So last week we went to Furnace School to learn about...you guessed it! Furnaces.
Apparently, even in the Arizonan climate, people need furnaces to stay warm in the winter...and at CHRPA, our job is to start/fix them. Hurray!
All this means those of us new to the furnace world went to a professional furnace school to learn everything we needed to know...supposedly.
Unfortunately, furnace school is mostly geared to contractors installing new, pretty furnaces, while we fix and light pilot lights on old, broken ones.
So...the things I learned were of a different nature. I composed some rounds (to be performed like in Harry Potter Puppet Pals...and if you haven't seen that, look it up on Youtube).
Learning About Drafting:
Not enough air and you better beware cuz that furnace gonna make you dead
Carbon monoxide is baaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaad.
Ventilation! We need more ventilation!
Learning about Venting:
Aww man! The flue don't fit! Aww man! The flue don't fit!
Nom. Nom. Nomenclature. Nom. Nom. Nomenclature.
Height. And lateral. Don't forget diameter. Height.And lateral. Don't forget diameter.
D-d-d-da-da double wall vent pipe! D-d-d-da-da double wall vent pipe!
Learning about Furnace stages:
Furnaces are just like rockets. Vroom!
1 stage meow, 2nd stage RAWR!
The secondary stage stops shivers. Brrr!
Watch the white wires. Watch the white wires.
In addition, Daniel and I played some hangman and created treasure maps.
Sometimes, you have to go to furnace school...but that doesn't mean it can't be fun. :)
Tuesday, December 7, 2010
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
I love my job
Today I spent an hour and a half jackhammering through an 8-inch brick wall.
It was awesome.
It was awesome.
Tuesday, November 16, 2010
Mike
I should have known when I saw the Oregon plates on his car that we'd have a connection. But, truth be told, I didn't even notice that we shared a common bond with Oregon until he asked me where I was from. The job we'd gone there to do was fairly simple—replacing a grab bar in his shower. Jobs with CHRPA aren't always about the repair work though; this trip would be more about the person than the house.
It turns out he had spent a significant amount of time living in Bandon, Oregon, the same small southwestern oceanside town that my grandma has lived since the 1970s. Mike served with the coast guard in WWII, and simply loved spending time near the water. After retirement, he'd owned and operated a lobster boat out of Maine, gone to Chinese cooking school, and lived out west in Oregon for health reasons. He had quite a story—the kind of story I hope to tell when I reach that point in life.
We finished up the grab bar without problems and went to work trying to fix his screen door. It was exciting for me, as my family had screen doors back home and I knew exactly what to do, at least in theory. As we worked, he chatted with us about his incredible life, laughing with us as we struggled to implement the plans I had in my head to fix the door. He even asked us at one point if we were more than “work partners,” because “you're just both good-looking young people with a natural chemistry.” We laughed pretty hard at that.
Things got a little more serious after we'd finished repairing the door. He was really grateful for us doing more than he'd anticipated, and really wanted to show his gratitude. He offered us a cup of coffee, despite the fact that we were working in at least a 90 degree day. My philosophy on a client offering me something, no matter what it is, is to take it, because that makes our relationship more reciprocal, rather than me being someone providing something for them without them in turn somehow providing something for me. It builds mutual respect, rather than a dependent relationship. Plus, as Mike said, “I can never make a pot of coffee for me to drink one cup. If you have one, I can justify making it.”
While we were munching on the biscotti Mike kept putting in front of us, and as I sipped my coffee, Mike told us about his summer, when a group supporting veterans paid the airfare for any living survivors of World War II to go to Washington D.C. for the dedication of the new WWII memorial. Mike spoke of the emotional experience he felt, the anguish he goes through thinking about his brothers that didn't make it through the war. And, when he said “Freedom isn't free,” for the first time in my life I didn't cringe at the overused platitude.
Mike had seen on my wrist that I wore many bracelets, one of which simply says, “Peace.” He looked at Amy and me and said, “I hope we have peace. And I hope you young people never have to experience what I did. I was hoping after our war we could have peace. I still hope for you.”
Then he looked at me and told me about a bracelet they gave to all the veterans who were at the memorial dedication. “I don't wear it, but you wear bracelets, and I don't have any children or relatives to give it to—would you want it?”
