From several fire and rescue sites I read:
> AMBULANCE DRIVER SENTENCED FOR FATAL CRASH - IOWA
Now, I have a lot of problems with this one. The driver was ‘transporting a critically ill patient’ when he hit the back of a tractor-trailer, a livestock trailer not that it makes a difference. The trucker was preparing to make a left turn and had moved partly into the left lane (not sure why he did that, but not knowing the road or the turn reserve judgment on him for it), apparently saw the rig coming up behind him and moved back to the right (again not sure why). The speeding ambulance hit the back of his trailer. An ambulance technician (presumably in the back) and the patient were killed, the driver and another technician were injured. The driver was sentenced to 10 days in jail for each of two traffic citations from the crash: failure to use caution by the driver of an emergency vehicle; passing too near an intersection; this sentence was suspended and he was put on probation for one year, and fined $200. The attorney for the ambulance company stated that this sentence will ‘have a chilling effect on how ambulance drivers do their jobs’.
Oh, ps, one of the investigating officers said that the driver should have been charged with vehicular homicide, that he was going 90 mph before the crash and only partially applied the brakes as he approached the truck, making his speed about 58 mph when he hit it.
Here’s my problems with this one, folks: first and foremost, 90 mph? Really? I know the roads in Iowa are often flat and straight for miles, but 90 mph, when you see a vehicle ahead of you? YOU NEVER KNOW what a vehicle is going to do when the driver sees the lights coming up behind it. How many of us have had them stop right in front of us? Yup, thought so. Next, not applying brakes to get to a reasonable speed to compensate for what the other driver might do. Never Assume!
My other problems are with the court system. I know, many will think I should be defending the ambulance driver, but, can’t find it in me to do that. Bottom line, he killed two people. The law did not allow him to be charged with a felony, hence the lesser charges. Maybe it will be enough for him to know that he did this, but then again…. Why would he have had to show ‘a higher amount of recklessness’ – isn’t driving 90 mph (and yes, I’ve done it myself on a hot call) and not using caution around another vehicle reckless enough?
The driver and his attorney say the sentence will affect how other drivers do their job – that they will be ‘second guessing themselves’. Well, if it makes them second guess to use more caution, hip, hip, hooray! My take on it is that it may make them think they can be as reckless as they want and they’ll get off with a slap on the wrist if anything happens. Maybe I’m looking from the wrong angle, but I see it potentially making them more careless.
Oh, and of course the families of the fatalities and the surviving two people in the ambulance are all suing the truck driver and company, who are in turn suing the ambulance company and the driver. Who wins? The lawyers, as ever.
Here’s what I think: that the ambulance company, and every one across the country, should hold regular emergency vehicle safety courses, to remind their drivers that getting behind the wheel and putting on the lights and siren do not make they and their crew and patients invincible. C’mon guys, we are the ones who get called to help – riding with us shouldn’t put people at more risk than the problem they called us for does!
In two other states, firefighters are fighting for their lives following accidents which happened while they were responding to alarms. In Pennsylvania, a young husband and wife are both in critical condition. In North Carolina, a 17-year-old went off the road and flipped his truck 5 times, he’s also critical. In both cases, members of their own departments discovered the accidents and then had to work rescue for their fellow volunteers. Without knowing details (not in the stories I saw), I’ll guess that both were caused by the same thing: driving above what the existing conditions called for. I’ve done it, we’ve all done it, raced to quarters or to a scene, adrenaline pumping, thinking ahead of what might need to be done when you get there, you lose track of what’s happening in front of, around and underneath your own vehicle. If you’re lucky, it doesn’t matter, you make it ok and go to work. If you’re not, you end up being part of the problem, instead of contributing to the solution. Not only do you need help, but you take it away from the ones who originally needed it.
> UPDATE: PA. HUSBAND & WIFE FIREFIGHTERS CRITICAL AFTER RESPONDING CRASH
> FIREFIGHTER (Age 17) CRITICAL (IN A COMA) AFTER CRASHING LAST NIGHT WHILE RESPONDING TO A FIRE CALL
Bottom line – remember you’re not helping if you’re being pulled from the twisted wreckage of your responding vehicle. You’re a victim. You’re using manpower that should be working on the original call.
Let’s all be MORE careful out there. And let’s say whatever kind of prayer to whoever you say it to for the well-being of not only these folks, but all of those out there doing these jobs.
> The headlines are from the items on the sites EMS Close Calls and Firefighter Close Calls, if you want to see more on these stories.
Thursday, December 30, 2010
Friday, December 24, 2010
Christmas Eve and the bad peanuts
Last Christmas I wrote a lot of the memories I have from over the years, and mentioned the year that my father got the ‘bad peanuts’, so here’s that story:
My father worked for a fuel oil company, and he was one of, if not the first of their people they sent to ‘burner school’ to learn how to repair furnaces. That was quite an event of itself, and perhaps worth another story.
Anyway, he would always be the one on duty on holidays; I think he volunteered for it, saying that the other guys should be home with their families. We thought nothing of it, it was what he did, never mind that he also had a family to be home with. It wasn’t unusual for him to be home late because he was on a service call, or to have to get up from a meal, or milking the cows, to go restore someone’s heat. Also, he wasn’t the sort to ‘stop for a cold one’ on the way home, although now and then it did happen.
This one year, I don’t remember how old I was, maybe 10 or so, Christmas Eve he was on call, and wasn’t home when it was time to start milking, so my mother and sister and I went out to do it. We expected him to get home at any time. We were almost to the far end of the barn and the last few cows when one of his co-workers came in, and walked up the row to where my mother was, holding a set of keys in his hand and just saying ‘Now it wasn’t Eddie’s fault’ over and over again. My mother of course immediately thought the worst, that he’d been in an accident, but some how it got conveyed that this wasn’t the case.
The case was that they’d stopped at the bar for a Christmas drink. That led to one more, and then one more because of course everyone had to buy a round – or more. Speed’s, I think the name of the place was, not that it matters or that I remember right, on Lower Warren Street in Hudson.
By the time they got done, none of them was in any kind of shape to drive, but the other guys decided that my father was the worst, and had the furthest to drive, so they’d better take him home. Which they did, one driving the service truck, and one driving his car.
Their plan was that the one whose car they brought would take the service calls for that night, but just take his tools in the car, not the truck.
So the friend telling my mother ‘it wasn’t Eddie’s fault’ was saying that it wasn’t his fault he got toasted.
While he was doing this, the other guys were getting my father out of the car, and starting to help him to the house. In the midst of this, one of them noticed something not quite right at the front of the car – that being smoke coming from under the hood. He opened it and there was less right, including flames in the engine! They immediately abandoned my father, and started hollering for water.
I don’t know why I wasn’t still in the barn, but I was in or near the house when several of them came piling in looking for water, and something to carry it to the car in. I grabbed some pots from the cupboard and we started a ‘pot brigade’ to the car - and carrying open pots of water across the snowy path was no small feat for those guys at that point in time, let me tell you! I think that one or more of them were still outside, throwing snow on the fire, and between all the efforts the fire got put out quickly.
My father, meanwhile, had made it to the porch, heard the commotion, turned around and saw the flames (hanging on to the porch post for balance help) and said ‘Well, that’s a hell of a note’ and went on into the house and collapsed on the couch.
