The Background Story

Welcome to my blog! I thought I might share my experiences and lessons learned while building a small cabin in the frozen forests of the Northland. But first, I should tell you a little bit about how I got here, don't you think?

I have lived in Fairbanks, Alaska, on and off for the last 25+ years in between jaunts to places far away and near by. Most recently, I moved to Portland, Oregon in the fall of 2005, where two of my siblings live, in an attempt to give the "big" city another try and see if I could find a full-time job and maybe enjoy some of the many benefits that come with living in a hip, trendy Pacific Northwest city.

My time in Portland was a mixed bag, honestly. I searched earnestly for a job in the Information Technology sector, and found the market to be unexpectedly tight, so I also applied for a number of other jobs that might get me started: glass caster at Bull's Eye glass, bread baker at Ken's Artisan, pizziaolo via an anonymous Cragislist posting, industrial production baker at Bob's Red Mill in neighboring Milwaukie, Fred Meyer cashier, Best Buy Geek Squad member, with a few interviews, but no job offers.

My sister had some contacts at a temp agency from her job with the previous mayor of Portland, Vera Katz, that did not specialize in IT but were willing to interview me for a possible position with a major family-run real estate investment firm downtown. The position was for an entry-level help desk job, which was a bitter pill to swallow after my previous employment as a Systems Manager, but things were getting a bit desperate. I interviewed for the job once with the HR VP, who was very kind, and once with the IT manager. They let on that they were interested in having me on board a few days later. I was sure my sister and brother-in-law were politely hoping I would find work so I could move out of the back bedroom of their beautiful house, so after unsuccessfully negotiating a $25/hour rate, I settled for $20 and started my new job right away for the New Year.

The shop was a small one, with a manager and 3 in-house techs supplemented by a variable number of contract experts to help run the complex server bits and configure the upper-level network components. My closest associate, whose desk looked like a grenade had exploded and spread computer shrapnel all over his cube, was fairly new to computer support, but was a natural in many ways, with a great people skills and a quick laugh. I'll call him C.W.

The first thing I did was to start cleaning up the ginormous mess. If not kept under tight control, computer stuff tends to die of old age in a few years and get stacked up "just in case." I inventoried and organized the hundreds of software applications, cleaned up the server/storage room, which looked like a larger version of C.W.'s desk with more cable spaghetti and really crusty computers that were begging to be taken to the dumpster in the basement for a final journey to the big tech bone yard. I also found that, as previously experienced during my much earlier tenure as a bit janitor, the customers were not very friendly and at this point in my not-so-illustrious computer career, I had had a bellyful of rude, angry computer users who vented all their spleen at me. There was one user in particular who used a proprietary application that had a critical function for the "hiding" of money from taxation in an "art foundation" and was in desperate need of updating and repair. I knew absolutely nothing about this product and soon found myself in a morass of long tech calls, attempted patches, and one very irate user who decided I had broken the whole system with commensurate vein-popping, heavy sighing, and set-jaw behaviors. These I well knew, and dreaded.

I ended up going to my boss and telling him that I thought he should speak with the user and let her know that I was doing my best and to give me a little break. He didn't seem too interested in backing me up, but I later found out that I "always treated customers poorly and with disrespect." I never did get along with that particular customer, who I found to be immature, grumpy, dumpy and disrespectful to me. If you want me to help, at least have the common courtesy to be polite and adult about it!

C.W. wasn't too hot on my being there, as he was bucking for the soon-to-open Network Adminstrator position in the company, as the current admin was moving on to a position with Symantec, and he thought I was trying to steal the opportunity away from him. There was some thinly-veiled animosity from old C.W., but I could tell it was there. I was just trying to earn some money at a dead-end temp job until I could find a solid.

I interviewed with the City of Portland after an informational lunch with the CIO through one of my sister's contacts and did all the things in the book: shiny shoes, carefully proof-read resume on heavy paper, eye contact with each member of the interview committee, plenty of smiles, a "thank you" to the secretary on the way in and out, thank-you notes, and all the rest. Alas, to no avail. The job was for an entry-level help desk grind, which seemed to be the only IT job available to a guy like me, but I was hoping to get my foot in the door, bust hump, and move up. Plus I wanted a job with benefits and not just a full-time temp job with no offer in sight.