A million things passed through my head in that moment: I don't support the wars we're in, or think they're justified, nor do I typically endorse my country's actions abroad. I knew that my taking that bracelet was incredibly important to Mike, but I didn't want to take it without really grasping and accepting responsibility for the item I was about to receive. After a pause, I told Mike I would be absolutely honored to wear that bracelet for him. With tears in his eyes, he went to a dresser and handed it to me.
Before we left that day Mike showed us pictures from his computer of the dedication ceremony and the memorial itself. Mike didn't need to say much at that point. We were all in tears—the two young, idealistic young people, fervently anti-war, and the aging veteran, a peace-activist in his own right.
I left that day with a rubber bracelet of the stars and stripes on my wrist. It took some getting used to, especially in relationship to all my other bracelets, but whenever I look at it, I can't help but think of that passionate man living by himself, hoping for a better tomorrow. There are times just looking at it and thinking about the powerful way I received it brings tears to my eyes.
When we meet each other face to face, we find our humanity together.
It turns out he had spent a significant amount of time living in Bandon, Oregon, the same small southwestern oceanside town that my grandma has lived since the 1970s. Mike served with the coast guard in WWII, and simply loved spending time near the water. After retirement, he'd owned and operated a lobster boat out of Maine, gone to Chinese cooking school, and lived out west in Oregon for health reasons. He had quite a story—the kind of story I hope to tell when I reach that point in life.
We finished up the grab bar without problems and went to work trying to fix his screen door. It was exciting for me, as my family had screen doors back home and I knew exactly what to do, at least in theory. As we worked, he chatted with us about his incredible life, laughing with us as we struggled to implement the plans I had in my head to fix the door. He even asked us at one point if we were more than “work partners,” because “you're just both good-looking young people with a natural chemistry.” We laughed pretty hard at that.
Things got a little more serious after we'd finished repairing the door. He was really grateful for us doing more than he'd anticipated, and really wanted to show his gratitude. He offered us a cup of coffee, despite the fact that we were working in at least a 90 degree day. My philosophy on a client offering me something, no matter what it is, is to take it, because that makes our relationship more reciprocal, rather than me being someone providing something for them without them in turn somehow providing something for me. It builds mutual respect, rather than a dependent relationship. Plus, as Mike said, “I can never make a pot of coffee for me to drink one cup. If you have one, I can justify making it.”
While we were munching on the biscotti Mike kept putting in front of us, and as I sipped my coffee, Mike told us about his summer, when a group supporting veterans paid the airfare for any living survivors of World War II to go to Washington D.C. for the dedication of the new WWII memorial. Mike spoke of the emotional experience he felt, the anguish he goes through thinking about his brothers that didn't make it through the war. And, when he said “Freedom isn't free,” for the first time in my life I didn't cringe at the overused platitude.
Mike had seen on my wrist that I wore many bracelets, one of which simply says, “Peace.” He looked at Amy and me and said, “I hope we have peace. And I hope you young people never have to experience what I did. I was hoping after our war we could have peace. I still hope for you.”
Then he looked at me and told me about a bracelet they gave to all the veterans who were at the memorial dedication. “I don't wear it, but you wear bracelets, and I don't have any children or relatives to give it to—would you want it?”
A million things passed through my head in that moment: I don't support the wars we're in, or think they're justified, nor do I typically endorse my country's actions abroad. I knew that my taking that bracelet was incredibly important to Mike, but I didn't want to take it without really grasping and accepting responsibility for the item I was about to receive. After a pause, I told Mike I would be absolutely honored to wear that bracelet for him. With tears in his eyes, he went to a dresser and handed it to me.
Before we left that day Mike showed us pictures from his computer of the dedication ceremony and the memorial itself. Mike didn't need to say much at that point. We were all in tears—the two young, idealistic young people, fervently anti-war, and the aging veteran, a peace-activist in his own right.
I left that day with a rubber bracelet of the stars and stripes on my wrist. It took some getting used to, especially in relationship to all my other bracelets, but whenever I look at it, I can't help but think of that passionate man living by himself, hoping for a better tomorrow. There are times just looking at it and thinking about the powerful way I received it brings tears to my eyes.
When we meet each other face to face, we find our humanity together.
Thursday, November 11, 2010
A trip to the border
I was lucky enough to finally get down to the border this Sunday after two months of living in Tucson! I went down with a group from the U of A that was looking into the similarities between the recent militarization of the U.S.-Mexico border and the Israeli-Palestinian border. While we discussed this topic in passing, we actually mostly discussed the economic, social, and political realities surrounding the border at our current point in time.
