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I think I'm starting to find my way in a post-paper-newspaper world.

Ahhhhh.... it's like I can breathe again for the first time in five years. Getting out to the Ann Arbor Dancing In the Streets event really helped. Finding community outside of the computer is so important now that our newspaper communities have been fractured and broken.

It is what it is. I miss the old papers. Really, I miss those newspapers so much.

But for the first forty years of my life my sense of community -- and, in fact, my community (no bones about it) was built around paper newspapers.

You've all heard me wax about how my mother used to go outside to get the papers every morning of my childhood, moments after she'd put the coffee on to perk on the stove. Those papers just meant so much to our family. My father and I didn't communicate very directly. If we had an issue to discuss with me the problem and solution statement often started with an article he'd saved from The Detroit Free Press. It was always serious when dad cut out something for me to read. I remember once I was so mad at him because he didn't see things my way -- the right way. We'd had quite a fight -- which meant, of course, I wasn't speaking at all, just permeating every square inch of our home with a sense of injustice, entitlement and superior intelligence.

My mother was always the ambassador of peace. In the arrogance of my youth I imagined this role was delegated to her due to my father's hesitancy to express emotion. Today I see it as a stroke of genius and appreciate it's effectiveness. I was living with my parents one semester because my financial aid was cut. My Dad had lost his business and they had moved to St. Claire Shores from our home in Tawas City so that my dad could work at the General Motors Tech Center. He had been so proud of my work on the college paper that he'd taped my columns to the top of his toolbox so all the guys in the woodshop could see what a wonderful daughter he'd raised.

So anyway, during this time I was spending with my parents in St. Claire Shores, I was riding the bus to Maccomb Community College and taking a few classes. I was all stressed out. I'd learned enough at college to make me dangerous but not enough to know how to get along as an adult child with my parents very well. My mother tried to quell my nerves by lovingly sticking packs of Winston Ultra Light 100s in my book bag each day. I come from a smoking family. My mother's father used to let me smoke a pipe with him in elementary school while I sat at his side watching cowboy movies.

So I was pissed at Dad. I think it was his attitude. He just didn't understand the modern world. He was sexist. He was giving me too much stinkin' advice and he'd never even finished college so I felt he had no business.

I came home from community college and sat in the TV room where my mother was crocheting and drinking a glass of wine. We were watching something -- maybe Wheel of Fortune or the CBS Nightly News. My dad came in to sit with us. He'd been down in the basement, I suppose. My dad loved the basement. It was full of his tools and machinery. My mother always called it "the dungeon" under her breath.

Mom stepped out of the room and came back with a folded section of the Free Press.

"Your father wanted me to give this to you."

Some guy had written a long column (about 30 inches -- you know, a length about three times what you get these days in an online column or report)about his daughter and how much he didn't understand her and how much he thought she was wrong and how much he respected that he had given her everything he possibly could in the form of tutelage and how he had recently realized it was the time for her to make her own mistakes. It was her life now, the columnist had written. He said it was time for her to make her own choices. He was stepping out of the way.

I seem to recall the sound of my father's spoon clinking a dish of tapioca pudding as I read, and the soft sound of my mother crocheting and TV murmur of whatever after-dinner show we were watching at that hour, Mash or Jeopardy or the news. I was probably having a glass of wine, too. I generally did after dinner -- and I'm fairly certain my mother would have seen to it that I had wine and cigarettes before she delivered the column that served as an olive branch.

I was sobbing, of course, as I read it, snot and tears running all down my face as I pretended I wasn't crying at all, only suffering from some sudden allergy or something.

I kept pretending to read long after I'd finished the column, of course, as to appear occupied, so I wouldn't have to address the awkwardness in the room. It was a small room. My parents moved into a classic East Side bungalow when they moved back to the city. So the TV room was very likely a downstairs bedroom in another era - Small. I just kept reading the column; pretending anyway.

"Patricia," my mother said. "Your father wanted me to save that article for you because he is very proud of you."

I suppose I muttered something noncommittal.

In my family of origin newspapers often said what we were unable to say.

