Acetylene Generator out at the cabin in Chicken, Alaska
Acetylene is a highly flammable, unstable gas used in welding and cutting of metals (particularly steel). Before acetylene could be generated and bottled safely and reliably through dissolving acetylene in acetone, it was generated with a device like this. Feeding calcium carbide into the tank to mix with water, the reaction would create acetylene. The downside of this method was that the gas was typically heavily laden with moisture, so the cutting temperature is lower (typical temperatures for modern oxyacetylene torches range from 5700-6300 degrees Fahrenheit depending on the mixture of oxygen to acetylene).
In my Romantic Suspense novel, Torched, my main character Brigit is a welder. She gets one of these as a gift from a friend.
If you would like to see what it looks like to cut a cake with a modern oxyacetylene torch, you can see that here.
Thanks for reading, We’re going to be off the grid until at least Mid-October. They stop maintaining the road 10/15. If you are interested in some of my other writing, my horror novella, The Dark Land is available on Amazon.
The legend of Alaska’s Headless Ravine is steeped in blood. Its hunger for human flesh never sleeps, even in the deepest cold of winter. Courage, skill and love will be stretched to the limits in on the isolated trails of The Dark Land.
“I’m going in to the neurologist tomorrow to get the results-to find out whether or not I have MS,” I told him, I looked up into his eyes, choking on tears.
He wrapped his arms around me, pulling me closer, comforting me in his warm, strong arms. “It’s okay, baby. I’ll be there for you. Call me afterward.”
That was 20 years ago. To this day I can remember how silky the warm sand felt beneath my feet on that South Carolina beach. How the beacon of the lighthouse flashed like a brilliant white star and the salt from the ocean spray tasted on the night wind.
I’ll never forget the pain when he didn’t answer the phone.
It wasn’t the first time I had been ghosted, nor would it be the last. But it would be the first time I was ghosted because of my MS.*** I faced the diagnosis that would end my Naval career alone.
I look at the calendar and realize I am fast approaching my MS diagnosis anniversary (June 1). The year 2000 was a year of tumultuous change in my life. So far, it looks like 2020 will be as well. Not just for me, but for so many others. I find myself once more standing on the precipice of an enormous shift in my life. But unlike in 2000, I am looking forward to the leap, even though I am not entirely certain what the future may hold.
On Monday, I will head into my old office to pack my desk. The end date for the job that brought me to Alaska is coming quick. For the first time in almost 25 years I am going to take a break. Admittedly, I am both nervous and excited at the same time.
The only person you are destined to become is the person you decide to be
Ralph Waldo Emerson
I look around at 2020 and wonder how I will remember this year 20 years from now. Will it be with a sense of darkness for a year of strife? I’d like to think it will be bittersweet. I want to look back see a feeling of hope, that we, as a society stood at the precipice of self-destruction and chose a better path. What do you think will be the choice? Who will you choose to be? We’re half-way through.
Thanks for reading! Sorry for the rather gloomy blog this week. I promise next week will be more uplifting.
Ray and I have a lot of projects planned for not only this summer but beyond. We’re going to be doing experiments with our solar kit out at the cabin and hopefully some wind studies on our 31 acres in the hopes of putting in some wind turbines eventually. We’re building two new structures on the property this summer.
For those who follow me on Instagram, you know that Ray is working on several new sculptures for the property. In the meantime, my first self-published novella, The Dark Land is out on Amazon. I am working on the sequel, as well as continuing to query some of my other novels.
The legend of Alaska’s Headless Ravine is steeped in blood. Its hunger for human flesh never sleeps, even in the deepest cold of winter. Courage, skill and love will be stretched to the limits on the frozen boundaries of The Dark Land.
We have some other projects up our sleeves, TBA soon.
Side Note:
***I know some will ask, how do you know he ghosted you because of your MS. This is the cautionary tale of:
Don’t date (then ghost) someone you work with.
This could practically be another blog unto itself. But other coworkers knew we had been dating and found out why he suddenly dumped me. Apparently, he didn’t think it was that big a deal, so he told everyone the truth about what he’d done. Let’s just say the rest of the guys at work let him know what a sleaze move that was. I didn’t have to. The best revenge is sometimes when someone else makes themselves look like a jerk. Even though it really hurt at the time.
True Friends
And to give credit where credit is due, while I got ghosted, dumped and diagnosed, three of the most awesome guys I had the privilege to serve with in the Navy requested leave from the Enterprise and drove down to Charleston to cheer me up. I’ll forever be grateful for their kindness and support. This is also my answer to the question, can men and women be friends. Absolutely. Friends and shipmates.
Mikey, Dave and Drew, three of the greatest friends and shipmates who came to my rescue when I was feeling my lowest. I will be forever grateful for their friendship.
It seems like for everyone I talk to, 2019 has been a
dumpster fire. I know that I will be happy to see this year in the rearview
mirror. For those of you who know me/follow me closely, you know that I have
struggled with MS and other health related issues this year. Then in August,
the company I worked for announced that they were selling our business unit.
These last few months I have spent a lot of time reflecting on my career path
and what I want to do going forward.
Me with a frame 5 GE rotor
It surprised a lot of people, given that I’m only 41, that I
opted to package out. Instead of applying for a job with the new operator, I
requested to be severed. For me, the choice was simple. This is an opportunity
to make a deep change in my life. I have explained in my blogs, that I have
always enjoyed writing. I enjoy engineering and math just as much. In the last
few years, I have felt that my job was taking me down a path that led me away
from what I enjoyed doing. I was no longer an engineer, I was pushing paper and
collecting a paycheck. Meanwhile my blood pressure was ratcheting up, as I argued
against decisions I disagreed with, only to get overridden. The stress seemed
to eat away at my very being. The only thing making my job worth doing was supporting
the great technicians and operators I work with.