The guys got the fire out, piled into the car, with promises that they’d cover the service calls, and left. The next morning the car owner came back to retrieve his tool box, which he’d grabbed out of the car when the fire was going on. Good thing nobody’s furnace broke down that night!
My father said he wasn’t drunk. He’d been eating the peanuts on the bar and some of them must have been bad, that was what made him not feel well. For a long time that was the catch phrase for over-indulging in spirits in our family.
Enjoy your Christmas, and if you’re out celebrating, look out for the bad peanuts.
Merry Christmas.
My father worked for a fuel oil company, and he was one of, if not the first of their people they sent to ‘burner school’ to learn how to repair furnaces. That was quite an event of itself, and perhaps worth another story.
Anyway, he would always be the one on duty on holidays; I think he volunteered for it, saying that the other guys should be home with their families. We thought nothing of it, it was what he did, never mind that he also had a family to be home with. It wasn’t unusual for him to be home late because he was on a service call, or to have to get up from a meal, or milking the cows, to go restore someone’s heat. Also, he wasn’t the sort to ‘stop for a cold one’ on the way home, although now and then it did happen.
This one year, I don’t remember how old I was, maybe 10 or so, Christmas Eve he was on call, and wasn’t home when it was time to start milking, so my mother and sister and I went out to do it. We expected him to get home at any time. We were almost to the far end of the barn and the last few cows when one of his co-workers came in, and walked up the row to where my mother was, holding a set of keys in his hand and just saying ‘Now it wasn’t Eddie’s fault’ over and over again. My mother of course immediately thought the worst, that he’d been in an accident, but some how it got conveyed that this wasn’t the case.
The case was that they’d stopped at the bar for a Christmas drink. That led to one more, and then one more because of course everyone had to buy a round – or more. Speed’s, I think the name of the place was, not that it matters or that I remember right, on Lower Warren Street in Hudson.
By the time they got done, none of them was in any kind of shape to drive, but the other guys decided that my father was the worst, and had the furthest to drive, so they’d better take him home. Which they did, one driving the service truck, and one driving his car.
Their plan was that the one whose car they brought would take the service calls for that night, but just take his tools in the car, not the truck.
So the friend telling my mother ‘it wasn’t Eddie’s fault’ was saying that it wasn’t his fault he got toasted.
While he was doing this, the other guys were getting my father out of the car, and starting to help him to the house. In the midst of this, one of them noticed something not quite right at the front of the car – that being smoke coming from under the hood. He opened it and there was less right, including flames in the engine! They immediately abandoned my father, and started hollering for water.
I don’t know why I wasn’t still in the barn, but I was in or near the house when several of them came piling in looking for water, and something to carry it to the car in. I grabbed some pots from the cupboard and we started a ‘pot brigade’ to the car - and carrying open pots of water across the snowy path was no small feat for those guys at that point in time, let me tell you! I think that one or more of them were still outside, throwing snow on the fire, and between all the efforts the fire got put out quickly.
My father, meanwhile, had made it to the porch, heard the commotion, turned around and saw the flames (hanging on to the porch post for balance help) and said ‘Well, that’s a hell of a note’ and went on into the house and collapsed on the couch.
The guys got the fire out, piled into the car, with promises that they’d cover the service calls, and left. The next morning the car owner came back to retrieve his tool box, which he’d grabbed out of the car when the fire was going on. Good thing nobody’s furnace broke down that night!
My father said he wasn’t drunk. He’d been eating the peanuts on the bar and some of them must have been bad, that was what made him not feel well. For a long time that was the catch phrase for over-indulging in spirits in our family.
Enjoy your Christmas, and if you’re out celebrating, look out for the bad peanuts.
Merry Christmas.
Thursday, November 18, 2010
Streetcar Escapes!
My Streetcar cat escaped over the weekend, while I was away. Jesse said when he came by to check on the cats that the front door was open-the lock was turned on, but the door itself was open several inches, and the screen was latched. Only thing I can think is that when I left, I forgot something and ran back in to get it, and either the cat dashed out when I left from that, or I just didn’t pull the door all the way shut (which usually I do, pull it shut and check it) and he got it open.
Anyway, I got home, and Prettypurr was at the entryway to greet me but Streetcar wasn’t, so I looked through the house for him, and no black & white cat. Looked again. No Streetcar. Called him. Looked in the rooms that the doors were shut to. No Streetcar. Starting to panic. Check for messages, check email, and there’s one from Jesse, explaining about the open door. Now I am really panicked. Went outside and looked, called him. No Streetcar.
Look through the house and outside one more time, and had a complete and total melt down.
Drove through the trailer park, back to the house, looked around the storage trailer and theatre. No Streetcar.
Went to my meeting, but couldn’t give the attention I should have, because of being worried about him. Got home, put on the outside lights and looked some more, pulled up the skirting and looked under the house, went into the woods, looked in the shed. No Streetcar. Left the outside lights on, in case he was watching, so he’d know that I was home.
Called Sara and had another melt down. She reassured me he could just be hiding, and don’t give up, but I was sure, because of the feeling I’d had all weekend that something bad was happening/going to happen (like going to two funerals in three days wasn’t bad enough). Now what about the book, how could I let him be gone, after what he’s already gone through, and so on.
Well, have to do something, so I made up a poster to put around, and was going out to put some up, opened the door and there he was on the deck, wanting to know why I hadn’t let him in.
I dropped everything and grabbed him “Where were you? Don’t ever do that to me again!” He just purred.
He must have had ‘outdoors’ scent on him, because Prettypurr hissed and hissed at him, and he acted real spooky for a couple of days, but now both are back to their version of normal.
So am I. Mostly.
As Sara said ‘dumb-ass animals, anyway!’ Is it wrong to get that way about a cat? I don’t think so, given what he is, what he represents to me. I’m just a mess about my animals and that’s all there is to it.
Anyway, I got home, and Prettypurr was at the entryway to greet me but Streetcar wasn’t, so I looked through the house for him, and no black & white cat. Looked again. No Streetcar. Called him. Looked in the rooms that the doors were shut to. No Streetcar. Starting to panic. Check for messages, check email, and there’s one from Jesse, explaining about the open door. Now I am really panicked. Went outside and looked, called him. No Streetcar.
Look through the house and outside one more time, and had a complete and total melt down.
Drove through the trailer park, back to the house, looked around the storage trailer and theatre. No Streetcar.
Went to my meeting, but couldn’t give the attention I should have, because of being worried about him. Got home, put on the outside lights and looked some more, pulled up the skirting and looked under the house, went into the woods, looked in the shed. No Streetcar. Left the outside lights on, in case he was watching, so he’d know that I was home.
Called Sara and had another melt down. She reassured me he could just be hiding, and don’t give up, but I was sure, because of the feeling I’d had all weekend that something bad was happening/going to happen (like going to two funerals in three days wasn’t bad enough). Now what about the book, how could I let him be gone, after what he’s already gone through, and so on.
Well, have to do something, so I made up a poster to put around, and was going out to put some up, opened the door and there he was on the deck, wanting to know why I hadn’t let him in.
I dropped everything and grabbed him “Where were you? Don’t ever do that to me again!” He just purred.
He must have had ‘outdoors’ scent on him, because Prettypurr hissed and hissed at him, and he acted real spooky for a couple of days, but now both are back to their version of normal.
So am I. Mostly.