Then I got married and for eight years my husband and I were not very happy. But I worked full time as a journalist. And newspapers became my community and my vehicle for communication in a magnificent way. I loved every minute of every day working for the paper newspapers.

I owe a huge debt of gratitude to Bob Gabordi who gave me my first full-time newspaper job as the night cops reporter for the Herald-Dispatch in Huntington, West Virginia. My parents were so proud, they subscribed all the way from Gladwin, Michigan (my father had retired and they'd moved up there to a small lake). It was often sad and stressful being the night cops reporter -- covering murders, tragic fires, fatal car accidents. But it was always magic how we pulled it together on deadline. It was a dance -- a fantastic dance. The copy desk was relying on me each night to squeeze in the breaking news. It was remarkable. The whole building shook when the press started rolling. It was a two-story press that reminded me of a contraption from a Dr. Seuss story. I loved it. It was so magical. One night Bob stormed into the newsroom. I think he had heard something on his scanner at home. It was a story I had to rush out and get but I can't recall what it was now. We had major news break all the time late at night. I only wish I could recall which story it was. Possibly a hotel fire. I just don't know. There were big stories every week. Bank robberies, shootings, drownings -- once the city's detective captain got drunk and shot out the window of a liqueur store because he thought he'd been shorted in change. So, I just don't recall what it was. But I recall Bob's excitement when he stormed in and said, "Stop the press!"

I think he said it a few times. I believe we were all giddy. This is what we lived for. This is what we'd dreamed of our whole lives.

"Stop the Press!" Bob Gabordi said.

And then, reflectively impressed with himself, "I've always wanted to say that."



I was only in Huntington a little more than a year. My mother became terminally ill and I wanted to be with my family in Michigan. There were other newspaper jobs after that and I loved each one in its own way.

There aren't really jobs like that anymore. I doubt there are two-story presses and editors who run their newsrooms like families. Maybe there's a job like that somewhere over the rainbow (sorry, I just couldn't help myself... many of you know one of my very best friends in the Universe is the great-grandson of Yip Harburg who wrote that song... it creeps into my narrative now and then).

But what a life I have lived. What an honor it's been. I feel so much gratitude toward everyone who I worked with at the paper newspapers. I don't have any grandchildren to tell my stories from the trenches. But we did start that Michigan Newspaper Writers group last winter. Maybe we'll actually meet sometime. Maybe we'll make a collection of stories -- our stories. That would be so wonderful.

I still feel sad quite often about the state of journalism in our country. But I must admit I'm also delighted with Facebook. You know I had a hard time adjusting to it at first and I've thought sometimes that I spent too much time on it. It feels very much to me like a brew pub. On holiday weekends such as this it reminds me of a small-town homecoming. I love seeing photos of Matt Bach's 90-something grandmother and Jo Mathis' newly decorated living room. I love that place, Facebook. It does a great deal to keep me from missing everybody so much. I love seeing the photo updates. Susan Oppat's hair sure looks good these days, doesn't it?

Since about a third of my Facebook buddies are journalists (mostly now retired or transitioned into public relations careers), I feel fairly caught up on the news just from reading Facebook. It's much more interesting to me than any online news site. I get a wide variety of stories in my newsfeed each day. Many are blog articles from my writer buddies. Those stories feel like the old The Way We Live section from the Free Press. I'm definitely adjusting to Facebook and many things about online communication and media.

One of my biggest concerns has always been that the death of paper newspapers is the death of the mass media. I loved writing for a publication that served the masses. I've always had compassion for the underdog. My parents taught me that. It doesn't sit well with me to think that many poor people and technology challenged or inhibited people wouldn't have access to my stories if I were to go to an online publication. Those publications are not mass media. I don't like that they are pretending to be. They are a class media. Let's be loud and clear about that.

The rules have changed.

And I'm just not willing to play this game today.

Maybe someday I will be ready to play again. Maybe I'll go back to school and get some more journalism degrees. But for today I'm just watching. I do respect my former colleagues who are working for online publications and in public relations.