The guys cleaning a substation
I hinted over this weekend of exciting announcements to come. I’m still waiting for my final severance date (I’ll get my letter in the mail Friday—I’ll be sure to let you know). But in the meantime, Ray and I are laying our plans for the future.
Monday Ray and I will be putting the down payment for our
first solar kit out at the cabin. We’ll be sharing pictures and posts as we
design and install our new solar panels, inverter, charger and batteries. We’re
looking forward to the greater flexibility as we stay out at the cabin for
longer in the summers and plan out adventures.
The cabin at night.
We also have some major construction projects in the works
for the summer of 2020. We poured our foundations this past summer, but in
July, we will be erecting a new cook shed and shower/sauna. It feels a little
weird, bringing creature comforts to our cabin that has been rustic for so
long. But as we transition from city living to Chicken these are changes that
will make living off-grid more convenient.
Breaking up the snow for water-I’ll really be looking forward to when we have a better water system!
We also plan on taking a few months and driving the ALCAN (a
trip I have never done before). We’re going to do an extended road trip to
visit friends in the lower 48. As some of you may have noticed, Ray and I have
kind of an obsession with old ghost towns. Expect to see lots of pictures and
historical blog posts about our adventures.
The Sternwheel Graveyard, one of our favorite stops on our Dawson City, YT adventure in the summer of 2019
We’re not entirely sure what the long term will bring, but I am excited for this leap. I plan on focusing on my writing in 2020 and hopefully bringing my fiction works one step closer to getting published. I also hope to get my own engineering projects/start-up company off the ground. I’m grateful for this deep-sea change. This is a true, once in a lifetime opportunity, and I look forward to sharing our plans and schemes with those of you who keep following me.
Me out in Chicken taking a break with Jane Friedman’s the Business of Being a Writer
It is amazing how much of our identity as an adult becomes
tied to our careers. I have now been working in the power/energy industry in one
way or another for 23 years. I’m currently on hold with the company I work for,
our business unit has been sold, and after 13 years, I am about to be severed.
Turbine Rotor
Don’t worry—it’s actually a positive thing. I am looking forward to what will hopefully be a new chapter in my career. A chance to strikfdse out from what I have known and try something completely different. Meanwhile, as I sat down to write this blog post tonight, I looked at today’s date and realized that for the first time in 19 years, my anniversary snuck up on me.
Nope—not that one. My wedding was in June of 2010. I’m
talking about a different anniversary. One that I was completely unprepared for
at the time.
19 years ago today (December 1, 2000), I walked into a small
office in Goose Creek, SC and signed a few pieces of paper, officially ending
my Naval Career. This process had been over 8 months in the making. In May of
2000 I received the devastating news confirming that I had Multiple Sclerosis.
It’s not that I didn’t know something was wrong. I had been complaining to the
medics for at least 2 years at that point. But until I started going blind in
my right eye and I lost the feeling in my right arm, I wasn’t taken seriously.
I was told many iterations of the following:
You’re a hypochondriac
You’re imagining things
It’s not that bad—tough up
All women have problems with their bladders
You’re fat—if you just lost a few pounds this
would all go away
You’re just faking it to get out of work
But once they made an official diagnosis, they streamlined
my departure from the Navy. My primary care doctor’s attitude didn’t change—he was
still convinced I was “faking it” until the day I walked out the door. Even
with positive blood results and active lesions on my brain. Yeah, he was a gem.
But there I was, 22 years old, diagnosed with a chronic
illness, and completely cut loose from the path I had been determined to follow.
A path I had been assured was guaranteed for 8 years. It was a strange feeling
being suddenly adrift.
A few days later I packed up my little red Hyundai Accent
and pointed it toward the West Coast. I stayed with my parents for a few weeks,
trying to figure out a new life plan. All the problems that I had left behind
when I joined the Navy were right there waiting in my old hometown. By January,
I had accepted a job in Seattle and once more I hit the road for something new.
They say hindsight is 20-20. I would say it is even more
than that. Almost microscopic at times. Freshly diagnosed with MS and still in
denial, I wasn’t ready for what lay ahead. If I had it to do over, I probably
would have taken more time (even before I got out), to get more help adjusting
to my diagnosis. But I didn’t. I didn’t want to acknowledge that there was
something really wrong. And certainly the people in my life and the time didn’t
care or didn’t know enough to say otherwise.
But as they say:
Alea iacta est
The Die is Cast
I can’t go back and undo the past. But as I look back on
what has possibly been one of the roughest years MS-in all of the 19 I’ve been
diagnosed (2019 sucked in every way it could), I can hope as I make this newest
transition that I am choosing a healthier and wiser future.
I’ll let you all know December 20th what my
official fate is. I have some new and exciting plans depending on the outcome.
In the meantime, I will keep posting about Alaska and
Chicken. Coming up in December I have a few book reviews in the queue and some
additional historical features based on our trip to Dawson City, revolving
around my research for my novel, A Drink of Dakrness.
A genre in literature that seems to be really popular at the
moment is “Time Travel Romance.” I think everyone has answered the question,
“If you could go back and meet one famous person from the past, who would it
be?” I think that is the beauty of not only the idea of time travel, but
Historical Fiction in general. The chance to imagine what it would have been
like to meet the heroes of the past. We cannot travel back in time, so we use
our characters as a means to interact with our heroes and idols vicariously. In
my current work in progress, a Historical Fiction titled A Drink of Darkness, I
do some of this. I detail some of the history and people of the Yukon Gold Rush,
having my fictional characters meet with real people from history.