As Sara said ‘dumb-ass animals, anyway!’ Is it wrong to get that way about a cat? I don’t think so, given what he is, what he represents to me. I’m just a mess about my animals and that’s all there is to it.
Morning Musings:
Thursday, 11/18/10: The song ‘Tie A Yellow Ribbon ‘Round the Old oak Tree’ is playing on the radio, and it led me to wonder – What did you do that you were sent to prison, and why should she have waited for you while you were there? Another of life's little mysteries......
Friday, November 12, 2010
Noreen Whyte November 2, 2010
Farewell, my wolf spirit friend
The Greater Spirit has chosen to take you to his side
This is the destiny he knew best for you
We left behind cry for missing you
But deep inside we know that this is now your place to be.
Farewell, my wolf spirit friend
I hope that now you see the places we meant to visit together
And never did - the town of shells, the place with wolves
I wish I had seen you one more time
But I know I want more to remember you
Laughing at a good joke, delighting in a good meal
Sitting by the pond …. teaching the fish to sing
A wonderful day of carousel horses and sightseeing
And ‘Goats have No-o-o- sense of direction’
Maybelline
The Sunday Funnies . . .
And Kira
Farewell, my wolf spirit friend
I will look for you again
In every Wolf Moon
I will hear your howl
See your face
And miss you
Oh, and by the way – the damn game – one move: 2,147,483, 648, for the game: 2,147,483,894.
Thanks.
The Greater Spirit has chosen to take you to his side
This is the destiny he knew best for you
We left behind cry for missing you
But deep inside we know that this is now your place to be.
Farewell, my wolf spirit friend
I hope that now you see the places we meant to visit together
And never did - the town of shells, the place with wolves
I wish I had seen you one more time
But I know I want more to remember you
Laughing at a good joke, delighting in a good meal
Sitting by the pond …. teaching the fish to sing
A wonderful day of carousel horses and sightseeing
And ‘Goats have No-o-o- sense of direction’
Maybelline
The Sunday Funnies . . .
And Kira
Farewell, my wolf spirit friend
I will look for you again
In every Wolf Moon
I will hear your howl
See your face
And miss you
Oh, and by the way – the damn game – one move: 2,147,483, 648, for the game: 2,147,483,894.
Thanks.
Tuesday, November 2, 2010
Election Day 2010
The day for all Americans to exercise their freedom and go out to vote. This is a ‘mid-term’ election, between the four-year ‘big’ election for president, and so it gets somewhat less attention. Although the big attention this year has been which party will have ‘control’ when the winners are declared. Will it make a difference? We can only wait and see.
Meanwhile, for the past several weeks, even months, we’ve been bombarded with tv ads, mailings, phone calls, signs – and they all seem to have the same theme: “SO AND SO IS A BIG LIAR/JERK/CROOK/BAD GUY WHO WILL ONLY STEAL YOUR MONEY AND MAKE THINGS SO MUCH WORSE THAN THEY ALREADY ARE!!!!! Oh, yeah, you should vote for me.”
I don’t know about anyone else, but I find these disgusting. They all have the same bad things to say about each other, so there’s no way to tell if there is anyone out there who can really do a good job, who really is interested in the welfare of the people they will serve. And what’s in the media doesn’t help a whole lot, because even factual stories tend to get skewed, and of course if a candidate says something offensive the very next breathe he or she says ‘Oh I didn’t really mean that, what I really meant was . . .’
Nobody any more just makes a commercial saying “Here’s what I’d like to do and here’s how I think I can do it.” Somebody did that, I’d vote for them in a heartbeat, just because they were telling me something that wasn’t how dirty the other guy is supposed to be.
As one of my friends put on Facebook ..’voting for the a**holes of my choice because after all that’s all we got to choose from.’ So I will go vote for the people of my choice, or the ones I feel are the least a**holes of what there is to choose from and hope for the best. All we can do.
As Linda used to say, part of the problem is that there are no more statesmen, there are only politicians.
Sigh.
Meanwhile, for the past several weeks, even months, we’ve been bombarded with tv ads, mailings, phone calls, signs – and they all seem to have the same theme: “SO AND SO IS A BIG LIAR/JERK/CROOK/BAD GUY WHO WILL ONLY STEAL YOUR MONEY AND MAKE THINGS SO MUCH WORSE THAN THEY ALREADY ARE!!!!! Oh, yeah, you should vote for me.”
I don’t know about anyone else, but I find these disgusting. They all have the same bad things to say about each other, so there’s no way to tell if there is anyone out there who can really do a good job, who really is interested in the welfare of the people they will serve. And what’s in the media doesn’t help a whole lot, because even factual stories tend to get skewed, and of course if a candidate says something offensive the very next breathe he or she says ‘Oh I didn’t really mean that, what I really meant was . . .’
Nobody any more just makes a commercial saying “Here’s what I’d like to do and here’s how I think I can do it.” Somebody did that, I’d vote for them in a heartbeat, just because they were telling me something that wasn’t how dirty the other guy is supposed to be.
As one of my friends put on Facebook ..’voting for the a**holes of my choice because after all that’s all we got to choose from.’ So I will go vote for the people of my choice, or the ones I feel are the least a**holes of what there is to choose from and hope for the best. All we can do.
As Linda used to say, part of the problem is that there are no more statesmen, there are only politicians.
Sigh.
Friday, October 8, 2010
Open letter to all the candidates:
Can I please have your personal phone number, and that of all the people who make the unsolicited telephone calls for you? I'd like to be able to call you, and them, at any time of the day or evening, no matter what you are doing: working, eating, trying to relax; no matter what your situation is at the time: celebrating a victory, mourning a loss, greeting friends or family not seen in a long time, trying to work out a serious problem with work or personal life, meeting a work deadline - you fill in the blanks. I find it damn annoying and would say that I won't vote for any candidate who disrupts my life for their personal gain, except that you all seem to think it is perfectly all right to do so. I thought there were laws to prevent this - oh, wait, there are, except that the clever politicians gave themselves an out so that they could do it.
Well, I don't like it, and I would like you to stop bothering me! I would especially like you to stop having recordings do your dirty work - if you and your supporters insist on being a pain in the butt to the general public, at least have the courage to do it in person, so that you can reap the consequences of someone like myself who is liable to tell you where to take your phone call campaign. It's intrusive, and having robotic voices do it for you is cowardly. To me, the political integrity of all of the candidates is already in question for the smarmy, unethical, ridiculous campaign tactics of not saying what you will do for us, only what the other candidates have done wrong, and the phone campaign only adds to my disgust with all.
Please be so good as to take my phone number off your lists. Constantly demanding that I interrupt my life to answer your calls is harming rather than helping the odds that I will vote for you.
Well, I don't like it, and I would like you to stop bothering me! I would especially like you to stop having recordings do your dirty work - if you and your supporters insist on being a pain in the butt to the general public, at least have the courage to do it in person, so that you can reap the consequences of someone like myself who is liable to tell you where to take your phone call campaign. It's intrusive, and having robotic voices do it for you is cowardly. To me, the political integrity of all of the candidates is already in question for the smarmy, unethical, ridiculous campaign tactics of not saying what you will do for us, only what the other candidates have done wrong, and the phone campaign only adds to my disgust with all.