I love you so much; you know that. You've touched my life in immeasurable ways. And I'm so happy to read and see all about your lives on Facebook. It lifts my heart each day. You know that. True, I've never had all that much of a social life, I suppose. I'd rather just sit around and read and write much of the time. Most of you are off with families and other priorities.

Work had always been my priority. I loved it. I used to joke to people, "my stories are like my children. I always want what's best for them." Now that I'm forty-four with no family and no newspaper job and no opportunity to work in the field I'd loved so dearly, that statement feels sort of chilling.

But I'll keep on keeping on. The Washtenaw Recreation Center opens back up on Tuesday so I should be able to start paying more attention to fitness. I've been talking to recent college graduates about how to hunt for a job these days and I've got some good ideas.

I've decided to narrow my search down to looking for a job in fundraising and development. My friends are on board with this. They think it's going to be a great fit for me. I think so, too. I want to help some really cool organization build up its resources. That feels to me like a great way to spend my post-paper-newspaper years. I'll never rule out the possibility of jumping back into journalism as a career. But I just can't right now. I need to watch it. I need to understand it better. It feels so shallow and mean spirited to me. I don't like it. Facebook is way better. I like Facebook and my former journalist friends who I meet in there.

Goodness I've rambled for an hour. I suppose I just needed to.

Happy Labor Day my darlings. I'll say a little prayer for better days ahead for all of us who are underemployed.

Oh -- and don't get the idea that I'm quitting Clean Water Action anytime soon. I respect CWA so much and appreciate the hard work the year-round canvassers and office staff devote. I'm just looking for something before winter. And if I don't find it, I'll keep knocking on doors to save the Great Lakes.

It's all good.

Dressing for Success

Seriously, I'm done with messing around with underemployment. I want to make some money! I love Clean Water Action so much in so many ways but I've decided I just need to find myself a better paying job that doesn't involve walking for five hours in the dark five days a week in the winter. I admire the people who do it year round; I seriously do.

But I'm suiting up. I'm serious people. I'm going to embark upon a real job hunt. I'm looking for a job that enables me to ask for money for a good cause -- a university, a non-profit organization, a charity...

I'm good at asking people to give money. That's a special gift.

So let me know if you hear of any jobs in this area. This weekend I'm updating my resume and starting to network around this decision. I'll keep walking for the Great Lakes and fundraising for Clean Water Action through the winter if I have to, but I hope an inside job that pays a bit more comes along before December.

Thanks for following my career transition journey. Honestly, your encouragement and suggestions have meant the world to me.

And while I think I've got a real gift for development and fundraising, if you happen to think of another job that you think I'd be good at, please let me know.

I'm going to keep blogging here several times a week and I promise to keep you posted.

I'm super happy that the Washtenaw Rec Center opens up again this week. Exercising is so important when I'm in transition. The Rec Center closed the moment I felt inspired to start swimming every morning and after two weeks of being closed for the annual cleaning, it will open up on Tuesday. Yay.

Seriously, if anybody has any tips or suggestions on job hunting, please let me know. The world seems so much different today than it did when I was job hunting after college. With so much happening online, it seems a bit less personal. But maybe that's just me. Maybe I just haven't learned the tricks of the trade.

Suggestions?

(p.s. I put below-the-knee skirt on the Poor Journalist. Appropriate attire is super important. She was just a little bit too sassy! But she's cleaning up her act.)

Swimming With My Eyes Open

I guess I'm still finding my way in this life after paper newspaper journalism.

There's much to appreciate about canvassing for an environmental organization. The people I work with are great -- creative and intelligent and unflappable. The cause is extremely worthy and I feel good when I go to bed every night knowing I've done my part to protect our state's magnificent natural heritage.