I had the great fortune to beta read Danielle Ancona’s By Immortal Honor Bound, a Historical Romance last March (now available, see link below). Her novel puts a twist on Angels, Gods, Demi-gods, and Alchemy. Danielle and I met via social media, and both have a strong interest in STEM. I promise that my detailed review will be coming soon.
After reading her novel, I asked if it would be okay if I wrote a short piece inspired not only by her work, but one of my heroes from the past. Here is my take on her male protagonist, Malachi meeting a famous character in history outside of Danielle’s novel.
She beamed one last broad smile at Malachi as Fred extended
his hand to help her onto the Electra’s silver wing. She mouthed, “Bye!” and
climbed up.
“Goodbye Amelia, may Hermes and Nike bless your journey, and
see you safely to Howland Island,” he whispered to himself as he smiled and
waved his goodbye in return.
The steady 10 knot wind whipped their flight suits in the
morning sun as they climbed in the plane. Everyone moved away as the Lockheed’s
engines roared to life. The propellers blurred and hummed in the morning wind.
The plane bounced along the rough tarmac, making a brief
circle, then picking up speed for its take off. The heavily fueled plane
gleamed in the sun like a silver coin as it lifted from the ground, speeding
the two brave souls within eastward on their historic journey.
Malachi stood with the assembled group of workers,
reporters, airmen, even local New Guinea tribesmen watching as the Electra
became nothing more than a dot on the horizon. Malachi’s own back throbbed, as
his angel wings ached to span and soar into the sky after her. To be free on
the morning wind, gliding over the deep blue Pacific. His heart swelled with
pride, watching these brave humans achieve something that made both the
Celestials and the Seraph jealous, the techniques and skills of flight.
Something in the past reserved only for the birds and immortals.
Though Amelia wasn’t the soul he had been searching for these last four centuries, it had been a true pleasure meeting and getting to know the bold and charming female aviator. He had many reservations about this plan to fly around the world at the equator, especially after her last crash in Hawaii. But he couldn’t dissuade her.
A peal of familiar laughter on the wind raised his hackles. A shiver ran down his spine. He turned to see
Gideon standing behind him, silver eyes scanning the skies as he shook his head.
“When will these foolish mortals learn,” Gideon asked,
toying with a length of something in his hands. “Flight is only meant for those
who can take the fall.” The rage that had been boiling in Malachi’s guts turned
to ice when he recognized what Gideon held in his hands. A length of antennae—from Amelia’s plane? No!
Malachi looked back to the sky, heart pounding. The silver
Electra was no longer visible against the broad expanse of blue. Malachi sent
out silent prayers not only for Amelia’s sake, but to Thot and to Raphael,
letting them know of Gideon’s presence on Lae.
“What have you done?” Malachi demanded.
“Me—nothing. It’s
not my fault the tarmac here is so rough. Or that you had to just get involved
with and bring your curse upon her
mission. And it’s not my fault she is so eager—so desperate to be the first
that she left behind the CW Transmitter equipment in Miami to save fuel. It’s
her own pride that will be her downfall, like so many zealots. Not. Me.” His
smile smug as he twirled the antennae like a baton. “Go ahead, Malachi the
Fallen. Do it. Draw your sword. Try to strike me down here in front of all
these people,” Gideon challenged.
Malachi seethed, hands itching to either draw his sword or
materialize flame against the leader of the Seraph. As it was, they were
getting sidewise glances not only from some of the remaining airmen on the
tarmac, but several of the local tribesmen. They whispered in low voices in
their unique dialects, pointing at the two angels as they squared off in the
morning sun.
“You won’t win this, Gideon,” Malachi insisted. “When will
you see that all of your Seraph plans to stifle human innovation have failed? I’m
not the Fallen, you are.”
“Please. Your arrogant Celestial leaders are green with envy over human flight. When DaVinci dreamed up his flying machine in the Renaissance, even they hoped he was just a one-off.”
“They were obviously wrong, as are you,” Malachi said, hands
on his hips.
“Well, good luck scouring the Pacific,” Gideon said, tossing
the antennae in the air. Malachi caught it as Gideon turned and melted away
into the nearby foliage.
Malachi clutched at the piece of wire, heart aching. Amelia, no. He thought to himself as he scanned the skies once more. Head hanging low, he walked toward the ocean, willing Thoth and Raphael to meet him.
Is it my fault? Is she
going to die now because I reached out to her, hoping she was the one? Should I
have backed away when I realized she wasn’t?
He crouched down near the water’s edge watching the waves
wash back and forth.
“It will be alright, old friend,” a voice said, as a hand
touched his shoulder. He looked up to see Raphael standing over him. “This is
not your fault.”
“I want to go after her, at least help her,” Malachi said,
broad muscled hands motioning eastward.
Raphael closed his eyes. Malachi’s heart sunk.
“Her fate was cast long before you met her,” Another voice
answered in his stead, “I know it hurts, but you may not intervene.” Malachi’s
head swiveled to see Thoth standing to his other side, but not in his usual
form, with his hooked Ibis beak-head. He stood before him, as a human Guinea
tribesman shaman. Crimson, blue, black and white paints obscuring his face,
dark skin gleaming in the bright sun.
Malachi dug his fingers into the wet sand, biting his
tongue. He looked skyward once more.
The elaborate bracelets adoring Thot’s wrists rattled as he pointed
his hand in the direction Amelia’s plane had disappeared. “Fear not. You
answered Gideon correctly. While Amelia will perish, her spirit will not. Her
legend will live on. Men and women alike, will be inspired to innovate and take
to the skies.” His voice softened. “Nike will smooth her passing, and escort
her personally to Hermes who has already built her a throne so she can sit
beside him in the heavens.”
“Can I at least—see—” Malachi began to say.