Please be so good as to take my phone number off your lists. Constantly demanding that I interrupt my life to answer your calls is harming rather than helping the odds that I will vote for you.
Monday, September 27, 2010
Add to the list of things I just don’t get
Why is it that people who otherwise consider themselves so courteous and considerate to everyone around them have no qualms whatsoever about interrupting some people when they are talking?
Now I’m not talking (well, actually usually I am and this happens to me, which is the whole point behind this posting) about a bunch of people in a bar when everyone is talking at once, or some other equally situation where politeness is not the first consideration. I’m talking about in a two or three person conversation, or, like tonight, at a meeting where for all the other speakers it’s been one person’s turn to speak and then another person’s and the rest of us wait until that person is finished before we start.
My boss does it to me constantly. And usually glosses it over by ‘well, you stopped talking’ ‘No, I was in the middle of a word’ ‘No, you stopped’ and usually I give up because I really am trying to pick my battles. Although occasionally I have walked out of the room or just turned around and started doing something else. Oh, and yeah, this has been going on for years.
But now there’s another person from work who has started to do it. I let it pass when it happened a few days ago. Tonight it happened twice, the first time I kind of let it pass, the second I just sat there when she got done with what she had to say, had to say before I finished what I was saying, and when someone else said ‘what were you saying’, I didn’t respond immediately and the person who had interrupted then said ‘oh she’s made because I interrupted her – again’.
You’re flippin’ well right I was mad, and you making a joke of it and making it seem like it’s my fault because I mind your rudeness just makes me madder. And what I was really doing was trying to control myself so as not to be equally rude and say some thing I’d only be chastised for later (business meeting, the boss was there).
But if she’d’a done it again I probably would have got up and gone over and bit her effing nose off. And I might if she keeps doing it. Except that tonight she had a sudden allergy attack and her nose was running and that would have been just too icky.
But what makes otherwise civilized people do things like that? I just don’t get it.
Add that to my list.
Here’s what I think – rude is rude, and if you’ve been rude at least be polite enough to own up and say ‘sorry’, don’t make it the other person’s fault. I hope it comes back and bites them in the ass some time. Is that rude of me?
Now I’m not talking (well, actually usually I am and this happens to me, which is the whole point behind this posting) about a bunch of people in a bar when everyone is talking at once, or some other equally situation where politeness is not the first consideration. I’m talking about in a two or three person conversation, or, like tonight, at a meeting where for all the other speakers it’s been one person’s turn to speak and then another person’s and the rest of us wait until that person is finished before we start.
My boss does it to me constantly. And usually glosses it over by ‘well, you stopped talking’ ‘No, I was in the middle of a word’ ‘No, you stopped’ and usually I give up because I really am trying to pick my battles. Although occasionally I have walked out of the room or just turned around and started doing something else. Oh, and yeah, this has been going on for years.
But now there’s another person from work who has started to do it. I let it pass when it happened a few days ago. Tonight it happened twice, the first time I kind of let it pass, the second I just sat there when she got done with what she had to say, had to say before I finished what I was saying, and when someone else said ‘what were you saying’, I didn’t respond immediately and the person who had interrupted then said ‘oh she’s made because I interrupted her – again’.
You’re flippin’ well right I was mad, and you making a joke of it and making it seem like it’s my fault because I mind your rudeness just makes me madder. And what I was really doing was trying to control myself so as not to be equally rude and say some thing I’d only be chastised for later (business meeting, the boss was there).
But if she’d’a done it again I probably would have got up and gone over and bit her effing nose off. And I might if she keeps doing it. Except that tonight she had a sudden allergy attack and her nose was running and that would have been just too icky.
But what makes otherwise civilized people do things like that? I just don’t get it.
Add that to my list.
Here’s what I think – rude is rude, and if you’ve been rude at least be polite enough to own up and say ‘sorry’, don’t make it the other person’s fault. I hope it comes back and bites them in the ass some time. Is that rude of me?
Sunday, September 12, 2010
Tribute
Read before both performances yesterday:
Ladies and Gentlemen, on this ninth anniversary of the attacks on World Trade Center and the Pentagon, and the crash of Flight 93 we ask you to join us in a moment of silence in memory not only of the people lost in those tragedies, but for all those people who are defending our country and also protecting and serving us here at home: the military, the police, the firefighters and the emergency medical workers who are always there for us when we need them, and who sometimes make the supreme sacrifice in doing their duty.
Ladies and Gentlemen, on this ninth anniversary of the attacks on World Trade Center and the Pentagon, and the crash of Flight 93 we ask you to join us in a moment of silence in memory not only of the people lost in those tragedies, but for all those people who are defending our country and also protecting and serving us here at home: the military, the police, the firefighters and the emergency medical workers who are always there for us when we need them, and who sometimes make the supreme sacrifice in doing their duty.
Saturday, September 11, 2010
NEVER FORGET 9-11-01
NEVER FORGET has become a motto of the attacks on the World Trade Center and the Pentagon nine years ago.
Many things stick in our memory of that day: the brave words ‘Let’s Roll!’ in an airplane over the Pennsylvania countryside, the billows of smoke and ash surging through the narrow New York streets, the hole breaching our ideal of protection at the Pentagon, a mass of people walking across the Brooklyn Bridge to escape the aftermath, disbelief, horror and personal, private memories that will never fade.
We will Never Forget that day and the ones following. But let’s extend that motto to Never Forget those lost in the fighting initiated by the attacks on our country. Let’s Never Forget those lost at Pearl Harbor, D-Day, and for that matter in Hiroshima and Auschwitz; Vietnam, Korea and any and all the other times and places that people have paid the ultimate price in a conflict that someone started in the name of right and righteousness.
Let’s extend that to Never Forget the ones who rushed to help, who lost their lives trying to save others – as they do for you and you and you every time they answer a call for help every day in every part of our country.
Let’s extend that to Never Forget the civilians lost, the ones who are always the innocent victims of conflict, the ones who pay that same ultimate price only because they were there.
Because if enough of us Never Forget, maybe, just maybe, there will be enough of us to remember that maybe there’s another way, a better way, a way that doesn’t end in disbelief and horror.
And meanwhile, let’s Never Forget to honor all of those mentioned here, and do it every day in every way we can.
NEVER FORGET. 9-11-01
Many things stick in our memory of that day: the brave words ‘Let’s Roll!’ in an airplane over the Pennsylvania countryside, the billows of smoke and ash surging through the narrow New York streets, the hole breaching our ideal of protection at the Pentagon, a mass of people walking across the Brooklyn Bridge to escape the aftermath, disbelief, horror and personal, private memories that will never fade.
We will Never Forget that day and the ones following. But let’s extend that motto to Never Forget those lost in the fighting initiated by the attacks on our country. Let’s Never Forget those lost at Pearl Harbor, D-Day, and for that matter in Hiroshima and Auschwitz; Vietnam, Korea and any and all the other times and places that people have paid the ultimate price in a conflict that someone started in the name of right and righteousness.
Let’s extend that to Never Forget the ones who rushed to help, who lost their lives trying to save others – as they do for you and you and you every time they answer a call for help every day in every part of our country.
Let’s extend that to Never Forget the civilians lost, the ones who are always the innocent victims of conflict, the ones who pay that same ultimate price only because they were there.
Because if enough of us Never Forget, maybe, just maybe, there will be enough of us to remember that maybe there’s another way, a better way, a way that doesn’t end in disbelief and horror.
