Las Vegas 1/2 Marathon!! Please donate.

I am training for another 1/2 marathon in Las Vegas for Team Challenge (funds go to the Crohn's and Colitis Foundation).  In order to get there, I need donations!  I can start putting more stories up here, for everyone that makes a comment on this post and a donation to Team Challenge, I will write up a new post.  And I promise to make them good and humorous.  Thank you!!!

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Southern Georgia

I'm writing this post primarily for Eric.  I used to work with Eric and he misses stories about being in the papermill, especially ones from me.  That's because there aren't a lot of females that work in papermills.  There are some, but not many.  And because of that, I tend to make friends very easily with the operators in the papermill and it's probably also because I'm so nice. :)

I was in southern Georgia last week, helping out with a start-up of some of our equipment.  There was only one operator for this area and they work an 8-hr shift.  A few of the nights, I was on the swing shift and one night, I was on the graveyard shift.  The first operator I worked with was really nice, he told me about how much he loves fishin' and huntin'.  Each day I saw him, he had fished in the morning before he came to work.  He also has two little boys and he told me all about how they were named, I remember one of them was Max, but I can't remember the other.  They were both named after different men on his side of the family, both first and middle names.  I asked him why they didn't name them after anyone in his wife's family, he said she had agreed with the names, too.  But, I could tell that it wasn't even something they thought of doing.  He had nicknames for a lot of people at the mill.  He gave one of the guys I work with the nickname, "humperdink" (his last name is Hungerpiller).  There was someone else nicknamed "sniffy" (because he was always sniffing) another operator was nicknamed "Ronald McDonald" for the week because he had dyed his hair bright red.  That nickname was very fitting.  The operator that was working graveyard was nicknamed "granny" because he was always getting after the other operators about their work and keeping things cleaned up in the control room.  It was fun talking to him and hearing all the gossip about the other people working there.  

I worked with "granny" (his real name is Joe) one night.  I met him the night before, as I was leaving, and he said, "oh, so we get to sleep together tomorrow night?"  Ha, ha, it was funny.  When I came in the next night, he apologized, since he wasn't sure how I took what he said.  I told him that I got it and there weren't any worries.  But he did say something else later that night about how he got to spend the night with me.  He is 62 and divorced and I heard all about his ex-wife.  We exchanged some stories.  He was into Harleys and dirt bikes.  He built a dirt bike track for his son and grandkids and races around with them all the time.  He seems to be an awesome grandpa.  He also is in the process of building them a zip-line.  I think my dad should build me a zip-line in my back yard.  

When Joe was telling me about riding Harleys, he told me how much he loves riding winding roads and that there was one road in North Carolina that has over 300 turns in 11 miles.  I told him that would make me so sick, since I get motion sickness.  But, that it seemed really fun.  Later that night, he told me it was just too bad that I got motion sickness and he was sort of implying that he would have liked to take me on a ride on his Harley.  Ha, ha....so awesome!  Another thing he told me was that he was not looking forward to going to the dentist the next day.  He just got so nervous about it.  He said, "I get more nervous than a prostitute at church".  That made me laugh really hard. 

He also told me about how he is only interested in dating women and not being re-married.  He just didn't want to deal with someone being like his ex again.  I thought that was a little sad, but it sounds like he keeps dating women that don't seem to be the best girlfriends.  He told me about his most recent girlfriend and she had thought she saw Joe drive by her place a few times during the day, but he had actually been working that day.  She was really mad when he saw her that night because he hadn't stopped by.  He just got up and said it's over.  He knew she was a crazy if she was that upset with him, when she didn't remember that he was working.  She came by his house that night and threw a bag full of all the Harley gear he had bought for her on his front porch and then peeled out.  And Joe was completely fine with it all. 

These are the kinds of things I get to hear when I'm working at the papermill late at night.  I doubt that my male counterparts from the office get to hear as many good stories as I do.  They also don't have the chance to be hit on by the operators, either.  The pros and cons....

Grandpa Gus

My grandpa Gus passed away on January 22.  My uncle Nick gave the eulogy at his funeral service which highlighted so many wonderful things about my grandpa.  I've copied it below.  Enjoy reading more about him.  He was a fun grandpa and a wonderful father to my mom.

Σας ευχαριστούμε πάρα πολύ, Παπά

For my beloved father, Gus Demas

by his loving son, Nicholas

(A Eulogy given January 31, 2011)

To be able to say some words on this day that pay special remembrance to my father--to commemorate his life--is a great honor. Doing so for him, and for my loving mother, is truly a privilege.