I hold no false pretensions that I understand the border. I have only been exposed in a select few situations to what is going on, most tangibly on my trips to Mexico building houses during college. While I've been in Tucson, I've learned a lot about the plight of migrants dying in the desert, willing to risk their lives seeking a better life for their families. I've learned a lot about how recent Arizona legislation affects the lives of all Arizonans, not just those of Hispanic descent. But going down to Nogales and seeing and hearing the perspective of an American citizen with dual citizenship who has grown up on the border, freely traveling and visiting family on both sides, brought out more questions than answers.
I think Socrates was onto something when he said “The only thing I know is that I know nothing.” I think the border is an issue that the further you delve into it, the deeper it gets, the more breadth it has, and the more frustratingly complex the system becomes. I left feeling completely overwhelmed by the magnitude of the changes that need to take place for all people to live in a just system, and disgusted that I am part of a system that is blatantly disregarding basic human rights. A part of me no longer feels like a small cog in a giant machine that is creating change, but instead like a small pebble simply washed along with the current of the river.
So how do we react?
I think the main thing I can do personally to start removing myself from an unjust system, and eventually changing it, is educating myself as to how my actions are impacting others. How do the foods I buy support companies that are fair and just to their workers, or support companies that are abusing an economic situation and have created an unjust system for its workers? How about my clothes?
This process continues onto larger levels: How does my church support companies that are doing things right? How about my family? Do my friends know the ramifications of buying that coffee from a major manufacturer that pays its workers an unlivable wage?
Finally, and this is where it gets really overwhelming (but also very exciting)—how do we tackle the government systems that enable Americans to live the most extravagant lifestyle in the world while a)millions of our fellow Americans are stuck on the streets without a job or home and b) while workers in foreign countries lose their jobs because the company they are working for was undersold by an American producer? I'd like to think if we really knew the affects of our decisions we would choose differently.
Mostly importantly, how do we handle these issues in ways that give dignity to all involved, both the oppressors and the oppressed? There are no enemies in this challenge. We are all striving to find ways to live, and each of us have the same blessing, the same sacred right to walk this Earth.
I think of MLK. “The nonviolent resister does not seek to humiliate or defeat the opponent but to win his friendship and understanding. Our aim is not to defeat the white community, not to humiliate the white community, but to win the friendship of all the persons who had perpetrated this system in the past. The aftermath of violence is bitterness. The aftermath of nonviolence is reconciliation and the creation of a beloved community.”
I am an unabashed optimist. And even in the frustration and bitterness and real, passionate, anger that thinking about some of this stuff brings me, I cling to the belief that we are capable of something more. And I don't think it is possible just because we think we can do it. I think it is the type of community that God intends, and the type of love between people that Jesus spoke of.
MLK shared this hope:
“The arm of the moral universe is long, but it bends toward justice.”
Thanks for staying on this journey with me. Keep dreaming.
I hold no false pretensions that I understand the border. I have only been exposed in a select few situations to what is going on, most tangibly on my trips to Mexico building houses during college. While I've been in Tucson, I've learned a lot about the plight of migrants dying in the desert, willing to risk their lives seeking a better life for their families. I've learned a lot about how recent Arizona legislation affects the lives of all Arizonans, not just those of Hispanic descent. But going down to Nogales and seeing and hearing the perspective of an American citizen with dual citizenship who has grown up on the border, freely traveling and visiting family on both sides, brought out more questions than answers.
I think Socrates was onto something when he said “The only thing I know is that I know nothing.” I think the border is an issue that the further you delve into it, the deeper it gets, the more breadth it has, and the more frustratingly complex the system becomes. I left feeling completely overwhelmed by the magnitude of the changes that need to take place for all people to live in a just system, and disgusted that I am part of a system that is blatantly disregarding basic human rights. A part of me no longer feels like a small cog in a giant machine that is creating change, but instead like a small pebble simply washed along with the current of the river.
So how do we react?
I think the main thing I can do personally to start removing myself from an unjust system, and eventually changing it, is educating myself as to how my actions are impacting others. How do the foods I buy support companies that are fair and just to their workers, or support companies that are abusing an economic situation and have created an unjust system for its workers? How about my clothes?
This process continues onto larger levels: How does my church support companies that are doing things right? How about my family? Do my friends know the ramifications of buying that coffee from a major manufacturer that pays its workers an unlivable wage?
