Jobs I Want: Cheese Analyst

If you're someone who knows me well, you know that I used to edit some magazines owned by this evil, horrible man named Tom Petters.

If you think you've worked for a worse boss, you're wrong. As proof, I offer you Mr. Petters' mug shot.

Does your  boss have a mug shot? Did your boss at least look at the stupid camera for his or her mug shot? Mine didn't, because he was really ashamed of the massive Ponzi scheme he'd created, and terrified of the fallout of bilking his employees and investors out of billions of dollars. Did your boss do that?

Okay, then. My boss was the Worst Boss Ever.

But that's beside the point. The point is, when a massive FBI raid began the chain of events that led to my layoff, I found myself a bit traumatized, and so I vowed to be my own boss as much as possible for the rest of my life.

It sort of worked. I've done some freelance stuff, and waited tables, and generally avoided additional Scary Bosses. Mostly, this is awesome, but every now and again I find myself pining for the days when I  did lots of really productive stuff, like changing out of pajamas or earning a living wage. 

Sometimes, I discover careers at which I'm entirely certain I'd excel. When this happens it can be very, very tempting to apply for the position, until I remember that I am a writer and therefore entirely unemployable if I want to be paid with, like, a salary. 

But sometimes there's hope. Sometimes, I find a job that seems like it was custom-made, just for me. These jobs meet all of my requirements. They're fun. They require no pointless meetings. I already possess the expertise required. Jobs like these, I'd probably do for free. 

Did you know, for example, that the Tillamook Cheese Factory in Tillamook, Oregon employs people called "Cheese Analysts"? According to Tillamook's Web site, a cheese analyst's duties are as follows:

Cheese analysts take core samples from a random sampling of cheese blocks every day. They taste and smell the cheese, checking flavor and texture to determine which cheeses need to be sent back for further aging into sharp and extra-sharp varieties.

Um, hello? Hire me, Tillamook? I'm smart, and I'm good at random things, and I for realz know when cheese tastes good. I won't ever complain about the job. Instead, I will show up on time, and eat tasty cheese all day long, just minutes from the pristine Oregon coast. When I am done analyzing cheese, I will go home and sleep it off, and then come back and do it again the next day. I'll be like Templeton from Charlotte's Web, and you'll be my veritable smorgasbord. We're a perfect match. It'll be great.

So please, if you're a hiring manager at Tillamook (or any other reasonably decent cheese factory, for that matter), consider that I dream of being paid to eat...or even just eating for free?

It's the holiday season, Tillamook. A time when dreams come true. So cut a girl a break, eh?

Abundance, or The Place Where Nothing is Wasted

Above the alley at the home we share, Waffle Guy and I embarked on a grand experiment: a rooftop patio garden. 

For him, the garden appealed to his practical side. "It'll pay for itself in one basil plant," he mused as I tallied up the cost of the seeds I'd purchased. 

For me, the garden represented catharsis. To keep a plant alive represented proof that the struggles of the last several years of my life had given way to the sort of gentle day-to-day rhythm that allowed a person to remember things like sunshine and water. 

And so one day I tenderly planted seeds in tiny peat pots and waited eagerly for my efforts to bear fruit. 

It took awhile. And I made lots of mistakes along the way. For example, I left my little seedlings out on the porch while I went on vacation, subjecting them to the fierceness of May in Minnesota. Despite a hard frost, nobody died.

I left my extremely promising lettuce sprouts on the lawn in my backyard, where a newly adopted dog was altogether thrilled to poop on them. Grossed out, I returned the lettuces to the earth. It all worked out, though, as my tomato plants took up much more room than I'd alloted them, and the loss of the lettuces allowed four massive tomato varietals to take residence on my patio.

And then there's the Hanging Pepper Planter Saga. Turns out, those thriving plants I planted in it were not, in fact, the peppers I thought I was planting. The good news is that green and yellow beans grow extremely well from hanging planters. Who knew?

I've over-watered. I've under-watered. I've over-fertilized and forgotten plant food entirely. And somehow, my garden decides again and again to forgive me. 

I spend altogether too much time thinking about the fact that my patio is alive, now. When the Deepwater Horizon story broke, my stomach tied itself in knots every time I saw a picture of an oil-covered animal. One day, while sitting near my little urban garden, I realized that growing my own herbs and vegetables means that no one has to truck them to the store for me. It was comforting, somehow, that those plants reduce my use of fossil fuels. Even if the change was a small one, it was real. 

And that's the thing about planting anything, isn't it? You scatter the seeds of all of your new ideas, and somehow, against all odds, some of them grow. And they change things. And they're real. 

Just like that. 

I can't take credit for the metaphor, but I feel like using it puts me in good company. Jesus and Emerson and Thoreau and perhaps thousands of other great minds have noticed how tending a garden reflects tending to our own lives. 

The other day, upon locking ourselves out of the house, the kids and I lounged in the hammock in my little rooftop Eden and snacked on the beans that had grown where we'd expected peppers. I recalled a period of my life when being stuck in such a situation would have been a highly stressful thing. Instead, I was actually having fun. 

Today I picked cilantro, and looked forward to grinding its seeds to make homemade curry powder, and I was overwhelmed at the perfect efficiency of my garden. A few pots, some soil and some seeds have reminded me that I belong here, on this Earth, in this place, and that nothing that's led me here has been wasted.