“No,” Thoth, God of Judgment decreed. “You must trust in
this.”
Malachi nodded, biting his lip so hard he could taste blood. He crossed his arms over his chest and looked out over the ocean. He and Raphael stood vigil together on the beach until the rest of the world heard the news they already knew. Amelia Earhart’s plane had lost radio contact, and had never reached Howland Island.
I have always admired Amelia Earhart. A true pioneer, and a
woman far ahead of her time. More than 80 years after her plane disappeared
over the Pacific Ocean on the last leg of her attempt to circle the globe at
the equator, it is still one of the greatest unsolved mysteries of the 20th
centuries.
Inspiration for this particular scene came from a video of
her last take-off from Lae, New Guinea on July 2, 1937. This video shows both
Amelia and Fred fit and smiling as the board the plane and take-off. Through
analysis of the video, there is some thought that she may have lost her belly
antennae mast during the take off over the rough runway. There were reports
that a length of antennae was found on the runway sometime after. This would
have potentially contributed to her inability to receive clear voice radio
messages. She also left behind critical CW transmission equipment, as she and
her navigator were not proficient in its use, in an attempt to save fuel. These
and other factors contributed to their inability to reach Howland that fatal
July.
I first read about the analysis of the video here on the Tighar Project website, but the video was difficult to view/download.
My favorite Amelia Earhart tribute song from when I was a teen. Hey, had to include this as it fits with both Danielle’s book and my article. Enjoy rocking out.
Thanks for reading everyone. My own flight of imagination, The Dark Land is available on Amazon.
The Legend of Alaska’s Headless Ravine is steeped in blood. Its hunger for human flesh never sleeps, even in the deepest cold of winter. Courage, skill and love will be stretched to the limits on the isolated boundaries of The Dark Land.
As promised, Part Two of my sexual harassment blog on “Creepers”
*Names have been changed to protect the not-so-innocent.
Last
July, as a present to myself for my 40th birthday, I decided to
splurge and get my manuscript, Torched, professionally edited. It was a great
learning experience and a lot of fun working a professional editor. But I
thought I would relate a humorous conversation she and I had about my
manuscript.
***Summarized this conversation for brevity, but you’ll get
the point.
Editor: I really like your antagonist, Dennis. He’s a really
great character. You have your romance going on in the foreground with creepy
little Dennis in the background watching and plotting. How did you come up with
him?
ME: Well, it’s funny you should ask that. There’s this one
guy I used to work with, and he was kind of socially awkward. When I was
working on my masters, I would stay in my office after hours late at night and
work on my homework. He would come into my office and stare at me until I would
notice him.
Editor: Wait—WHAT? Your serial killer is based on a real
person? He would come into your office and stare at you?
ME: Uh—yeah. Really, it’s not as bad as it sounds. He was
just a little awkward. He would just stare at you silently until you noticed
him, then he would talk. Usually I just told him I was busy and he would go
away.
Editor: OMG! That’s creepy.
ME: He just wanted to talk to someone. He would even bring
me presents.
Editor: Presents? What?
And the more I talked and tried to convince her this wasn’t
weird, the weirder it sounded.
Working in any field I think you encounter what I like to
call, the ODD DUCK. If you have ever seen office space, he’s the Milton
Waddams. Quiet, unkempt, usually not very popular. You won’t find him as the
life of the office party. He’s usually hanging out in the corner by himself,
just watching.
This particular co-worker of mine was an absolutely
brilliant engineer and highly educated when you started talking to him. He and
I often worked on jobs together so I got the chance to get to know him a little
better than most. I also got to know more of his darker side. While brilliant,
he had a definite chip on his shoulder when it came to women. Highly
misogynistic, he would make terrible comments about women, but quickly follow
them up with, “I’m just being honest.” And, of course, “I don’t mean you
Daniella.”
He knew that I was an avid reader and a writer. I enjoy
reading all genres, both fiction and non-fiction. Though when he found out that
I wrote romance, this didn’t set well at all (even though I told him I wrote
horror as well).
“Daniella you need to lay off that romance crap and read more war and killing stuff.”
He started bringing me presents. Which believe it or not
were highly educational. One of his hobbies was history. He was really into
history related to war. So he would bring me books, and being the person that I
am, I’ll never turn down a free book. Usually he’d bring me non-fiction books
or movies about war and killings. He did give me a fictional movie about the
Templars, saying as he brought it into my office late one night after staring
quietly at me for a while, “This is full of that romance crap you like. I’m
sorry I bought it.”
Now before you think I was the only target of his
affections, I wasn’t terribly worried because he did this to others. He would
come into the office and stare at my alternate (who was a guy) and try to
strike up conversations. From my interactions with him, I got the impression he
had some sort of broad-spectrum autism. He often had difficulty just talking to
people and would often wind up saying something incredibly in appropriate or offensive.
To be honest, even though he could be quite insulting at times (and a little
creepy the staring thing did get to you after a bit). I really felt that he was
just kind of lonely. Having been somewhat of an outsider myself most of my
life, I can relate.
So that was OD1. Let me relate the
story of OD2…
*OD2 is reviewing a drawing package
with me in my office. Not an unusual event as part of both our jobs. OD2 is
also a little on the older and heavy-set side and has just come in from
outside, so I presume that’s why he’s breathing like Darth Vader. He always
does this, so I just shrug it off. He continually mumbles to himself while we
go over the electrical portion of the work to be done on the project. He’s one
of my odd customers that I deal with on a frequent basis here in Prudhoe and while
I don’t mind his mumbling and heavy breathing, the smell of his greasy hair and
his unwashed FR clothing does get to me after a while.