My gear isn't the best. I'll need better shoes as the weather gets colder. I'll need to plan better and dress in layers. I'm definitely up for doing this work for awhile longer. But I also find myself ruminating about what life after canvassing might be like for me. As a former journalist with a blog there's a certain part of me who wants to stick with it until Jan. 1 and report to my 131 Poor Journalist Gets To Business and 81 Refrigerator Door fans about canvassing in the dark and cold. I've done a bit of it but I've always managed to find another gig for winter. There are people who do this work year after year in snowstorms and in thunderstorms. Some of them are not young. They are passionate about what they do and, in most cases, probably just wouldn't fit in very well in a typical office setting. They're quite a bit better educated than the average secretary and a little bit snarky. There's a part of me who wants to stay on the Clean Water Action beat through the holiday season and report to you what it's like.

I admire the people who do this work. It's so important to democracy -- and so undervalued by society in general.

Thursday I didn't work and I went to a 12-Step food fellowship meeting since I had the time. It's a meeting I would be going to every week if I wasn't working on Thursday Nights. Several of the women were absolutely atrocious. I more-or-less ran out of the meeting. One woman was not atrocious. She had been leading the meeting and had given the qualifying talk. She's been reading my blog and enjoying the canvassing stories. I appreciated that. Some of the other women were just obnoxious. I find this fairly often in the fellowship of overeaters. If we ran our demographics in the 12-step eating communities, I think we would find that most people are married or have close family members who help support them financially. I'm not saying they have no financial worries -- but they don't relate very well at all to what I've gone through since losing my job at the newspaper. Sometimes it bothers me more than other times. Thursday it sort of bothered me. These women were swarmed around me like hens commenting loudly about my mosquito bites and whether or not I had decent shoes and if I was going to work in the dark and what about the weather.

I just wanted to scream! Of course I don't like getting bitten by mosquito's or stuck in tornadoes. Of course I don't like it when people close their doors in my face. But there are really, really nice people out in the neighborhoods, too. They give money to protect our lakes. They invite me in and give me warm or cold beverages depending upon the weather. They tell me they're happy I'm doing what I'm doing. They often hug me. They say, "Thank you so much for doing this. Keep up the good work."

You know? It always feels worth it at the end of the night. There are supporters and fans of Clean Water Action in every neighborhood in our state of Michigan. We get about 250,000 supporters for our campaigns every year.

So anyway, I've been thinking about life after canvassing.

This morning I mulled over three ideas:

-- Getting certified to teach English at a public school (it would take about three years! My major is journalism, not English).
-- Development or Fundraising for a university, college or charitable organization.
-- Getting an 18-credit hour certificate in Web Technology from Washtenaw Community College.

For as much as I complain about technology and the direction we are headed in society, I have to admit I have a knack for it. I mean I didn't even read instructions when I started my blogs and fan groups. I've got quite a few fans for as little marketing as I've done. And people read this thing. Seriously, they stop me all the time and tell me about various stories they've read. I like it.


So, here's what I'm thinking. I'll keep canvassing at Clean Water Action and start looking for a job in Development and/or Fundraising for a school or charitable organization. Also, I'll plan on enrolling in January in the classes to get certified in Web Technology at Washtenaw Community College. I've been ambling around here in cyberspace. I've been pretty lucky. I've done some neat stuff. But I'd like to actually know what I'm doing.

Geesh. Imagine what I might accomplish if I was approaching technology with some knowledge -- not swimming with my eyes closed as I have been up to this point.

So, if anybody hears of a job opportunity in development or fundraising, please let me know. I have a real gift for flat out asking people for money for a good cause.

HUE MILL EEE ATED!

Poor Will. Tonight was the worst night of his life as a canvasser. He's the friendliest young man with such a warm smile and big bright eyes. I just can't imagine why anyone wouldn't be delighted to have him knock on the door.

But Will really struck out tonight; poor guy. He'll only be with Clean Water Action for another week. He got a job doing social media. He'll be managing a blog and Facebook page for a tanning business after that. Will is an MSU graduate and he blogs about the Pistons at pistonspalace.blogspot.com. He said he'll be posting lots more in October though it's been sort of slow through the summer. If you're a basketball fan, totally check out Will's blog.

