stood her ground and told them something completely different, and was then sent home early yet again. We got to walk Wyatt together, and now she’s taking a much deserved nap. It’s good to have Margie home again, but I’ll let her tell the rest of the story.

It sure would be nice to know what happened to all those lucrative overtime hours we heard about though. But then again, I also heard that consumer sales for this Black Friday weekend were up a whopping 0.5% from last year too.

First off, my apologies to anyone who is put off by the last few posts I’ve written. Yes, I know I’ve taken on a negative tone, but this blog been one of my main outlets after being treated like a subhuman at Satan’s Castle. Sorry to be a downer, I’m not usually like this. When this gig is over at Christmas, we’ll be back on the road traveling around, and living the Dream part we enjoy so much more.

This Friday, Black Friday, I start 12 hour shifts. This is where the money is, this is why I’m here, and I’m not going to have the energy to write. So you’ll be hearing more from Jim and less from me, except maybe my occasional reports about silly and suprising items I see coming down the conveyor belt. Like these. . . .

Jobs are scarce everywhere you go, and we are all thankful for whatever we can earn right now. But it’s a sad commentary on America’s standard of living, when so many of the working poor I’ve talked to consider Satan’s pay rate to be pretty good ($11.50/hr).

I’m not sure why, because when I look back at the the last 20 years of my working life, I see that in real wages I’m actually earning way less than I was back in the late ’80s.

In 1988, I worked at a mannequin factory, painting faces in the art department. I was paid $8.00/hr. Then, in 1989 – 1991, I made roughly $16.00/hr putting myself through college while working for an insurance company. I thought my standard of living would only go up from there, but when I finally got my degree in ’92, jobs were scarce. So I became a coffee barista and waited tables, and made around $9.00/hr plus tips. I was barely  able to survive on that in San Francisco, but I did.

Seventeen years later, this job is paying me slightly over what I made in ’92, yet that wage is supposed to be considered good? How can that be? Certainly I’m not paying the same for food, fuel, etc., that I was back then. I’m just banking on the overtime that’s supposed to kick in this week after Black Friday, which is why I took this gig.

As the cost of living climbs, real wages keep sinking for those at the bottom. I’m so outraged that there is such a ridiculous, embarrasing disparity in this country between the rich and working poor (which, if you’re not already, you could be, very easily). Meanwhile, the Wall Street billionaires keep making obscene profits, and taking our tax money to bail their companies out. Can’t you hear them laughing?

It can always be worse. Brain asked René…

What is Jim doing while you work for Satan?

As René answered, I am fortunate enough to be self employed with a full time job of maintaining the online endeavors of Agreda Communications. You see, the Tripawds Blogs Community has grown to consume most of our time. But while we do this out of passion and support for the more than 1,000 members, it really doesn’t make us any money to speak of. Hence the focus on running the endeavors.

Between attempts to tame the beast and battle spam blog registrations, I spend my day moderating forums, processing harness orders, developing content for promotional blogs, troubleshooting technical difficulties, managing member blogs, and playing host in our live Tripawds chat room. Oh, and I do this while playing Mr. Mom by keeping house and preparing meals, and feeding the beast.

But don’t get me wrong, Wyatt has come a long way and is actually showing signs he might actually show us some respect someday. And it could be a lot worse.

Instead of taking three long walks a day and sitting on my butt for hours on end staring at my Mac, I could be busting my ass like René, or worse yet dancing on some street corner hawking the liquidated assets of yet another discount furniture warehouse. Which I would gladly do if it came to that.

Though if it ever did come to that, I think I’d rather head back to our house and focus a little harder on these endeavors of ours. Talk to me come tax time.

Overheard in the LiveWorkDream rig recently:

“I’ve always told myself I would do whatever it takes to stay out of debt. Now I know I can.”

Or something like that. Nevertheless, I concur.