I’m sitting in my chair and he’s talking
me through the scope of the electrical work as he leans over the one-line
drawing, pointing out the changes he makes a strange snort. A glob of
green-brown goop spatters across the white paper. It’s all I can do to not
recoil from the snot rocket he’s just blown across the package. Without missing
a beat, he wipes it away with his hand and keeps talking, mumbling and of
course, heavy breathing. With as much stealth as I can muster, I pull a yellow
post-it note from my desk and attach it to the page. I want to let our
documentation tech know to re-print that one.
We finish the review, and he
leaves. Admittedly, I’m laughing a little to myself over the yet another
awkward OD2 encounter. I go down to the mechanical piping office to talk to my
co-worker who has to deal with him on a fairly regular basis as well. As I
relate the story, while both she and the other male engineer sharing her office
start to laugh, they insist I close the door so they can tell me what he did
while he was in her office (reviewing the mechanical portion of the same package).
“So what did he do?”
“Well we were reviewing the
package,” O—- said, eyes wide. “And he’s
looking at me and talking about the pressures on the line, then all of a sudden
he turns his head aside and says, ‘But you’re so hot,’ then turns back and keeps
talking to me like nothing happened. He did it more than once.”
I look at C— the young EIT
sharing her office and mentoring under her. “Yeah, I heard it too, it was so
weird, like an aside in a cartoon or a movie.” They were both laughing, albeit,
a little nervously.
“What a creep,” I replied. Then it hit me. The constant mumbling when he’s in my office. As some of you who follow me know, I don’t really hear that well. Due to a head injury, I sometimes have trouble processing speech. He was doing it to me too. I just couldn’t hear him/understand him. Of course, now we start talking to all of the other female engineers we know. Aaaaaaand as expected, Every single one of them has a weird/creepy OD2 story.
Now we wanted to write it off at first as maybe these guys are just socially awkward/clueless that their behavior is totally inappropriate. They have issues, so they just don’t understand. We had a lively debate with some of our male co-workers that really gave us pause. They felt that these guys knew exactly what they were doing, they were just using their awkwardness as an excuse to get away with inappropriate behavior.
What do you guys think after reading my descriptions of the ODD DUCKS? Are they truly clueless and just don’t know any better? Or are they taking advantage of the fact that they won’t be called on their behavior due to their awkwardness?
Thanks for reading! Stay tuned. We’re prepping for our first Chicken Run of the year, so my next blog post will be a humous story about the time I harassed the ptarmigan–shame on me!
Part 1 of my series on Sexual Harassment in the WorkPlace
I hear the door to my office creak open behind me. It’s late
in the evening and I am in my office alone, trying to polish up a few things
before I head back to camp for the evening. Before I can even turn around, he’s
already barging in, moving closer to my desk.
“Hey Daniella, I heard that you have a cabin in the interior
of Alaska.”
“Uhm…yeah. Do you have something electrical to talk to me
about?” I ask, keeping a straight face. I know the answer to this question
before he even opens his mouth. He’s a mechanical piping guy. He knows nothing
and has nothing to do with what I do for work.
“Well, no.” He stammers.
“I don’t have time for chit-chat,” I reply bluntly. “I have
deadlines and I am working. Please leave my office now. Thank you.”
His jaw drops. He glowers and stiffens a little, but he
stomps out down the hall, slamming my door as he goes.
Now for some of you reading this exchange, this may seem a
little harsh. We “girls” have been trained to be “nice,” “polite,”
accommodating even. If I have learned one thing from my male co-workers, it’s
that I am here to work. It is perfectly acceptable to draw distinct boundaries
in the work place. Particularly around those who make me uncomfortable.
Now to give a little context around this particular
exchange, there are many types of sexual harassers out there. The ones that we
see in the news are the more overt kinds. You know, the ass-grabbers, the ones
who make lewd comments and jokes, the ones who try to get girls drunk and
assault them. I could go on and on, but I am going to focus on a subtler kind.
There’s a kind of guy who flies under the radar, but quite frankly is possibly
the biggest workplace predator, because he often escalates to these other
behaviors, but he carefully selects his victim, grooming her to make it feel as
if it is her fault when he makes his move. I call this guy, the Creepy
McCreeperton, or how about just Creeper for short.
Now, throughout my career as a technician and engineer, I
have had many male colleagues as mentors and friends. But there have always
been clear boundaries established from the get go. The Creeper immediately
starts trying to bend or push these boundaries.
Creeper moves in on his prey subtly, coming in to talk about
work, but then moving on to other subjects, usually his favorite, sex. He works
hard to find out what her interests are so he has ammunition. Creepers can be
married or single. He’ll often open up to her about his own relationship
problems, gaining her sympathy by trying to get her advice on his own
relationship woes. Then he’ll try to get her to talk about her problems, so she
can see just how much they have in common. The irony is that over the course of
my career, it is usually the other men I work with know who the Creepers are,
and warn me about them early on. Sadly, they don’t feel very empowered to do
much about them.
The Creeper I mentioned above was notorious for stalking the
young female engineers I worked with. He preyed on the fact they were too nice
to tell him to go away. He always managed to come to their offices when they
were working late or alone. He would often bring legitimate “work” to talk
about so he had a reason to be there, but then sway to the subject to personal
matters (sexual).
When they would tell me about it, I would try to drive home
to them that they didn’t have to put up with this behavior. Establishing
boundaries for professional behavior is perfectly acceptable. Guys don’t worry
about being nice. We shouldn’t either. We should worry about being professional
We’re here to do a job, not be someone’s eye candy.
Now, to give a little more info on said Creeper above, he
didn’t give up after the incident in my office. He would try to find ways to
talk about “personal” stuff with me, even though I made it clear I had nothing
to say. Usually by trying to stop me in the dining hall or corner me in the gym
and comment on my workout attire (yes, he was a true gem). I finally had to let
him know that I had spoken with my supervisor about his behavior, and if he did
not desist bothering me or other females in my department, we would be taking
further action (further action was taken, because I guess he didn’t think I
knew about the other women he was bothering).