I feel bad for the guy. Literally, one man tonight chased Will off his porch in anger simply because he shook his head as he was walking down the steps. A canvasser needs to shake his head sometimes. You wouldn't believe the outrageous things people say at the door. This man didn't go for the head shaking, though -- not at all. He saw it through the living room window and burst through the door and shouted all sorts of profanity at Will. Even as Will was on the public sidewalk, the guy was still shouting profanity at him so that a bunch of neighbors could hear. It was one of his first doors of the evening, so it didn't set the best tone or do much to boost Will's confidence.

If it wasn't bad enough to be shouted at and chased off the porch, poor Will had another bad encounter while canvassing tonight. We were in St. Claire Shores. It's the hometown of State Rep. Sarah Roberts who worked for Clean Water Action for ten years. Typically I've found people in the shores are pretty friendly toward our organization. But that wasn't the case for poor Will. After he was yelled at, insulted and chased off the porch he went on with his duties. And an hour or so later he was stopped by the police. Someone in the neighborhood called the police on Will and another canvasser, Candice, a soft-spoken gray-haired woman who was educated at an expensive private school on the East Coast. She has been working for Clean Water Action since 2005, twelve months out of the year. She goes door-to-door in snowstorms and thunderstorms.

I told poor Will I wish he'd had a hidden camera.

"That would've been AWE-SOME," Will said. Will's a small-statured rosy-cheeked fellow who shares his sandwiches with everybody. He's big into Fantasy Football and he receives picture messages from his mother that make him laugh.

Who would chase a nice guy like this off the porch? Who would use profanity simply because he asked for a donation to save the Great Lakes? Who would call the police on him?

According to Will, it was just a really, really bad night. So many mean people! I told him he ought to get a T-Shirt that says Mean People Suck! for his last week. That'll show them.

"YES!" Will said.

"And that hidden camera!!! You gotta get one of those!"

"Oh man," Will said. "If I had a hidden camera, that thing would be posted ALL OVER Youtube! Man that guy would be HUE MILL EEE ATED!"

Cordless Curling Iron

There's much to love about canvassing for the Great Lakes in the late summer and fall. And I'm prepared to suit up in the right gear and continue doing it through the winter -- or until my path leads me to something that feels like a better opportunity for me.

I've really enjoyed blogging about canvassing, too. I've sort of gotten into this lazy routine of coming home, reading Facebook, commenting on the newsfeed, getting up, reading Facebook, commenting on the newsfeed, writing a post for The Refrigerator Door, getting out of bed, showering, going to work. That's been my life. I work. I blog. I read Facebook. Sometimes I go out to the Fleetwood Diner at night with my nephew and his friend Zack. Sometimes I stop at the Starbucks on Main Street and have a cup of black tea. I've been turning in around 2 a.m. and sleeping until 9:30 or 10 a.m. I've been a bit lazy. But on the other hand, after having gained so much weight trying to sell health insurance, it really did tire me out at first to walk so much. I needed the extra rest. Now I'm getting quite adjusted to the walking. I very much want to get in a yoga class, too. My neurologists have told me it's the best thing I can do for my Multiple Sclerosis -- practice yoga. But I haven't felt like I could afford to take classes since I lost my newspaper job in 2005. I want to make it a point to at least do it at home for a few minutes every day.

A few people have given me leads on jobs and I've appreciated them very much. Two people suggested an online publication that I could possibly get involved with -- something that's starting up in the Metropolitan Detroit area. You know, I'm thinking maybe I should look into that. I'm so disgusted with the newspapers I've read all my life. I was telling someone yesterday I feel as though they are skeletons of papers -- in the way those old gray dilapidated ghost houses you see in the country are skeletons of houses -- just a framework from another age.

Obviously I still have a writing problem. I do it every day no matter what. If I'm not blogging, you can be certain someone is being burdened with my reflective and unsolicited e-mails. It's a habit I have. And I guess they don't really have 12-step programs for compulsive writers.