And meanwhile, let’s Never Forget to honor all of those mentioned here, and do it every day in every way we can.
NEVER FORGET. 9-11-01
Sunday, August 29, 2010
For all the rescued animals – and for the ones that could not be saved:
Where were you when the water was rising
Back 5 years ago
Where were you when the floods rushed in?
Were you in the yard,
In your house
Did you have a home that you never left
Did you find a roof to climb on?
Did you run, did you swim, did you hide
Climb a tree, crawl inside
A room or cupboard
Or scramble high on something
Above the rushing water?
Did you live?
Where were you when the water went down
Were your people gone
Were you all alone?
Where were you in the ruined city
Hungry, alone, afraid
Did someone take pity?
Were you on the streets
Were you chained and bound
On the streets alone
Were you lucky enough to be found?
Where are you now
Are you warm, dry and safe
Did your people find you
Did you find a new home to stay
Many miles away?
Is your new life good
Lots of love, lots of food
Do you miss anyone
From that life long ago?
We’ll never know.
We only know we love you now.
Back 5 years ago
Where were you when the floods rushed in?
Were you in the yard,
In your house
Did you have a home that you never left
Did you find a roof to climb on?
Did you run, did you swim, did you hide
Climb a tree, crawl inside
A room or cupboard
Or scramble high on something
Above the rushing water?
Did you live?
Where were you when the water went down
Were your people gone
Were you all alone?
Where were you in the ruined city
Hungry, alone, afraid
Did someone take pity?
Were you on the streets
Were you chained and bound
On the streets alone
Were you lucky enough to be found?
Where are you now
Are you warm, dry and safe
Did your people find you
Did you find a new home to stay
Many miles away?
Is your new life good
Lots of love, lots of food
Do you miss anyone
From that life long ago?
We’ll never know.
We only know we love you now.
Saturday, July 17, 2010
“The pond beckons….”
My cousin Kelli wrote that of Facebook this morning. It sure is a pond beckons kind of day shaping up, temps in the 90’s and muggy. I sure wish a pond could beckon me and I could answer it, but nope, work won’t let me heed the call.
The pond she refers to is at her father’s place, a wonderful location on a hill just above (literally) the farm where I grew up. It’s useable for swimming, and also works for a short rather circular boat ride and some fishing. It’s also a bit of sadness for me; when they dug the test holes to decide where the pond should be, one of my dogs fell into one and drowned.
But this is about ponds beckoning. Ponds, and creeks. We did have a pond on the farm, but it never amounted to much, it never got deep enough to swim in because very soon after it was made, the dam got a large hole that never did get repaired. It was shallow, we could wade in it, and my father took the guide boat out on it sometimes, guide boats being especially made to work in very shallow water – I was in it with him once and he was trying to see how shallow we could go, and we were in water only a couple of inches deep when he asked me ‘did you ever walk home from a boat ride?’ We didn’t have to, he rowed/poled until deeper water and we rowed back.
Our ‘swimming holes’ were in the creek, and I think that anyone who has never swum in a lazy country creek has lacked something in their life. There were two, ‘Raup’s’ and ‘Wagner’s’, named for the property owners where the lanes went down to the swimming hole. Wagner’s was more popular, because there were rocks to swim to and sit on and jump off of. Raup’s I think might have been a larger area, and deeper.
We’d work in the hayfield or doing other chores, and then either in the late afternoon, or early evening after the cows were milked, we’d all climb into the pick-up (usually there were a few cousins around to join in) and go swimming. Oh, that first jump into the water was so wonderful! Whether you grabbed the rope and swung out and launched yourself into the deep water, or ran in or waded and then let yourself sink down, it was the best feeling ever!
We’d have swimming races, or see who could stay under the longest, or who could dive to the bottom in the deeper places. Or we’d just swim to the rocks and lay on them in the sun – or push each other off, or sit on the bank and dare each other to try different stunts.
Once, after a day of hard rain storms, a neighbor took us down, but the creek was running so high and fast he wouldn’t let us go in. He did, and tried to swim against the current, he was a large, strong man, and he couldn’t go forward; that was a lesson in the power of water. And one night, my father and mother brought my sister and I down after dark and we all went skinny dipping. My sister and I giggled a lot.
A few times we rode the horses down there, and took them into the water. I think that old guy of mine tried to roll over in it once, if I recall correctly, with me on him, of course. And I think that was the same day that I stepped on a broken jar top and cut my foot quite deeply and badly. We tied a bandana around it and I kept on swimming, because why let a little thing like that stop the fun? I still have that scar.
I can still feel the water flowing around me and feel the sun. Swimming pools are fine, but they can’t match the feel of the pond or creek that beckons.
The pond she refers to is at her father’s place, a wonderful location on a hill just above (literally) the farm where I grew up. It’s useable for swimming, and also works for a short rather circular boat ride and some fishing. It’s also a bit of sadness for me; when they dug the test holes to decide where the pond should be, one of my dogs fell into one and drowned.
But this is about ponds beckoning. Ponds, and creeks. We did have a pond on the farm, but it never amounted to much, it never got deep enough to swim in because very soon after it was made, the dam got a large hole that never did get repaired. It was shallow, we could wade in it, and my father took the guide boat out on it sometimes, guide boats being especially made to work in very shallow water – I was in it with him once and he was trying to see how shallow we could go, and we were in water only a couple of inches deep when he asked me ‘did you ever walk home from a boat ride?’ We didn’t have to, he rowed/poled until deeper water and we rowed back.
Our ‘swimming holes’ were in the creek, and I think that anyone who has never swum in a lazy country creek has lacked something in their life. There were two, ‘Raup’s’ and ‘Wagner’s’, named for the property owners where the lanes went down to the swimming hole. Wagner’s was more popular, because there were rocks to swim to and sit on and jump off of. Raup’s I think might have been a larger area, and deeper.
We’d work in the hayfield or doing other chores, and then either in the late afternoon, or early evening after the cows were milked, we’d all climb into the pick-up (usually there were a few cousins around to join in) and go swimming. Oh, that first jump into the water was so wonderful! Whether you grabbed the rope and swung out and launched yourself into the deep water, or ran in or waded and then let yourself sink down, it was the best feeling ever!
We’d have swimming races, or see who could stay under the longest, or who could dive to the bottom in the deeper places. Or we’d just swim to the rocks and lay on them in the sun – or push each other off, or sit on the bank and dare each other to try different stunts.
Once, after a day of hard rain storms, a neighbor took us down, but the creek was running so high and fast he wouldn’t let us go in. He did, and tried to swim against the current, he was a large, strong man, and he couldn’t go forward; that was a lesson in the power of water. And one night, my father and mother brought my sister and I down after dark and we all went skinny dipping. My sister and I giggled a lot.
A few times we rode the horses down there, and took them into the water. I think that old guy of mine tried to roll over in it once, if I recall correctly, with me on him, of course. And I think that was the same day that I stepped on a broken jar top and cut my foot quite deeply and badly. We tied a bandana around it and I kept on swimming, because why let a little thing like that stop the fun? I still have that scar.
I can still feel the water flowing around me and feel the sun. Swimming pools are fine, but they can’t match the feel of the pond or creek that beckons.
