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The best discovery of all is the affirmation of our small financial aid world. Beyond just knowing people, the similarities in financial aid cycles and psychology are comforting. |
Editorial Reflections ... Taking a Ryder truck across the U.S. is somewhat akin to riding a bicycle without a seat, not terribly comfortable. Fortunately, I had a driving partner, so I was able to stretch out and sit on a pile of pillows. This driver also enabled me to be here now; as if it had been solely up to me I'd probably be corresponding from the hospital describing how the truck slid off the road. Getting out of the state of Oregon was perhaps the trickiest part since we had to first make a pit stop in Burns and left Portland when both Mt. Hood and the Santiam Pass were closed. One other difficulty was the speed at which we could travel, regardless of the road conditions. Ryder trucks are equipped with an interesting device to keep people who drive them within (well under) the speed limit. A "governor" regulates the throttle and, before the tricks of adjusting the gas pedal were discovered, kept the truck at a minimal speed. So minimal that we expected the runner with the Olympic torch to pass us. Once we did get our speed to maintain at 60 mph rather than 40, we were treated to blowing snow and black ice in Utah. In Wyoming we were buffeted by 30 to 40 mile an hour winds with gusts up to 70 miles per hour. At one point we stopped and I thought of getting out of the truck. The wind slammed the door shut before I had it open five inches. After that, when we were driving again, curiosity caused me to check out an odd phenomenon. I stuck my arm out the window and the air felt still. Our tail wind essentially counteracted the head wind of our forward movement. It also helped us move along the highway at 65 miles per hour - never mind the governor! Next on the agenda was Nebraska. Before I describe Nebraska, I'd encourage you to pull out a visual aid. If you have some graph paper handy, that would be most helpful. Take your pen and draw a rectangle around a patch of the little squares. Done? Great, you now have a topographically accurate, three-dimensional map of Nebraska. Ah, but you still don't have the full experience. There is one more sensory detail worth adding. But, before I do, I must tell you a bit more about my traveling partner.  My friend that accompanied my cat and me 3000
miles does deserve a medal, particularly since he's not
terribly fond of and is slightly allergic to cats. However,
he is a bit of a storyteller. He has had a wide range of
life experiences and traversing the United States in a
semi several times is one of them. As we traveled he
kept telling me what to expect from each section of the
country. And I continued to doubt him. Well, perhaps
not doubt, just not entirely believe. So, when he saw the
wisps of snow starting to blow across the road in Utah
and said, "Watch that. When you see that it means
black ice." I thought, "Yeah, whatever . . . the road looks
pretty bare to me." Then, 15 minutes later, we saw a
truck and trailer and a semi in the ditch. And when he
said, "The wind can really gust through Wyoming.
Sometimes they have to shut the road down because
of it." I thought, "Yeah, like
Pooh's blustery day!" Then I
saw the gates similar to those
at train crossings ready to
drop down on sections of the
freeway and semi trailer
twisted and ripped in half by
the wind and said, "Oh, you
mean that kind of wind!"When we were approaching Nebraska and he forewarned me that it has a unique smell due to the many stockyards and pigsties, I still failed to grasp the magnitude of the odor. Just outside of Sidney, Nebraska I said, "Oh, no! I think Sophie crapped in her cage! Shoot. We'll have to pull over." I proceeded to poke and prod my cat and search around in her cage. Then I sat up with a dawning recognition and gazed over at my smirking friend as I said, "Oh, you mean that kind of smell!" All along the way, I kept realizing how much my literal horizons were being broadened. The tactile sensation of driving across the country is so different from flying at 35,000 feet. One more example of my small world perspective comes from the home of the Cornhuskers. Sidney, Nebraska is home to Cabella's, an outdoorsman's paradise. It was closed when we arrived, but I got to see the gigantic elk sculpture in the parking lot. It was another interaction where I said, "Oh, you mean that big! They're huge!" The sculptures were bigger than two Ford Excursions. It was in a Phillips 66 station in Sidney that I had the first personal small world experience. The woman working at the mini-market and I both lived in Baker City, Oregon in 1979. In a rest area outside of Des Moines, there was a small Ryder truck convention and I met a woman who was helping her son move from Seattle to Cleveland, Ohio. When we pulled into Washington D.C. and were getting very close to my apartment, we crossed over Fessenden Street. My house in Portland was a few blocks from Fessenden (not a common street name, and it always made me think of Uncle Fester from The Addams Family). My first weekend after moving I was browsing in a shop and found that the manager had lived in Portland and taught at Wilson High School for 30 years. I got the Washington Post and Charles Moose - former Portland Police Chief - was in the Metro section as he's now serving his post in Montgomery County, Maryland. The best discovery of all is the affirmation of our small financial aid world. Two of the people I'm working with now I had met at financial aid conferences and I'd served with one on a NASFAA committee. The first lender representative to call on the office after my arrival was someone I had met at the NASFAA conference in Las Vegas. Beyond just knowing people, the similarities in financial aid cycles and psychology are comforting. The day before I left Clark College, I came in and found my office door taped shut with big signs warning that Plant Services had done some "carpet gluing" the previous evening and it was essential that the office not be entered before 8:30am. When I did open the door, very suspiciously, a fake ceiling panel ripped open unrolling a Bon Voyage banner and dumping a load of confetti. The prank and the two years of paper hole punches collected in a Coffee Nips box were compliments of Mike Gibson, Veteran's Affairs Coordinator. On my second day of work here at Georgetown, I was emptying the three-hole punch into the garbage. My boss came out and said, "What are you doing??? You're supposed to save those!" I asked why, and he produced a plump manila envelope labeled "confetti." So, though it seems I've traveled far, I find myself in familiar territory! Since I can't be there, and presently have an acute appreciation for the WASFAA region, please do me a favor and don't miss the opportunity to enjoy and learn from one another at the annual WASFAA Conference in Boise. I will look forward to the next financial aid conference uniting regions and states where I can visit with my west coast colleagues and friends. |
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