So, I'm sort of thinking about trying out this new media that's coming to the area. A friend wrote to tell me of someone who I could talk to about that a few weeks ago. I just wasn't quite ready then. You know how it is. I'm very stubborn. There's a part of me that still wants those big thick Michigan newspapers delivered to my house everyday. Damn, I miss that. Big fat daily issues of The Detroit Free Press and The Detroit News seemed just as necessary to the structure of my childhood home as dinner plates and silverware. Actually, given a choice, I think we might have kept our paper newspapers and eaten with our fingers. But you know I'm old school that way. In the 1970s my grandmother heated up a cordless curling iron on the stove because she was afraid of being electrocuted.

So I guess this Labor Day Weekend I'll spend some time looking into journalism jobs as they exist today. There's a pretty big part of me who wonders if anybody would even have me given the harsh way in which I was let go from the Ann Arbor News. It was just devastating to me. Blogging and my wonderful fans have done quite a lot to restore my confidence.

It's funny, when I began this post I wasn't going to write about looking for a media job. I was actually going to write something entirely different. To be truthful, I was going to write about how I had decided NOT to look for a media job. I was going to write about how I had decided to go ahead and get licensed to sell property and casualty insurance so that I can sell home insurance and auto insurance. My car insurance agent wants me to do that. He says I can work with him -- use his office and secretary and split the commissions.

I think I might do that, too. I am going to ask that guy who I went on the date with last week about it since he is in real estate.

I guess the point of this post is that I think Clean Water Action and canvassing for the environment was the very best thing I could have done three weeks ago. It is restoring my health and my stamina. I enjoy it. I love the people I work with and I love the people I meet on the street.

But I think it is time to start looking to the future.

I may be blogging a little less as I spend time with resumes and such...

I'll keep you posted.

If you're wondering what prompted me to think about what's next for me, I'll tell youo it was the Ben Harper video I posted to my newsfeed today. I love that song Diamond's On The Inside and, of course, like to imagine Ben wrote it just foe me. The only problem is, the video is full of these buff surfer girls. I always wanted to try surfing. In fact if I hadn't lost my job and then had my first MS attack in 2005 I had been planning to visit my brother in California and treat myself to a week of surfing lessons for my 40th birthday. That fell through, obviously. Today I am really feeling nervous about attending Dancing In the Streets in Ann Arbor on Sunday. Surfing seems pretty much out of the question. My coordination and balance is sketchy to say the least.

So I thought... it's nice to imagine being a bohemian drifter girl with diamonds inside my heart. But I'd also like to be able to afford yoga classes. And maybe if I did get back with my rock-star yoga teacher, she could get me in shape for surfing. Maybe? If anybody could, she could.

So, I'll keep walking for the Great Lakes and I'll approach that work with love and enthusiasm. But I'll keep my eye out for new opportunities, too. And I'll try not to be as stubborn about technology as my grandmother. She never had a microwave. Never. She died in the mid 1990s. She didn't want to get radiated.

She might have been on to something. But I'm not my grandmother or my mother. I'm just me.

Diamonds on the Inside

Sometimes it's just all about community.

Tonight was one of those nights.

Seriously, I raised $17.50! Can you believe it? I walked for five hours in a Harrison Township neighborhood so close to Lake St. Claire I could see the waves and feel the lake breeze. And nobody wanted to donate to Clean Water Action. Actually, that isn't quite true -- nobody who wanted to donated to Clean Water Action felt able to donate anything more than a few bucks.

A guy who is going in for his second heart surgery gave me his last $2.50. Another lady gave me $5 and another one gave me $10. I might possibly have done a little bit better on this turf if it had had more houses -- and if I hadn't been sharing it with Thomas. Because Thomas and I were sharing it and it was a small turf, I started ringing on doorbells right at four 'o clock. By six o' clock we had finished walking the turf for the first time and were ready to start on callbacks. And by 8:30 p.m. there were no more callbacks to do but we had half an hour till pick up. Since it was dark when I was finishing up callbacks, it's likely that I missed a handful of potential doors.

So I didn't raised standard tonight. But I had some very thoughtful discussions about Great Lakes water issues. One man had many questions about out-of-state trash and bottled water companies. I was grateful that I was able to tell him not only what's going on today but also to give him an oral history about the advent of mega-garbage dumps in Michigan. I recall when Governor John Engler pushed for garbage-dump expansion in the 1990s. I was a county government reporter then and had the responsibility of touring dump facilities and listening to the trash company public-relations spin on the topic of trash.