Sunday, July 4, 2010
July 4 - Happy Birthday, America
July 4 – Happy Birthday America. There were fireworks at the end of the ‘FunDay’ on the fairgrounds, we can hardly see them from the back of the theatre any more, the trees have grown up so high, but some went out and watched anyway. They were quite noisy, and during moments in “The Secret Garden” that did not match the booming. The only time that worked was once when we were doing “1776” and the fireworks went off as they were tolling the bell for the men to come up and sign the document.
I hope that all take a moment from their play, cook-outs, swimming, or working (EMS, fire, police, and people like my friend Laurie, who is driving a load from Houston to Wisconsin) and give thought to the real reason for the day. Think about our ancestors, who defied their mother country and declared themselves a free and independent nation. Think about the courage, the daring to do that. But their forefathers had already made a daring giant step, to come here, to strike out blindly to a new land, and a new life. Things could be a lot different for us all if they all had not done that. So also when you think, say “Thanks” to them all for giving us what we have today.
Me, I’m off to work, too. Two shows and then changeover from “The Secret Garden”, which has been one beautiful show in which everything: the voices, the set, the children doing major roles, the leads, the ensemble, the costumes all clicked to create majestic magic. The people who did not come see it have missed a treasure.
But, we celebrate the Fourth. We have Patriotic Night in the coffee house on Friday and Saturday – almost everyone in the company joined in a medley of patriotic songs from “The Star Spangled Banner to God Bless America to Anchors Away to God Bless The USA”. Those same great voices singing those stirring songs was memorable, and as always I got a little snuffly. Everyone sang “The Star Spangled Banner”, on their feet (although not all put their hands over their hearts, I noticed but will not comment on). Makes me proud, makes me happy.
We will also have a cookout, between shows, a nice break.
And, since I have to dig out the grill and take it up to the theatre, I guess I better get to work.
Happy Fourth, everyone – enjoy it, but please take the moment to think and say thanks.
I hope that all take a moment from their play, cook-outs, swimming, or working (EMS, fire, police, and people like my friend Laurie, who is driving a load from Houston to Wisconsin) and give thought to the real reason for the day. Think about our ancestors, who defied their mother country and declared themselves a free and independent nation. Think about the courage, the daring to do that. But their forefathers had already made a daring giant step, to come here, to strike out blindly to a new land, and a new life. Things could be a lot different for us all if they all had not done that. So also when you think, say “Thanks” to them all for giving us what we have today.
Me, I’m off to work, too. Two shows and then changeover from “The Secret Garden”, which has been one beautiful show in which everything: the voices, the set, the children doing major roles, the leads, the ensemble, the costumes all clicked to create majestic magic. The people who did not come see it have missed a treasure.
But, we celebrate the Fourth. We have Patriotic Night in the coffee house on Friday and Saturday – almost everyone in the company joined in a medley of patriotic songs from “The Star Spangled Banner to God Bless America to Anchors Away to God Bless The USA”. Those same great voices singing those stirring songs was memorable, and as always I got a little snuffly. Everyone sang “The Star Spangled Banner”, on their feet (although not all put their hands over their hearts, I noticed but will not comment on). Makes me proud, makes me happy.
We will also have a cookout, between shows, a nice break.
And, since I have to dig out the grill and take it up to the theatre, I guess I better get to work.
Happy Fourth, everyone – enjoy it, but please take the moment to think and say thanks.
Sunday, June 20, 2010
FATHER’S DAY 2010
Today is Father’s Day, tomorrow would have been my father’s birthday. We usually celebrated them together, along with a little celebration for the end of school, and always had strawberry shortcake. My father has been gone for 30 years and I miss him (and my mother, who has been gone 13 years) every day. This is the progression of life that we must all face and come to terms with.
Somebody posted on facebook this morning ‘Anyone can be a father, it takes some one special to be a Dad’. Breaking that down, we all know that there’s way too much of the ‘anyone can be a father’ stuff going on, with people bringing into this world a new human being that they cannot – or will not – care for correctly, cannot afford the cost of either financially or emotionally, will not take the time and effort to give them care, love, guidance, values. We need fewer fathers and more dads – dads to praise or to correct as necessary, to teach and to set an example, and to be there with their strength.
Some fathers do get to be dads, some will never make it. That’s a loss to their children, but an even greater one to themselves.
My daughter’s father was an off and on dad, maybe mostly off. He tried, off and on, and cared, in his own way. He’s tried to do some reconnecting over the past couple of years, having moved from Florida back to our area, and has reached out some, and I’m glad. Even with all that’s been missed, there’s a chance to have something in the time they have left to do it. Her stepfather had good intentions, but was distracted and didn’t know what to do with a daughter and stepdaughter. My daughter let him know he was forgiven, with a birthday card that said ‘now that I’m a parent I know where you were coming from all those times’ or words to that effect. She’s also managed to let her own father know the same thing, I think.
I think I know where both the fathers were coming from, to some extent, because, like I said last month, I was never all that great a mother.
So, besides being fathers, they both had some times when they were dads. I’m happy for that, and happy that my girls had those times. And I’m happy for all the children, of all ages, who have a dad, even if it’s just for a little bit. Make the most of it.
Somebody posted on facebook this morning ‘Anyone can be a father, it takes some one special to be a Dad’. Breaking that down, we all know that there’s way too much of the ‘anyone can be a father’ stuff going on, with people bringing into this world a new human being that they cannot – or will not – care for correctly, cannot afford the cost of either financially or emotionally, will not take the time and effort to give them care, love, guidance, values. We need fewer fathers and more dads – dads to praise or to correct as necessary, to teach and to set an example, and to be there with their strength.
Some fathers do get to be dads, some will never make it. That’s a loss to their children, but an even greater one to themselves.
My daughter’s father was an off and on dad, maybe mostly off. He tried, off and on, and cared, in his own way. He’s tried to do some reconnecting over the past couple of years, having moved from Florida back to our area, and has reached out some, and I’m glad. Even with all that’s been missed, there’s a chance to have something in the time they have left to do it. Her stepfather had good intentions, but was distracted and didn’t know what to do with a daughter and stepdaughter. My daughter let him know he was forgiven, with a birthday card that said ‘now that I’m a parent I know where you were coming from all those times’ or words to that effect. She’s also managed to let her own father know the same thing, I think.
I think I know where both the fathers were coming from, to some extent, because, like I said last month, I was never all that great a mother.
So, besides being fathers, they both had some times when they were dads. I’m happy for that, and happy that my girls had those times. And I’m happy for all the children, of all ages, who have a dad, even if it’s just for a little bit. Make the most of it.
Saturday, June 19, 2010
The ending of a post on A Day In The Life Of An Ambulance Driver, for the whole thing go to http://ambulancedriverfiles/2010-06/hunnert-percent-murkin/ :
“But these immigrants are not the ones we’re looking for. These people came here because America represented an opportunity. They live here, they work here, they pay taxes here, and they send their kids to college here.
They’re the people Emma Lazarus was talking about in that sonnet enscribed on the pedestal of the Statue of Liberty:
…”Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the tempest-tossed, to me,
I lift up my lamp beside the golden door!”
In other words, they’re Americans too, and they enrich this country with their culture and their presence. They represent the values this country was founded upon.
Me, I think I’m going to take my business elsewhere in the future. Maybe even learn to say, “Thanks, partner, have a good ‘un,” in Urdu.