Finally, and this is where it gets really overwhelming (but also very exciting)—how do we tackle the government systems that enable Americans to live the most extravagant lifestyle in the world while a)millions of our fellow Americans are stuck on the streets without a job or home and b) while workers in foreign countries lose their jobs because the company they are working for was undersold by an American producer? I'd like to think if we really knew the affects of our decisions we would choose differently.
Mostly importantly, how do we handle these issues in ways that give dignity to all involved, both the oppressors and the oppressed? There are no enemies in this challenge. We are all striving to find ways to live, and each of us have the same blessing, the same sacred right to walk this Earth.
I think of MLK. “The nonviolent resister does not seek to humiliate or defeat the opponent but to win his friendship and understanding. Our aim is not to defeat the white community, not to humiliate the white community, but to win the friendship of all the persons who had perpetrated this system in the past. The aftermath of violence is bitterness. The aftermath of nonviolence is reconciliation and the creation of a beloved community.”
I am an unabashed optimist. And even in the frustration and bitterness and real, passionate, anger that thinking about some of this stuff brings me, I cling to the belief that we are capable of something more. And I don't think it is possible just because we think we can do it. I think it is the type of community that God intends, and the type of love between people that Jesus spoke of.
MLK shared this hope:
“The arm of the moral universe is long, but it bends toward justice.”
Thanks for staying on this journey with me. Keep dreaming.
Grief
The last few weeks has been a trying time. One of my best friends from college lost his mother in a sudden and tragic auto accident in Scottsdale, AZ. I have been so grateful to be down here and in a position where I can physically be present for my friend and his dad and brothers. I've never lost someone suddenly, and I've found that while I didn't know his mother personally that well, I've been grieving for Kyle and his family. Part of my frustration has been with wanting to help, but knowing there is really nothing I can do to understand what that family is going through. I wrote about it, partially for me, and partially trying to voice some frustrations with the grief process overall.
We all ask:
Why her?
Reality tells us—this happens to folks everyday
News stations can't even run the stories
they're so common
normal
old news.
But the weight on my heart
the agony ripping at my soul
a suckerpunch to my ability to
talk
think
speak
coherently.
These things tell me
this story matters
this life matters
She matters.
So we reach out in the only way we know how
trying to connect
trying to help
trying to ….
feel like we're doing something.
Can I come help? Do you need anything?
I'll send a package! How are you doing?
Do you want to talk? I'm here for you.
Rewind.
Repeat.
For maybe a couple weeks.
And then suddenly it stops
like we've overcome the pain
and life can be normal again.
Are you kidding me?
My grief still feels like an open wound
and it starts to heal when I can be real
with someone and share my sadness
But you all think I'm fine
after all it's been quite some time
I should be recovering
She'd want it that way.
She'd want it that way?
Oh those words always cut to me like the steely edge of a knife
sometimes a comfort
mostly a brutal reminder that
what we are saying is purely conjecture
because we don't know what she'd want
because she isn't here!
This is grief.
This is now life.
We all ask:
Why her?
Tuesday, October 19, 2010
Where is Home?
This last weekend I traveled back to Oregon, both to attend the wedding of a close college friend and to see my lovely girlfriend, who is still attending Linfield College. As I came into view of the city of Portland, a city in which I lived near and was involved in for the last 5 years of my life until now, I thought to myself: “This weekend is really going to mess me up.”
I think there is something very dangerous about returning to a situation we've been in that is “comfortable.” I loved Linfield. Scratch that. I love Linfield. It is a beautiful and powerful place that has dramatically influenced the person I am becoming, and influenced the person I am striving to be. But returning to Linfield this weekend was a difficult, straining thing for me, because I felt so content and comfortable there.
My girlfriend gave me a hard time prior to my coming back, because while I was only around for 2 days, news had spread quickly on our small college campus that I would be around.“Everyone likes you Luke! They're so happy you're coming!” Now, I am NOT traditionally good at keeping touch with people if we are separated by distance, and the same has been true in the time I've been in Tucson. Quite honestly, I have failed at maintaining many relationships back at Linfield. But upon returning this weekend, I was so overwhelmed by the support and love I was shown by those I hadn't even talked to in months and months—they wanted to hear all about what I was doing, how I liked it—and they care because they know that what I'm doing matters so much to me. They know me well enough to know that while what I'm choosing to do might not be their personal preference for their future plans, it makes ME very happy and fulfilled, and therefor they are excited for me.