So anyway, I didn't get rich tonight. But I did feel effective. That counts for something.

Also... I got some new tires on my car today. That's good. My nephew's friend noticed one of the tires was about to give out.

And even though I'm not all that crazy about splitting turf because it can throw off my pace, I completly enjoyed working with Thomas who will be leaving in a few days to go Africa to work with his brother on a project to prevent flooding in Dakar.

So I don't know exactly where my life is headed? Who does...

As I was getting out of my car I thought about how fortunate I am to live in such a beautiful state with so many good people who are struggling right along with me to make ends meet. Tonight on turf I met people who were packing up and leaving their homes due to foreclosure. I met people who had just recently lost jobs and people who have been out of work for many months. I also met a few people who just recently went back to work. And I met people who can't pay their medical bills. I met a lady who offered to volunteer because she can't give money. She has had a cat since January and has not been able to have it spayed due to the cost. She told me every time she thinks about taking the cat to the vet she thinks about what she would have to give up to have the proceedure done -- shoes for her daughter, groceries.

It's really bad out there for people and tonight was one night when that was abundently clear to me.

Just being out there with the people who are feeling the pain of this recession made me feel really good. The last hour I walked door to door in a soft warm rain without a jacket or umbrella. There was something very peaceful about it. To be honest with you, it somehow made me feel pretty. I'd been feeling fat and insecure earlier in the day.

I started humming the song Diamonds on the Inside, a favorite of my nephew, Jonathan. He plays it for me on guitar sometimes.

Effective Gab

Glossary of canvassing terms:
Rap: The conversation you have at a door.
Contact: The person you speak to at a door.
Turf: The neighborhood or area in which you work.
Burb: The van or suburban vehicle that delivers you to turf.

Last night I had a breakthrough with fundraising. I more than doubled my standard (meaning I raised more than twice what is expected of me in one night) and I didn't work all that hard to do it. I had nice long conversations with supporters that kept my energy and momentum up through the night and helped me feel great about the work.

One of my biggest problems with fundraising and sales can be my gift of gab. I like to talk to people. People like to talk to me. But sometimes I mistake the talkers for people who want to donate. Eric, one of our team leaders, gave me a tip last week when I talked to him about this problem. I had spent more than 45 minutes talking in a woman's living room and I was so sure she was going to write a check for $120 because she was so excited about our work. She ended up only writing a check for $25 and I didn't make standard that night. When I told Eric about this, he laughed. He told me about when he was on a cross train in New York and he climbed this hill way up to this lady's house in the snow. She invited him in and he was talking with her forever because she was wealthy and extremely interested. But then her husband didn't want her to donate, so she only wrote a check for $10. Eric's advice to me was "do business first; chat with the supporters later." So that's what I did last night. I qualified supporters and then stayed and chatted with them about the environment after I knew how much they were going to give.

It worked perfectly. Simple tips are so great, aren't they? So last night I only knocked on about 45 doors. I spoke with 28 people. And I collected four sixty-dollar checks and a fifty-dollar bill (in addition to some smaller donations). That was really efficient use of my time -- particularly in the heat (although last night was much more pleasant than Monday night).

I also met some great people who really love the work we do and had time to spend with them to talk about related environmental issues. One supporter brought up the plastic trash vortex in the ocean. It's totally disgusting. He had seen a documentary on TV about it over the weekend. I saw a video on Youtube about a month or so ago. Phenomenal. Check it out...



I also met a wonderful woman whose husband of more than sixty years died in July. His ashes were in an urn on her mantle, next to a painting he'd done of a Great Lakes Tall Ship. I dabble in painting, too, and always enjoy seeing the work of another self-trained Michigan artist. It was a hobby for him, not a profession. Unfortunately I left his name at work. I'll update this post later with the name. The photo will show up at the top of this story. I haven't fiddled around with the blog enough yet to know how to place photos strategically.