I think it would be the American thing to do.”
Needless to say, he got a bunch of responses, some completely supporting his thoughts, some disagreeing. My response:
Where did your family come here from? Unless we are Native American, we are all immigrants. Some are more generations removed that others; personally I am two generations away on one side and go back to the Mayflower on the other. Our life today takes in parts of all of the cultures that make up our population, the heritage that each brought to this land with them. Don’t know about in rural Louisiana (my experience in that part of the world is limited to a delivery in New Orleans once and helping at an animal shelter after Katrina), but here in upstate NY we have German, Polish, Indian, Italian, Irish and many other ethnic festivals that are attended by people of many heritages. If the Indian and Pakistani people shouldn’t keep their culture, does that mean that Italians shouldn’t eat spaghetti, or Irish not celebrate St. Patrick’s Day? No, I don’t condone illegal immigrants, and hate extremist action by any side of the issue (my squad went to NYC and I saw first hand the sad pile of fire trucks and ambulances pulled from the WTC rubble). No, we may not have the same religious or cultural beliefs as many of them do. But, yes, the majority of them are here for the same reasons our forefathers came – to express and practice their beliefs and to improve their lives. And as long as they do it as our forefathers did (ok, hanging the witches is an exception to this whole thing) – peacefully and within their own community, where’s the harm to us? Education and understanding of differences, acceptance of people for who they are what is needed, not judgment of all by the actions of a few.
“But these immigrants are not the ones we’re looking for. These people came here because America represented an opportunity. They live here, they work here, they pay taxes here, and they send their kids to college here.
They’re the people Emma Lazarus was talking about in that sonnet enscribed on the pedestal of the Statue of Liberty:
…”Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the tempest-tossed, to me,
I lift up my lamp beside the golden door!”
In other words, they’re Americans too, and they enrich this country with their culture and their presence. They represent the values this country was founded upon.
Me, I think I’m going to take my business elsewhere in the future. Maybe even learn to say, “Thanks, partner, have a good ‘un,” in Urdu.
I think it would be the American thing to do.”
Needless to say, he got a bunch of responses, some completely supporting his thoughts, some disagreeing. My response:
Where did your family come here from? Unless we are Native American, we are all immigrants. Some are more generations removed that others; personally I am two generations away on one side and go back to the Mayflower on the other. Our life today takes in parts of all of the cultures that make up our population, the heritage that each brought to this land with them. Don’t know about in rural Louisiana (my experience in that part of the world is limited to a delivery in New Orleans once and helping at an animal shelter after Katrina), but here in upstate NY we have German, Polish, Indian, Italian, Irish and many other ethnic festivals that are attended by people of many heritages. If the Indian and Pakistani people shouldn’t keep their culture, does that mean that Italians shouldn’t eat spaghetti, or Irish not celebrate St. Patrick’s Day? No, I don’t condone illegal immigrants, and hate extremist action by any side of the issue (my squad went to NYC and I saw first hand the sad pile of fire trucks and ambulances pulled from the WTC rubble). No, we may not have the same religious or cultural beliefs as many of them do. But, yes, the majority of them are here for the same reasons our forefathers came – to express and practice their beliefs and to improve their lives. And as long as they do it as our forefathers did (ok, hanging the witches is an exception to this whole thing) – peacefully and within their own community, where’s the harm to us? Education and understanding of differences, acceptance of people for who they are what is needed, not judgment of all by the actions of a few.
Monday, May 31, 2010
Memorial Day
Once again, Ambulance Driver has beaten my post, hands down - it's a repeat but so worth another look:
http://ambulancedriverfiles.com/2010/05/memorial-day/
I would like to get to meet this man in person someday, he is one kewl dude.
http://ambulancedriverfiles.com/2010/05/memorial-day/
I would like to get to meet this man in person someday, he is one kewl dude.
Memorial Day
Memorial Day – for most the unofficial beginning of summer, a day off from work or school, a cookout, first day at the beach, parades. For some pride, for others grim remembering, for still others sadness and closely held memories. A day set aside to honor those who fought, who are still fighting for freedom, sometimes our country’s own, sometimes others who needed our country’s help. I’m thinking maybe more people consider it the day for grilling and beer, and don’t think enough about the real reason for the day. Those who fought and fell, who still fight and fear for their lives should be thought of every day, not just one a year, yet I’m thinking maybe too many of us don’t think of them enough, don’t thank them enough whether it is silently or to their face now and then. I admit I don’t.
Whether you approve of/support the current fighting or not, whatever you think of the wars and the reasons behind them, the people who put our country into these conflicts, we all need to support the people who are out there, over there in the midst of them. They are doing their job, a job that is voluntary these days, and we can only hope and pray that they do it well enough to come home to their lives and families. So here’s what I think: you should say whatever kind of prayer you use that they do, and next time you see a uniform, say thank you. They deserve it.
I think I’ll go watch the parade, and wave and say thank you, whether they can hear me or not.
Whether you approve of/support the current fighting or not, whatever you think of the wars and the reasons behind them, the people who put our country into these conflicts, we all need to support the people who are out there, over there in the midst of them. They are doing their job, a job that is voluntary these days, and we can only hope and pray that they do it well enough to come home to their lives and families. So here’s what I think: you should say whatever kind of prayer you use that they do, and next time you see a uniform, say thank you. They deserve it.
I think I’ll go watch the parade, and wave and say thank you, whether they can hear me or not.
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
ODDS & ENDS
- One of the firefighter blogs I read regularly had a posting last week of videos taken in a town in Canada. Seems these people spotted smoke, lots of smoke, from a fire across a lake from where they were. They decided to go see what it was. The video showed their drive around the lake, through some city streets and to the street where the fire was raging. All they way, the talk on the video is about how big the fire looks, and how it looks like there are not firefighters there yet. They pass a crew paving a section of road, and comment: ‘There’s a road crew, they don’t care about putting the fire out’. Once near where the house is burning, their car is one of several stopped in the street, watching the fire, blocking access to it. They do move, to go to a street on the other side of the house and there’s a guy taking photos of the fire with his cell phone. Their video is full of comments about ‘where is the #%&*ng fire department’. Not once do you hear them say they are calling it in. Don’t see the guy with the cell phone using it to call the fire in. And there they are, in the way of any emergency equipment. Sadly, the fire went on to destroy four homes. Even sadder, that there are people like this couple, who were more interested in what everyone else wasn’t doing to do anything themselves.
Don’t be like that – fire fighters would rather get a call for something not a fire than not get called and have a bigger fire to deal with. Meanwhile, these gene pool rejects go on, thinking they are just the best because they got on You Tube. Sigh.
- Speaking of fire, the other night at the theatre the lights were flickering. At first I thought it was my eyes, but then a couple of other people noticed it and so I thought I should go check things out. Walking around the building outside, I could hear the transformer out back buzzing from way further away than I should have been able to, and when I got to where I could see it there was a big ball of fire (in reality not fire but electrical sparking/arcing) on something at the top of the pole. I said an ‘Oh #%&&’ of my own, let me tell you! Called the fire guys, called the power company, and then stood out back talking to the firemen until the power crew got there and replaced the bad fuse that was the culprit. Stuff like that scares me, even more so since the fire during the ice storm caused by a power surge, even though this situation might not have caused something like that.