Some of us know him as Gus, to some others Costa Deno, and yet others know him as Papa; but sometimes I just call him Dad. Whatever we call him, when I think of my father, I think of a quiet confidence. A silent pride and strength and fortitude that need no words mentioned; revealed only by his stature and his actions. I think of him as a guardian and a protector--of anyone that needs protecting. A caring and compassionate nature for others, always willing to lend a hand. A man with a generous and giving heart, who provided for his family with the highest standard in his work ethic. And I think of him as a good husband to my mother (He so loves her, I saw it in his eyes). I think of a man who lived a full and vibrant life. A complete life, even though that cruel disease robbed him of his twilight. So today I will be proud and share some stories and anecdotes about his life and loves and some of my own experiences with him.

And from this point forward, I’ll cherish the memories I have, and forever contemplate how he affected my life so deeply.  Gus was the second oldest of 8 children. Born to Greek immigrant parents, he spent his formative years in Nevada City and Grass Valley where his father worked in the gold mines.  This was during the depression era of the 1930’s. Times were somewhat rough in those days, but young Gus and his brothers found industrious and enterprising ways to help make ends meet; and had a little fun too. Gus and his brothers somehow figured they could pick flowers and sell them to the ... ("professional" women of the town (brothel?)). Picture these kids, aged between 5 and 10, picking and arranging bouquets of flowers, and sending their littlest brother Sam up to the house where the working women there would find him so cute and irresistible they couldn’t refrain from spending a dime or a quarter. Or they would bring their shoeshine boxes to the saloon and shine the shoes for the miners and patrons there. They’d take some of the money home of course, but the rest would afford all sorts of goodies and fun stuff like movies and comic books. Depression? They had no idea there was any depression. Just the innocence of youth and making due with what they had.

Papa Nick

Gus’s father, Nickolas, was highly influential to his children. By all accounts he was somewhat of a stern man, with a sometimes quick temper, yet at other times sensitive and kind. Neverthe-less he was highly respected and admired by his children. Though he could not read and write in English, in Greek he was a learned man, and would teach the children by story telling.

The impressionable children would sit around a cast-iron stove or fireplace and listen intently as their father would tell stories of ancient Greece and its philosophers such as Socrates and Plato and Aristotle; or tales of his own childhood and hardships of life that was in Crete; or even stories of ghosts and legends and such. Gus and all his brothers always spoke of their father in utmost respect and regard, and credit his influence as vital to their characters.

The Gift

Gus was a gifted athlete. Definitely a natural talent in the realm of sports. Football, baseball, anything that required dexterity and speed and skill. But where he particularly shined was in the boxing ring. I have heard many tell of his exceptional abilities when they speak of him. I often hear words like: “excellence” or “awesome” when I hear others describe his extraordinary talents in the ring. I have even heard some say he missed his calling and could‘ve perhaps made a living fighting if he‘d continued. Although spectators who knew him and saw him fight praised his abilities, I never once heard a bragging word from his own mouth, as he was very modest and humble when talking about himself.

My dad’s younger brother, Angelo, told me a story about a neighbor they had when they were kids. Apparently this neighbor complained often about the kids being noisy while they were playing and horsing around in the neighborhood. One day this neighbor called Gus over and gave him a gift. To their surprise, the man had given them a gift, a set of boxing gloves so the kids could face off against each other. They only guessed as to the neighbor’s true intentions, but speculated he had secretly hoped they’d beat each other senseless in the process. Neverthe-less, over the following months and years they strapped these gloves on and fought with each other, day in and day out, learning to become good fighters, all of them. But Gus stood out, a notch above, displaying his natural abilities immediately, and it was obvious that he had a special gift. Gus became supremely confident defending himself. He developed a reputation of being someone to fear in the fighting ring; as well as on the streets, where there were some tough kids in those days. But it was compassion and class that stood out this time, as he would always step up and stick up for someone who may have been treated unfairly or hurt by a bully.

His brothers looked up to him, and felt secure in knowing Gus had their backs covered. I think everyone who knew him would agree those same sentiments were easy to come by for anyone around him, always knowing we had nothing to fear when my Dad was around; it was just the way about him, a natural protector.

My Father, the Working Man. The Family Man.

My Dad worked extremely hard to provide for us. As a kid growing up, I probably didn’t get to see him as often as most kids get to see their dads. He was intensely committed to working hard and laboring to bring home enough to build a decent life for his family. Often with extra board hours of 8 on and 8 off, barely finding time to sleep between shifts, it was hard to spend quality time with him. Of course we wanted more, but that was the man. That was the ethic...

