I'm currently traveling in the dizzyingly monotonous world of a white collar professional. I wear blazers, heels, long skirts and spend hours in a cubicle. I’m in New York, so I wear a shit-ton of black. Manhattan white collar professionals, ironically, love black. Black collar workers would fit better for this area of business (Also it sounds more intense and mysterious, and who doesn’t love a little mystery?) I’m working in the cubicle of a woman who is currently on maternity leave. She left about five pairs of size 8 ½ shoes in her bottom desk drawer, in addition to family photos. In the right corner of her desk are pictures of her husband and her on their wedding day, their beautiful Arian baby boy, and their adorable sandy colored dog. Sometimes while staring off into the depths of my computer monitor I wonder if people walk by and think “why does that young dark complexioned lady have photos of a blond couple in wedding attire and baby on her desk?” I think it would be funny if they did. People here need a little bit of funny.
I work on the 7th floor of a 28 story office building. I got this internship because my good ol’ pops works here. He works on the same floor; on the other side. We’re part of the private banking division. His side of the floor is a little more upbeat. There are bond traders over there so it sounds kind of like a backyard party compared to my area of the floor which sounds like a doctor’s office waiting room. From my desk I can see into three offices. Offices are quite luxurious; they typically have windows so they can see outside! I can see outside by peering into one of the office’s windows. Some offices have televisions, and artwork. Most importantly an office means no one can see what you’re doing on your computer, and your phone conversations are not overheard by about 30 people, like in the cubicle region. Those guys could be playing Tetris for hours and I would have no idea; that’s pretty stellar. From my desk, I can see what 5 people are doing at all times…not that I care, but I’m just saying, someone’s always watching.
As I neglect my critical intern duties I drift into a land of profound thoughts. First about the overwhelming amount of time spent in this cubicle for people who do this full time, and just how short weekends are. Then I think about people with young kids that live in the ‘burbs.
They get up; clean their kids, make breakfast, pack lunch, and get them off to camp or school, then they get ready. Following that is their commute to work where they remain for upwards of 8 hours. After which they commute home, feed and clean their kids, help them with homework and, lecture them about not being bad. Sometime in all of this they manage to attend games, parent teacher conferences, bring their kids on vacations, pay bills, upkeep their home and for those overachievers- exercise. Even if they have a fantastic housekeeper and nanny, there’s still more going in their day to day than on an episode of a trashy teen drama show. It blows my mind when I think of all my parents have done and I question if I could ever do all that.
…In other more random thoughts, I realized how pointless and funny ties are. They are the silliest accessory ever, and it means that mostly all macho business men accessorize, I would like someone to break the news to them. Back to work.
Monday, June 29, 2009
The Cabin
The small structure, originally built as an overnight lodge for skeet shooting enthusiasts has been what my family and I affectionately call “the cabin,” for 21 years now. The cabin means nature, relaxation, almost obnoxious amounts of family time, kayaking, the general store, and Uncle Jim. The saggy wood cabin painted burnt red with white trimming stands connected to the new larger than life deck, across the lawn from ‘the shed,’ ‘shed junior,’ and up the driveway from the ‘rock wall’ (all crucial items of cabin culture.) My mom, dad, brother and I went to the cabin in May for what was likely the only time this summer we’d all be there, and likely the only time I’d go there at all this summer.
Attendance at the cabin has dropped steeply over the years. With the addition of the Manhattan apartment, and our generally busier lifestyle, the cabin is like an old stuffed animal. It has millions of memories, induces a warm feeling in the stomach depths, and although we will never cease to love it, we’re too old to sleep with it anymore. Yet, the cabin is a wondrous place. There is a tiny wood burning stove inside creating a musty fiery smell in the winter. It stinks up anything that comes in its path and seeps in like a delicious skunk spray. In the fall, spring and, summer we have campfires (in a pit which my brother and I built a decade ago) with firewood which has been cut and collected from my chainsaw loving father and brother. We spend time reading, talking, and fishing—insane rarities at home.
This visit to the cabin is typical, a satisfying and comforting feeling. It’s almost always the same at the cabin.
My brother, Dad and I clean up branches which had come down in the winter ice storm, while my mom cleans and prepares meals inside. By the end of the work day my legs look as though I fought a hardcore cat and lost, I am pooped but content. I go to bed around 10 and wake up at 8.30 when my dad walks out of his room flipping up every shade, creating a quick blinding explosion of morning light on my brother and my sensitive sleepy eyes. We roll around in our former bunk beds, (now separate on different sides of the living room/kitchen area) for a few minutes before accepting it is indeed morning, waking up early is just another cabin staple. Next step- the general store.
