the navel times and observer

... Should have been the way I addressed Caleb Smith when I became, I believe, one of the very few people outside of his family to see him in person since August.

The circumstances, however, didn't provide for the historical reference, as it was about 8:30 in the morning, I was at his grandparents' house earlier than either of us expected and the first time I saw him was when he was walking down the hall way between two rooms having just showered. There wasn't much more than a "hey Caleb" and at the moment it could have been any skinny male young twentysomething. I merely inferred that he was the only one of those in his grandparents' home in Independence.

This was after I worked my connection into getting to see the inside of the Oscar Mayer Wienermobile. A friend of mine is traveling across the Southeast and, soon, the Southwest part of the country with a partner in the Wienermobile, making media stops and promotional events along the way, like the radio interview he did Saturday morning dressed in a very stooge-like track team windbreaker in garish colors. The car, for the record, is not that amazing. It's got seats like a mini-van spread in a vague bus-like fashion in the cabin and great views through the dog's windows.

Ironically, the car is built on a bread truck chassis, or a UPS truck chassis, but the bread truck is more ironic.

So, job: I've passed my probationary period, which means in a month I will again have health insurance which is always somewhat reassuring.

Unfortunately, however, little else in this job is reassuring. It is quite likely my belief that I should be able to do this job perfectly, without mistakes. After all, I'm a reporter, I should be able to write facts my readers can trust. If I can't make that, than why write stories for a newspaper? I'm convinced that most of the other reporters don't make these sorts of stupid mistakes I do. The editors don't seem as stressed with the other reporters as they are with me. And they seem to expect better and more work of them.

Sadly, I don't see many quick ways to rectify this situation. I've started a new beat and frankly as I see it the only way to get to know the beat is to talk to people. Talk to a lot of people. Spend a lot of time there and become acquainted through association. I had some relationships with my sources in Barton County and they didn't come immediately. People didn't recognize me two weeks after moving in.

And I have a lot of time to dwell on these complaints (which, admittedly, are common to lots of people I'd assume) because quite frankly I don't have anyone within an hour of me that I can go to to talk with about my private concerns. I have co-workers, friendly co-workers, but I don't have many opportunities to spend time with them after work and thus I still seem to be able to dwell on them and explore them to the end of the mine shaft at home.

Which is not to say I don't have friends. I talk to my friends and/or family all the time, they just don't live any closer to me than Springfield, which is a long trip to make after the work day and in time to get some sleep before another work day.

I'm still here, just many times I wish I weren't here by myself.