Gardens and Grandma’s

A passion of my father's was his diligent caring for his garden and fruit trees. Anyone who knows him probably got a sack of vegetables or fruit on a visit or two. Nothing better than slicing open a peach or a nectarine right off the tree in the backyard, and shooting the breeze with Dad on a hot summer day. He would also, as sure as clockwork, take vegetables and fruit and other goodies to his mother’s where all his brothers and sisters would meet weekly for family gatherings.

I remember fondly growing up, going to my Grandma Demas’s every Sunday for those gatherings of the family. Gus and all his brothers would congregate there. They would have intense and elaborate discussions and debates in the family room about everything--all things politics or financial markets or current events or any topic of interest would be discussed and debated vigorously. I used to enjoy just sitting, and watching and listening from a perch on the staircase just above, fascinated with the energy emanating from the room as these men bandied words and opinions back and forth as arguments were established and points were made. As a child looking on, it seemed as though it was a fierce battle of combatants. Then suddenly, some or all of them would seem cross, and in the next moment they were all smiling and laughing together; but just until the next debate commenced.

So many wonderful memories of my Dad. How he used to take us on vacations. driving halfway across the states to Oklahoma and Texas to see my mother‘s relatives. Stopping at all the national parks and tourist stops along the way. He also enjoyed taking us to Tahoe. All you can eat seafood, and a dip in the lake. I loved to watch him sprint for the water and dive in the shallow and swim out and dive off the tall buoy. Other times he would dawn a monster mask and scare all the kids from outside the house when he came home from work at night. You knew he was in a playful mood when you’d get a gentle kick or tap on the rear end, or a pat on the head. He would show his affections and you knew they were genuine. He used to take me to the stock brokerage when I was kid, and I’d watch the tickers and lights. He bought me my first shares of stock when I was in grade school and showed me how to check the newspaper for quotes--to check my net worth.

Years later, after I was grown and on my own, we had regular discussions and talks. Many about markets and economics. My father was intelligent and read--self taught. And I admired that about him. He gave me my first technical books on markets and trading when I was a young man. He taught me to be frugal and save my money. Taught me about systems and odds. He inspired me in so many ways. But when my dad's eyes would light up when I had something intelligent to say, that was extra special. He had learned from me too...

And I am proud of that.

The Music in the Man

One thing not many people know about my Dad is his brilliant singing voice. I had experienced when I was a youngster, occasion when he would sing when no one was around. He wasn’t shy in front of me, but if someone would come around, he would clam up. But it wasn’t until later in life, in his older age, that I really heard him let loose with his voice and recognized his talent.  Not just his pitch but how he would sing vibrato and use his diaphragm. It really was beautiful. I would sometimes sing along with him to songs like “Red River Valley” and “Lone Prairie“. My mother and I continued to sing to him after his singing voice faltered into the last days. These are some of the things that showed the sweetness of his character that will live on with me forever.

My father was almost 40 when I was born, he had done so much before I was even a part of his life. In some way I feel almost cheated I didn't get more time with him. Somehow I wish I was his oldest, and could’ve seen him closer to his prime in life. But my memories with him are cherished, and I know I'll see him again some day. And I'll throw a baseball or a football with him again, and we'll talk together... and laugh together... and sing together.

Sas ef charistó pára polý, Papá... Sas ef charistó.

Work Conference

I go to a conference for my job every 6 months in Atlanta.  I was just there two weeks ago.  I try to meet new people while I'm at the conference for networking and also to help with hopefully getting more projects for the company I work for.  However, being one of only a few women out of hundreds of men attending the conference can be interesting.  I took a couple of guys to dinner one of the nights and then sat next to one of them during the meetings the next day because he was the only one there from his mill and I was there by myself that day.  He's a really nice guy, we talked quite a bit.  When I was getting ready to leave from the conference, he gave me a hug goodbye.  I don't really get that.  I also got a hug from one of my company's salesmen and another one from a salesman that I know from a different company.  Why can't I just have a handshake?  I think I'm too nice.

I also just received the following e-mail from another guy that I normally talk to each time I go to the conference (who, by the way, is married and has 3 little boys):

Ann,

I'm very sorry we missed the opportunity to get caught up during the Fall 2010 BLRBAC session. To be quite honest, being able to spend some time with you during these semi-annual sessions has become a highlight for me (ok, I admitted it!).

I want to thank you again for sending along my urgent recent request for assistance. Paul's input helped immensely.

But none of that helped with my Ann fix!! haha

Hope to see you soon.

errrr.....awkward!

A couple of stories...