Yes, I will add a small caveat here. We’re all adults, and
some people do date in the work place. And that’s fine, but no one should feel
coerced or harassed. It is acceptable to tell someone that their behavior is
inappropriate without fear of reprisal. In fact, when I let my male co-workers the
depth and level of was going on, they were outraged and incensed. It’s guys
like that that give men a bad name. Most of the men I have worked with wouldn’t
dream of doing anything like that. They have daughters, sisters and other
female friends. They knew the guy was a “creep” but they couldn’t believe the
lengths to which the guy would go.
We’re all human and we make mistakes. Speaking for myself, I have somethings said things I should not. People have said things around me that they should not. I try to give people (at least for the first offense) the benefit of the doubt that they are not trying to offend me and that they are a decent person. My usual response is something along the lines of crossing my arms over my chest, giving them a grin while I raise an eyebrow and saying, “Really?” And that’s more than enough for most of my technicians to know they’ve gone too far. We’re in a new era. Women are entering into professions and places that have been dominated by men for millennia. The amount of change in the industry both in attitude and support towards women has been staggering. There’s still along way to go. But that change needs to come with an open mind on both sides. We have to look at each other as human beings and partners, not adversaries.
I’ve scraped the mud and gravel out of my steel-toed
Keene’s the best that I can, and tug the plastic shoe condoms over the top to
try to contain the mess. I know it’s an effort in futility. I’m just making a
short stop back at camp to grab a cup of hot tea from the break room (spike
rooms are what we call them), use the head, make some calls from my office,
then head back out into the field. I’m coated, head to toe in mud. Not unusual
this time of year. Most people assume that the dead of winter in the arctic is
what I dread most. The time of year when we’re hitting temperatures of 20, 30,
40 and even 50 below. The coldest I ever worked in up at Prudhoe was ambient
-65 with a windchill of -85. When it gets that cold, they suspend all outside
work. Emergencies only. It’s because exposed skin can freeze in less than five
minutes, and breathing air that cold can damage the lungs.
Me at work at one of our substations in late spring (June). Yes, that’s snow around the bottom of the substation
Nope. The time of year I dread are the shoulder
seasons, late spring and early fall. The time of year when we’re in cyclic freeze
and thaw. We can see temperatures at night in the minus teens, only to swing up
to above freezing during the day. Meanwhile, the sun is shining almost 18 hours
a day, 12 hours of it direct on the snow. This causes the top layers of snow
and gravel to melt. The pads and roads turn into a quagmire of mud. Even though
we are theoretically below freezing most of the day. This wreaks havoc on our
equipment, particularly our electrical infrastructure. The winds blow the mud
onto the powerlines, causing short circuits and outages. The permafrost heaves
and jacks, causing buried cable to stress and snap. The crews then have to dig
it up and repair it. I can count on being out in the field most of the day,
answering trouble calls with the line crews in addition to my normal field
engineering duties.
I make my way down the hallway of the old ATCO
trailers that make up the office complexes. This bolted-together relic from the
pipeline days, with wooden paneling lining the walls that was the height of
decoration in the mid-70’s has seen better days, but there’s no where else I’d
rather work.
The heat is cranked in the building and I unzip my
muddy jacket as I carry my hardhat and ice grips down the hall, feet dragging
with exhaustion after being out in the field all morning. Coming down the
hallway I see her and she sees me. I’m suddenly self-conscious of my messy
braid that I threw together 8 hours ago when I climbed out of bed in camp when
my radio went off.
She flips her perfectly flat-ironed long blonde hair
as she struts down the hall in painted on denim and 4-inch-high heels. I’m not
sure which glitters more under the old florescent lights; her long, dangling
earrings, her pink shellacked nails, or her glossed lips that are curled up in
a smirk as she sees me.
Can’t avoid her, there’s no where else to go, so I
smile back despite my weariness and I feel a flush rising to my cheeks as she
looks me up and down and begins to laugh.
“OH—My—God, Daniella. What happened?” she says,
putting her hands to her face.
I don’t have to look down at my mud-spattered FRC
pants and shirt to know what she’s talking about. “I’ve been out in the field,
working.” I reply, trying to extract myself from this awkward conversation.
She rolls her eyes. “You look terrible. Thank god I
don’t have to go out in the field and get all—dirty.”
“Sure,” I reply. I hold my head high and I keep
walking. I have a job to do.
I want to say a lot of things, but I bite my tongue.
Why? Because I’ve been there before, and it would be like talking to a brick
wall. I’ve had lunch with this woman (and talks with others like her). This is
the same woman who complains that she doesn’t make enough money in her job and
wishes she could make more. When I tell her or others like her they could
become a technician or an operator with only a two-year degree and make more
than I do, and have better job security, here are the excuses I hear:
Oh, but that’s so hard
I don’t have time for that
That’s a lot of physical labor
I don’t want to have to get dirty
I want to be able to dress pretty and
feminine for work, I don’t want to have to dress so drab (like you)
That takes a lot of math, and math is hard
I don’t want to be out in the cold or bad
weather
I get it. I really do. Everyone has certain choices
and expectations in life. Many of those, unfortunately are culturally embedded.
But I know this. The choices we make or don’t make define our careers, our
lives and our financial situations.
Me in Prudhoe Bay after my dunking summer of 2018!
We see a lot nowadays about following our passions,
pursuing our dreams. That chasing money is going to lead to a life of misery.