I'm now sitting on the plane flying back to Tucson, and I think that feeling “known” by people is a luxury of being invested somewhere. I'm now around 7 weeks into the program, and while I have made so many contacts and friendships that I am very excited about, I think a part of me is still striving to be “known.”
That isn't to say that people haven't reached out to me. My roommates are all incredible, awesome folks that I feel so lucky and blessed to live with. I think that we've started to break down the barriers that we each come in with, some of us more than others. And I'm excited that as the year goes on, we'll grow more comfortable with each other, and hopefully, feel known, supported, and loved by those who surround us on a daily basis.
Yet it is quite difficult to return to the comfortable situation at Linfield, just for a brief visit, and then jump back into the uncertainty and unknown of Tucson. I long for the feeling of community that I find when I return “home” to Linfield.
That's what we're all striving for, I think. Community, on so many different levels. Community with the people we're living with. Community with the people we're working with. Community with the people we attend religious services with. Community with the folks who attend the religious service across the street that we might disagree with. Community with the people in our neighborhood. Community with people who share our passions, our innermost yearnings for peace, reconciliation, alleviation of poverty, inter-religious understanding.
I don't know how we accomplish a sense of community similar to the one I feel at Linfield in one year instead of five. Maybe we don't. But I know from my experiences that community doesn't necessarily happen because we try to make it happen. The most genuine communities of which I've been a part have occurred organically, when people simply meet each other where they're at, with open hearts and listening ears.
Open hearts and listening ears.
I want to share your pain and multiply your joy.
I want to give you room to speak, room to process, room to vent, without an agenda of my own, but with the desire to have your voice heard and respected.
Open hearts and listening ears.
Saturday, October 16, 2010
On My Own
Earlier this week I had a couple really cool experiences at work. Monday I was working with Dan Regier, a longtime CHRPA worker, and we visited a house with both a swamp cooler problem and a toilet/tile problem in the bathroom. Dan and I looked at the two jobs, and then he looked at me, and asked “Do you feel comfortable working on the cooler by yourself?” And I was able to say yes.
Tuesday I was working with Kristi and she wasn't feeling well, so after we built a new banister for a client and stopped to eat lunch, she went home to rest and recover. Scott (my director) turned me loose for the afternoon to finish the job that Kristi and I were originally going to do. It wasn't something I'd done before, but Scott explained what I needed to do and felt comfortable sending me, so away I went!
There's a certain pride about working on a job (or even an aspect of a job) by yourself. I noticed that I felt a great deal more ownership of the jobs, taking full responsibility, rather than being a helper for the more experienced employees. Suddenly I became a lot more of a perfectionist. I questioned everything I did: Is this good enough? And, without anyone else there to sign off on the work I was doing, I had to have confidence in what I had done before I could walk away.
I'm still learning, but it was a great feeling to be adequate enough at my job to go do it alone. I've been here just over a month now, but I've already learned so much.
I think we all have a lot to learn, if we are willing to put ourselves in positions where we are bad at things. I tend to avoid things I'm bad at. As I've gotten older, this has only become more prevalent—I see people that are really, really good at things, mostly because they've been doing them a long time, and rather than admit I don't have experience, or am scared to try, I simply avoid the activity altogether. How ridiculous is that? How much of life am I missing out on?
I know that it is uncomfortable to not be good at things. I know that I really enjoy being good at something, known for something, just to have that one unique way in which you are an authority (for me, I look at tennis. I love tennis, but if I really critique myself, I think a prominent reason for my playing tennis is that it was something I did that not very many other folks did, something that I could be the best at, and known for). I think the challenge I'm learning through my early time here at CHRPA is that presence is more important than competence. Even if we are terrible at something, incapable of helping out in any real way, our very presence can speak to a great deal. We grow through things that are uncomfortable and difficult.
I'm trying to grow. I recently started reading a new Paulo Coelho book (the author of the Alchemist) in a thrift store, and in the very first chapter the character stated that there is one moment in every day in which we can either choose to really live life to its fullest or simply live life. Sometimes we seize the opportunity and sometimes we watch it go by. The first step is recognizing the moment for what it is. The next step is jumping into those situations where we are struggle and embrace them as something new and life-giving. Honestly, I think that most of the time I miss those opportunities, every day.
No more. I want to be more willing to lose at games, to be incompetent with a new tool, to make an fool of myself in a unfamiliar social situation. And why? Because those are the situations in which I have the most to learn, and have the most room to grow. I only hope I have the courage to follow through.
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