I think I applied for a few hundred jobs using the old school "want ad" response method, and a few dozen using the new-fangled network contact method with about 20 resulting interviews, but still no job offer. I joined in a number of networking groups and met many other people in similar situations. Misery loves company, they say...

Some family friends were leaving the Portland area and had a huge house in the hills near the zoo, and they offered to let me live there while they tried to sell it. They were living in an apartment downtown and were no longer occupying the house. I could walk down the steep road to the zoo and conveniently catch the Max to work. I loved the fact that the house was in a wonderfully-thick forest with few cars and big lots. Most nights I read the remaining books on the library shelves in the office in front of the gas fireplace after tramping up the rainy hillside. They soon had an offer for the house, and I moved back in with my sister again until I could find some new digs.

After a quick search for a new place, I moved out of my sister's house into a wonderful garden apartment building with 10 units, hard wood floors, a telephone nook, faux fireplace, original fixtures, and a wonderful kitchen and bathroom. I was so excited to be in my own little place. My excitement soon turned to "renter's regret" as my next-door neighbor, with whom I shared the entry porch, tended towards an ogre-like existence: the space inside his apartment that was visible to the outside world was piled high with detritus of a supermarket diet. Empty soda bottles, piles of newspaper, chip bags, and the like formed a midden of modern man's bachelor existence. My neighbor was also fond of wearing only a pair of shorts which exposed his morbidly ample girth to all onlookers. This predilection to a natural-style of living didn't quit at the front door, as "Shrek" would sometimes come out of his den and into the sunlight to bedazzle the stunned passers-by with his pale, hairy mass. He was harmless enough, my 60 year-oldish neighbor, but he could have easily starred in the lead role of some horror movie with the proper script and some fake blood.

Then there were the thin walls. I could hear everything, and I mean ev-er-y-thing from the adjoining two apartments. I was sure they could hear everything in mine, too, which made me paranoid that they were experiencing the same thing I was. When the girl next door came home, who moved in shortly after I did, I could hear the key in the lock, the purse hit the floor, the TV turn on ("Friends" was a favorite), the kitchen cabinet open and glass of wine pour. "Shrek" would often get up to use the toilet when my alarm went off. I could hear him roll over in bed and often was serenaded by his snoring as I counted sheep and tried to ignore the hissing and rumbling of the train yard by the river, a mile away.

Needless to say, I was very glad the lease agreement was month-to-month, as I quickly found a mother-in-law apartment in the West Hills that fronted on a common Japanese garden courtesy of the very kind landlord and lady, "D & D." I was able to walk to work from the noisy apartment, but the new place was not easily accessible to public transportation. I eventually found a route that let me get downtown without adding my car to the growing congestion on Route 26. I walked 1 1/2 miles to a bus stop, which was served 3 times in the morning and 3 times in the evening, rode for 30 minutes to the Max station, got on the Max and rode for another 30 minutes and then walked the last 15 minutes to work. A long commute, for sure, but I relished the exercise and found my routine to be solitary and enjoyable. The apartment was on a cul-de-sac, but the feeder road had grown from a country lane into a major commuter vein for Portland. Hundreds of cars a minute zipped by, with bleary-eyed, single drivers at the wheel, coffee/cell phone/makeup/newspaper firmly in grip.

Long story, shorter: I was not offered a job with the real estate investment company so I quit. C.W., in the meantime, had become a good buddy and recognized that I was just trying to make a living and not put him out of his. I immediately got a date with a cute gal who worked at my ex-company (no dating work colleagues rule, I guess), gave notice to my landlord, went to the beach to relax and have a picnic or two, and generally enjoyed my last few weeks in Portland before driving back up the Alaska-Canadian Highway to Fairbanks.

And this is where our story really begins...