At the same time, we don’t hear enough as women about choosing a career that
can make us financially independent and stable. I was able to find that in my
multiple iterations of careers in STEM. Some would argue that I was lucky
somehow, I was born good at math and science. I would argue to the contrary. My
luck was that I had educators early on that instilled in me a desire to learn
despite the fact that it was difficult. That it didn’t matter whether I was a
boy or a girl, that I just needed to apply myself. My other stroke of luck may
have been my father. I had a father who was a power plant operator and a
mechanic on the side. He would let me come into the plant with him on payday to
pick up his check, and explain to me what the big generators and relays were
doing. He would let me watch him work on cars (and even sometimes help). This
instilled a curiosity about machinery and electricity that lives in me to this
day.
This is me standing beside a rotor for a frame 5 turbine.
I’m only a good engineer because I started out as a
good technician. I worked my way to where I am now because I wasn’t afraid to
get dirty and do a physical job. As a result, I can actually afford those nice
shoes and life I want when I am not in the field covered in mud. I don’t have
to rely on a man to finance it for me. I was able to chose a man to be in my
life because I wanted to be with him and he wanted to be with me.
Due to medical circumstances beyond my control, I
eventually couldn’t do the hard, physical part of the job anymore, but the
solid technical foundation I had laid carried forward into the rest of my
career, and made me the competent, highly qualified engineer that I am today.
It’s funny, when I started my website and built my blog page, it showed me how I could build categories. At first, I kind of chuckled to myself. Categories? Why do I need categories for random thoughts? Now that I am a few blogs in, I can now see some categories starting to evolve even without my intention to create them. This blog kind of straddles the Navy category and my current job.
Sunrise and sunset during the arctic winter.
Summers in Prudhoe Bay can have the few random nice days, but for the most part they are cool and wet. This precipitation leads to soft, wash boarded roads and treacherous, slow driving conditions.
The morning I wrote this post, I read the roads and pads report and sighed. It rained yesterday and is projected to rain again. Roads are going to be a sloppy, slow slog of wash-boarded gravel. The speed limit on almost all the roads according to the report has been dropped to 15 MPH, and I needed to drive across the field. As I got ready for work, I thought to myself, Today I need to wear the good sports bra.
Trust me, driving 20 to 30 miles over wash boarded roads is no fun, especially when certain body parts jiggle more than one would like. I realized that most of my co-workers probably don’t worry about this. It is neither a good or bad thing, it is just a fact. Most of the people who work up here are men. We women are a slim minority. Most of the women who work in Prudhoe Bay are housekeepers or admins. The few female technicians, operators and engineers are a tiny fraction of the overall workforce.
It made me think of a time in the Navy where I was asked a question about women’s underwear.
It was back in 1998. I had been picked up as a staff instructor and I was the only female staff member on crew at the time. On this day, I was standing watch as electrical operator, watching the board and taking logs. The hum of the HVAC unit and the conversation between myself and the reactor operator was suddenly broken by the curtain for maneuvering drawing back and the Engineering Watch Supervisor poking his head in and shouting, “Request permission to enter and speak to the Electrical Operator.”
The watch office granted permission without looking up from his logs. I however, looked up to see the entire watch team outside the door, peering in eagerly, staring at me.
My first thought was, “What fresh hell is this?”
He squeezed into the small room and even before making it to my bench he shouted, “Nipper (that was my maiden name), can women wear thongs in the Navy?”
Taken aback, my first response was something along the lines of “Hell if I know?” Then, “Why are you asking me?”
He was more than happy to oblige. One of our female students had put on a lot of weight since she joined the Navy. Sometimes it happens, especially in the Nuke program where you are parked on your backside for hours on end studying. She had become so much over weight that her uniforms no longer fit. Now if you have never been in the military, your uniform is supposed to look a certain way. Her supervisor, sensitive to her feelings told her she needed to purchase new uniforms because her old ones were no longer suitable, but he did not exactly tell her why.
Well, as I know some women do when they purchase a prom dress or a special occasion dress, this young sailor decided to buy her uniforms a size smaller to motivate herself to lose weight. While I can understand her logic, it backfired, literally. Unfortunately, while performing her duties, the seams of her pants across her backside did not survive the activity. They split down her rather ample backside. When she went to her supervisor and showed him her predicament he told her to go home and change. For some reason, though she had permission to go home, she decided to ask the Watch Supervisor what she should do.
Being a rather seasoned sailor, he advised her, “Just put some duct tape over it, you’ll be fine now, No one will notice.”
“I can’t, I’m wearing a thong,” was her reply, to which he responded by ordering her to go home and change, then running to where I was on watch to ask his question.
Just so you know this really blew their minds/freaked them out. Women can wear sexy underwear under their uniforms? Oh My God!!!!!! Personally, I kept it pretty comfy. Dungarees are uncomfortable enough. Granny panties all the way, but I digress.
Being the only female staff on crew, I was considered to be the font of knowledge on all things female. We looked it up. At least in the regulations at the time, it did not call out what type of underwear you could wear, just that you wear them. Believe it or not, it did specify color: white or skin tone under white uniforms, and any color under other uniforms.
So yes, we determined it was perfectly acceptable for women to wear thongs in the Navy.
I have thought about this often over the years. How much effort emphasis we women put into dressing and looking a certain way, even down to choosing just the right underwear under a garment, because heaven forbid people see a panty or bra line and know, gulp: we’re wearing underwear! OMG!
Me in front of one of my substations
While sure, men worry about looking neat, professional, and presentable, they do not obsess over it the way we do. The interesting thing I have learned, working around men for so many years, most of them do not notice our efforts at all. Sure, my husband notices when I dress nice, but we dress and look a certain way because the fashion industry says it is important, other women say it is important. But most of the guys I work with? I really don’t think they care.