Story #1

My little sister, Leah got married at the beginning of September and then had her reception a couple of weekends ago.  Her reception was down in Centralia, where my family has gone to church forever.  I knew I would see a bunch of people from church and was looking forward to talking to some of them.  I did get to see a few of those people, but there was one lady I talked to that just makes me laugh.  She has a daughter that is a little younger than me and I haven't talked to this woman probably in over 10 years..maybe?  So, the first thing she asks me after we say hi to each other is, "how many children do you have now?" 

So, I bluntly said, "I'm not married." and smiled. 

And then she said, "Oh, well you're going to have A LOT of children."

After which, I said, "well, I'm not married, so who knows?"

And then she just started talking about how all of my sisters and me look so much alike.  I just thought it was funny that she really doesn't know anything about me and what is going on in my life but automatically thinks I must have a lot of kids.  Is that because my mom decided to have 12 children?  I'm not mad about what she said to me, I just think it's weird that she would ask that first. 

Story #2

I saw Minus the Bear play at the Crocodile last week (awesome performance, by the way).  I was with my friend, Corinn and decided I really needed earplugs.  I went up to the bar to buy some and there was a girl standing in front of the bar, who at first, I thought was working because she asked me, "what are you drinking?" 

But when she asked me, she put her arm around my back, just a little.  I thought, hmm, that's kind of weird, but it was loud, so she needed to shout for me to hear.  So I was waiting my turn and she ordered her drinks (at which point I figured out she wasn't working there) and then she turned to me and said, "are you sure you don't want anything to drink?  You can put anything on my tab."

So I said, "oh thank you for offering, but I'm ok, I'm just getting earplugs."

But I did tell her that I liked her headband, it was really cute.

And then she told the bartender I needed earplugs, because that's what girls do for girls when they like them.  And I bought the earplugs and she brushed my back and then walked away. 

I really can't remember ever being hit on by a woman before, it was kind of flattering because she was really cute, but at the same time, why couldn't it have been a guy?  Seriously?

the dangers of biking!!

Joseph has threatened me that he will remove the link to my blog from his blog since I don't ever write on here.  I've decided I am going to try to start blogging again.  TRY...

Jared and I are planning to bike/run in a duathlon next weekend.  I've been biking more this summer and I think I'm pretty ready to bike 12 miles and run 3 miles.  Last weekend, Jared and I went on a practice bike ride near Lake Sammamish.  It was a fun ride, right next to the lake and it was good for me to ride with Jared, so I would push myself to go faster.  On the way back, we turned onto a trail and I noticed it was a little wet and had leaves on it.  I thought to myself...I should slow down, it might be a little slippery.  But, it was too late, I got to a corner too quickly and my rear tire slid out and I hit the ground in seconds.  Jared was right behind me and crashed as well.  His bike actually flew up and on top of me.  I'm still a little bruised from it.  This was the worst of it:

Ha, ha, I know it's disgusting.  It's still healing up, I should have a nice little scar from it.  I had just talked to my almost 8-year old nephew a couple of days before about his bike wreck, he had it pretty bad with his chin, elbow, knee all looking like my elbow.  The last time I wrecked on a bike was when I was 9, so this wasn't fun.  I'm just praying it doesn't rain on Saturday for the race.  I will be so much more nervous, if it does!

Monkeys!

I only have time for a quick note and I don't know when I'll be able to post again because I'm leaving tomorrow morning for another paper mill.  To get there, I will drive 4 hours, fly 2 hours and travel by train 6 hours.  I am not looking forward to it.

The monkeys were back in the tree in front of the house I'm staying in this morning.  They were jumping from branch to branch, they're so cute.  Although, as I was taking photos of them, one got on a lower branch and started making these awful screeching noises at me, it was scary.  He was not happy with me.  I tried to get some good shots, but there's only so much my camera can do.

The one above is an action shot, you can see the monkey jumping in the bottom, just to the right of the center.  Anyway, there were two different kinds, one with a black face and one with the white/pink face.  There were also a flock of these huge birds with a big beak.  They were so neat looking.  The monkeys were chasing them out of the tree for a bit.

 

And then I had to go to work.  At least there are some neat things to see around here when I am not working.  And as far as work goes, we have wrapped up what we came here to do.  I don't know if I've mentioned it.  We were starting up a system we designed.  It's a pollution control system.  Which, I think is pretty ironic considering each morning I leave my room in the morning, the sky is completely filled with smoke from everyone burning their trash.  And then inside the paper mill, I see all sorts of tanks overflowing to their sewer that shouldn't be sent to a sewer line.  But they might have a treatment system for the sewer lines, I'm not sure.  Anyway, I guess it's good that the paper mill is starting somewhere.