For quite sometime we referred to the general store as the “new general store.” The ‘old’ general store was closer and even more townie; it was tiny and everything seemed fresh but old and dusty at the same time. It was run by a chubby, bearded middle-aged man named Bob. He lived above the store, and ran the store for longer than I’ve been alive. But one day about ten years ago my Dad informed us that Uncle Jim (dad's brother who lives near the cabin,) had just called with news that Bob had tried to commit suicide. It turned out the general store was experiencing all sorts of economic turmoil and poor Bob couldn’t deal. The news saddened us, and worse was seeing the abandoned general store the next time we went up. A staple of our youth was empty, a depressed little store with a seemingly dark future, in the middle of Becket. It was a blow to my naïve mind that even in the magical land of ‘the cabin’ bad things could happen. The general store remains dark and idle after a decade, and the ‘new’ general store a town over thrives next to the fancy new post office they put in last year.
It took time, but we have come to accept and love the new general, and look forward to stopping in. A visit to ‘the general’ while at the cabin is as necessary as a morning pee; you just have to do it. We go to see the typical disappointing array of general store pastries and coffee, at 9.30 we are far too late to get the good stuff. We arrive back at the cabin and eat eggs my mom cooks while staring at the luscious hilly view from the deck.
Uncle Jim stops by while we’re eating; he is in his normal chatty state. It still irks me that he’s 62; he seems younger, and just straight up not in his sixties. He informs us of some local gossip, and how his business is going; tells us about his kid’s family and his new car. I contemplate about his being sixty-something and my cousin having a full blown family. When he leaves, I finish my breakfast, clean and pack up because I’m leaving soon to visit my roommate.
My dad loads up my windshield with Rainex because ‘It’s supposed to rain, and some people are idiots when they drive in the rain.” He tells me numerous times to be careful, all of which I shrug off while secretly adoring how much my parents care about me. I say bye to close another time at the cabin and drive off thinking of the Food Network worthy s'mores I made the previous night during a starry fire. Until next time, my quaint little friend.
Attendance at the cabin has dropped steeply over the years. With the addition of the Manhattan apartment, and our generally busier lifestyle, the cabin is like an old stuffed animal. It has millions of memories, induces a warm feeling in the stomach depths, and although we will never cease to love it, we’re too old to sleep with it anymore. Yet, the cabin is a wondrous place. There is a tiny wood burning stove inside creating a musty fiery smell in the winter. It stinks up anything that comes in its path and seeps in like a delicious skunk spray. In the fall, spring and, summer we have campfires (in a pit which my brother and I built a decade ago) with firewood which has been cut and collected from my chainsaw loving father and brother. We spend time reading, talking, and fishing—insane rarities at home.
This visit to the cabin is typical, a satisfying and comforting feeling. It’s almost always the same at the cabin.
My brother, Dad and I clean up branches which had come down in the winter ice storm, while my mom cleans and prepares meals inside. By the end of the work day my legs look as though I fought a hardcore cat and lost, I am pooped but content. I go to bed around 10 and wake up at 8.30 when my dad walks out of his room flipping up every shade, creating a quick blinding explosion of morning light on my brother and my sensitive sleepy eyes. We roll around in our former bunk beds, (now separate on different sides of the living room/kitchen area) for a few minutes before accepting it is indeed morning, waking up early is just another cabin staple. Next step- the general store.
For quite sometime we referred to the general store as the “new general store.” The ‘old’ general store was closer and even more townie; it was tiny and everything seemed fresh but old and dusty at the same time. It was run by a chubby, bearded middle-aged man named Bob. He lived above the store, and ran the store for longer than I’ve been alive. But one day about ten years ago my Dad informed us that Uncle Jim (dad's brother who lives near the cabin,) had just called with news that Bob had tried to commit suicide. It turned out the general store was experiencing all sorts of economic turmoil and poor Bob couldn’t deal. The news saddened us, and worse was seeing the abandoned general store the next time we went up. A staple of our youth was empty, a depressed little store with a seemingly dark future, in the middle of Becket. It was a blow to my naïve mind that even in the magical land of ‘the cabin’ bad things could happen. The general store remains dark and idle after a decade, and the ‘new’ general store a town over thrives next to the fancy new post office they put in last year.
It took time, but we have come to accept and love the new general, and look forward to stopping in. A visit to ‘the general’ while at the cabin is as necessary as a morning pee; you just have to do it. We go to see the typical disappointing array of general store pastries and coffee, at 9.30 we are far too late to get the good stuff. We arrive back at the cabin and eat eggs my mom cooks while staring at the luscious hilly view from the deck.
Uncle Jim stops by while we’re eating; he is in his normal chatty state. It still irks me that he’s 62; he seems younger, and just straight up not in his sixties. He informs us of some local gossip, and how his business is going; tells us about his kid’s family and his new car. I contemplate about his being sixty-something and my cousin having a full blown family. When he leaves, I finish my breakfast, clean and pack up because I’m leaving soon to visit my roommate.
My dad loads up my windshield with Rainex because ‘It’s supposed to rain, and some people are idiots when they drive in the rain.” He tells me numerous times to be careful, all of which I shrug off while secretly adoring how much my parents care about me. I say bye to close another time at the cabin and drive off thinking of the Food Network worthy s'mores I made the previous night during a starry fire. Until next time, my quaint little friend.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