Beautiful day in Prudhoe Bay!
Thanks for reading, and I hope your underwear is comfy and soft today.
Heads up, abuse survivors, possible triggers ahead.
“I like to keep my towels like that, and my pantry. This guy and I have a lot in common.” My boyfriend said as he unpaused the movie.
The movie in question was Sleeping With the Enemy. Julia Robert’s character is trying to make sure the towels in the bathroom are meticulously lined up, and the cans in the pantry are stacked with the labels outward. At the time I justified his comment with an excuse, like I did so many others:
He’s just kidding.
He’s really not like that guy.
He just likes things really neat.
What I am about to say next may be glaringly obvious at this point, but let me spell it out incase you are really naïve like I was:
LADIES AND GENTLEMEN IF YOUR SIGNIFICANT OTHER MAKES A COMMENT LIKE THAT, RUN LIKE HELL
Why am I sharing this tidbit? I want to pass on something I learned from my own bad relationships. What is obvious to someone on the outside looking in, it not so clear to the person being abused. especially when they have been groomed and conditioned to believe it is what they deserve.
But why didn’t she just leave?
I am not excusing myself. I recognize now it the low-self esteem and choices that led me to this particular guy. But where did these behaviors stem from? They stemmed from abuse in my past, and inability to confront and manage what I had been through. I couldn’t see myself as a victim, I blamed myself, what happened to me was somehow my fault. I wasn’t good enough. I felt like I had to be something better, to constantly please in order to be worthy of love.
May as well have put a GPS beacon on my head for guys like him. They hone right in on that.
Back to the show. Those redflag comments weren’t the only behavior I excused. Being much younger and naïve, I really thought this was how it worked. This was my first “real” relationship, and he was the first guy who “really” loved me. Or so he convinced me at first. He definitely knew how to dangle that carrot, always just slightly out of reach.
You shouldn’t wear those pants, they make you look fat
That dress is too short for you, it makes you look slutty
(Longer dress) The other one looked better, now you look dowdy
I’m just trying to help you look classy
You should dye your hair blonde, brown makes you look washed out
That’s too blonde, you look like a rock groupie/tramp
You shouldn’t drink while you are out with friends, some guy might try to sleep with you
Are you really going to eat all that? You should probably go to the gym tomorrow
Don’t lose weight, I love how curvy you are
These statements were often countered with presents, roses, jewelry, a nice dinner, or a new outfit (he had better taste, of course).
Over time, I realized nothing I did pleased him. And let’s not even talk about sex or affection. It was my inadequacy in the bedroom that caused my lack of satisfaction (according to him).
It slowly escalated into screaming matches. Belittling me for wanting to have a social life, isolating me from friends, family, and co-workers. But it all came to a head when he wanted me to move in with him. we could never find a place that quite please him, so I said we should hold off on moving in together. In hindsight, he wanted me to move in with him so he could wield the ultimate control over me. Not too much later we had the following conversation. Part of me wishes I could forget it, but at the same time it was the most liberating conversation I ever had.
ME: I NOTICED THAT WHEN I SAY I LOVE YOU LATELY, YOU DON’T SAY IT BACK
HIM: WELL, TO BE COMPLETELY HONEST, IT’S NOT JUST THAT I DON’T LOVE YOU ANYMORE, I NEVER REALLY DID. I WAS JUST SAYING IT TO SEE WHAT IT FELT LIKE TO SAY IT TO SOMEONE, AND NOW IT’S JUST NOT CONVENIENT ANYMORE
ME: WAIT, YOU’VE BEEN LYING TO ME THIS WHOLE TIME ABOUT BEING IN LOVE WITH ME?
HIM: NO, IT WASN’T A LIE (in other words, how dare I call him a liar) I WOULD HAVE LOVED YOU IF YOU WOULD HAVE MOVED IN WITH ME, BUT YOU…
SOMETHING INSIDE ME SNAPPED. I STOPPED LISTENING, INSIDE I WAS FUMING. I DIDN’T EVEN CRY
ME: I GUESS THAT’S ALL I NEED TO KNOW THEN. IT’S OVER.
HIM: YOU’RE BREAKING UP WITH ME? YOU CAN’T BREAK UP WITH ME. WE DON’T HAVE TO BREAK UP OVER THIS
I reiterated that it was over and got off the phone. Flash forward to my next day off. It just so happened that my dishwasher was leaking, and the maintenance guy was in my apartment repairing it. My ex-boyfriend didn’t realize he had a witness to his attempt to “win” (force) me back. The encounter in my apartment was unnerving, but par for the course for my interactions with him. When the maintenance guy made his presence known, my ex bailed.
The guy repairing my dishwasher asked me if I needed him to call the cops.
This was an eye opener for me. Another person witnessing his antics and letting me know that was not normal helped me resist going back. My ex had me convinced the whole time that his behaviors were my fault, and if I had only done what he wanted everything would be great. That summed up our whole relationship. I told some of my friends what had been occurring as the break-up unraveled, and they were shocked and angered. But never at any point did I think I was being abused, not until it was over. I shudder sometimes at my lucky/narrow escape.
I did a lot of soul searching after that break-up. I would love to tell you that I never dated another abusive jerk, and I took my new-found self-esteem and conquered the world and instantly found true love, just like in a Hollywood movie.
But life is not like a movie, and our brains are often wired to repeat old embedded patterns. But what I can tell you is that with a lot of help, time, friends, support, therapy, and self-reflection, and even some other mistakes (but that will be another blog post) I did start to recognize the patterns I was creating, and I changed them for the better. I came to realize the things in my past that were not my fault to begin with did not devalue me or make me less of a person. When I finally recognized myself as an amazing person, I started having healthy relationships and the life I truly deserved.