- Who invented oval shaped toilets? I bet there’s not a person in the world with an oval shaped ass, yet the new thing is oval shaped toilets that you just can’t sit on easily and not be draping your drawers across the front of them. Had to have been a man.
- And have you ever noticed on some hand dryers (most of which don’t work worth tiddley-pom, takes 5 minutes to get your hands dry, although there are some that will blow the prints off your fingers) there are instructions to ‘push button, hold hands under vent, rub rapidly’ and then there is a line ‘to dry hair, turn nozzle up’. I don’t know about the rest of you but I have never seen anyone washing their hair in a rest room. Yeah - I'm in Walmart rest room, think I'll wash my hair - ? The very thought makes me go ICK. Maybe that’s just me, though.
Don’t be like that – fire fighters would rather get a call for something not a fire than not get called and have a bigger fire to deal with. Meanwhile, these gene pool rejects go on, thinking they are just the best because they got on You Tube. Sigh.
- Speaking of fire, the other night at the theatre the lights were flickering. At first I thought it was my eyes, but then a couple of other people noticed it and so I thought I should go check things out. Walking around the building outside, I could hear the transformer out back buzzing from way further away than I should have been able to, and when I got to where I could see it there was a big ball of fire (in reality not fire but electrical sparking/arcing) on something at the top of the pole. I said an ‘Oh #%&&’ of my own, let me tell you! Called the fire guys, called the power company, and then stood out back talking to the firemen until the power crew got there and replaced the bad fuse that was the culprit. Stuff like that scares me, even more so since the fire during the ice storm caused by a power surge, even though this situation might not have caused something like that.
- Who invented oval shaped toilets? I bet there’s not a person in the world with an oval shaped ass, yet the new thing is oval shaped toilets that you just can’t sit on easily and not be draping your drawers across the front of them. Had to have been a man.
- And have you ever noticed on some hand dryers (most of which don’t work worth tiddley-pom, takes 5 minutes to get your hands dry, although there are some that will blow the prints off your fingers) there are instructions to ‘push button, hold hands under vent, rub rapidly’ and then there is a line ‘to dry hair, turn nozzle up’. I don’t know about the rest of you but I have never seen anyone washing their hair in a rest room. Yeah - I'm in Walmart rest room, think I'll wash my hair - ? The very thought makes me go ICK. Maybe that’s just me, though.
Friday, May 14, 2010
Unplanned quick trip to Oregon
I took a whirlwind trip to Oregon a couple of weeks ago. It was unplanned, and for a sad occasion. Unplanned: me, going across the country a few weeks before the theatre season starts is unheard of, although years ago I would go back in the truck for a few weeks between auditions and opening. The sad occasion was a memorial service for a cousin’s daughter. Had to fly and I’m not big on flying, not necessarily scared but I prefer driving where I can see things and stop when I want to. I haven’t flown in almost 10 years and it’s a whole new deal, with all the security and everything. Not to mention paying $25 to check a bag. Sheesh! On the way out I had to surrender bottles of water, V8 and iced tea I’d stuck in my bag to drink, not thinking about them being liquids that are not allowed. On the way back I had so much stuff crammed in my carry on bag that it had to be inspected; the woman asked about the boxes with baked goodies that I had wrapped against crushing and when I said they were cookies she said ‘I may have to E.A.T. test those’. She also had to take my big camera out of the case and look through the viewfinder – not sure why that was, but I had to show her how to do it. Thanks, all the terrorists and would-be terrorists, for making our lives just that much more complex and bothersome. Part of your purpose is achieved.
It sure is some beautiful country out there. Not that we don’t live in, as people on the road used to tell me when I told them where I was from, ‘a pretty part of the country’. And of course, because it is different, you look at it with newer eyes and see things you might miss in familiar territory. Driving from Eugene up to Sisters the Mackenzie Pass road is still closed with snow, that won’t open until maybe June or July, but the road past the waterfalls is open, as is Route 20, the same Route 20 that goes near here, with piles of snow still on the side from a storm a week or so ago. Some mountains soar above their lower neighbors, still white capped, and I took so many pictures of them that ‘you’d think I never saw snow on a mountain top before’.
Sisters is a bustling little town. The population is about the same as Chatham, but what a difference. They have several blocks of stores, with people in all of them. An eclectic mix, and geared more towards tourists than locals, but tucked among them and on the western edge of town are the more everyday places where residents can get their groceries, hardware and everyday needs. A golf tournament was going on and some of the crowds are part of it, some are no doubt day trippers, some folks stopping because they are on Route 20 going through the center of town and want a break or see something of interest. But a busy place, and I wished I could bring some of it back for the shops on our Main Street.
Mule deer came down to the field on one side of our motel in the morning, acclimated to people they just watched as I came close to take photos. The llamas in the field on the other side crowded the fence for a nibble of the feed the motel supplies for them.
The service was appropriate. Many people stood to talk about Emily, to say what a good friend she was and how they will miss her. I wonder how this equates with a person so unhappy with their life that they have to leave it as she did. We will never know her demons.
Spent time visiting with the cousins, we don’t see each other much, being on opposite sides of the country, and it’s nice to catch up a bit. We talk about getting together more often, and hug a lot, and then my sister and I go home – on different flights because we booked at different times, of course. My ‘red eye’ left SFA late so I missed the connection in DC and had to sit around several hours waiting on the next one.
Nice to be home.
It sure is some beautiful country out there. Not that we don’t live in, as people on the road used to tell me when I told them where I was from, ‘a pretty part of the country’. And of course, because it is different, you look at it with newer eyes and see things you might miss in familiar territory. Driving from Eugene up to Sisters the Mackenzie Pass road is still closed with snow, that won’t open until maybe June or July, but the road past the waterfalls is open, as is Route 20, the same Route 20 that goes near here, with piles of snow still on the side from a storm a week or so ago. Some mountains soar above their lower neighbors, still white capped, and I took so many pictures of them that ‘you’d think I never saw snow on a mountain top before’.
Sisters is a bustling little town. The population is about the same as Chatham, but what a difference. They have several blocks of stores, with people in all of them. An eclectic mix, and geared more towards tourists than locals, but tucked among them and on the western edge of town are the more everyday places where residents can get their groceries, hardware and everyday needs. A golf tournament was going on and some of the crowds are part of it, some are no doubt day trippers, some folks stopping because they are on Route 20 going through the center of town and want a break or see something of interest. But a busy place, and I wished I could bring some of it back for the shops on our Main Street.
Mule deer came down to the field on one side of our motel in the morning, acclimated to people they just watched as I came close to take photos. The llamas in the field on the other side crowded the fence for a nibble of the feed the motel supplies for them.
The service was appropriate. Many people stood to talk about Emily, to say what a good friend she was and how they will miss her. I wonder how this equates with a person so unhappy with their life that they have to leave it as she did. We will never know her demons.
Spent time visiting with the cousins, we don’t see each other much, being on opposite sides of the country, and it’s nice to catch up a bit. We talk about getting together more often, and hug a lot, and then my sister and I go home – on different flights because we booked at different times, of course. My ‘red eye’ left SFA late so I missed the connection in DC and had to sit around several hours waiting on the next one.
Nice to be home.
Sunday, May 9, 2010
Mother's Day 2010
A day to honor, celebrate, and remember mothers. I keep saying I was never meant to be a mother: ‘I have the right biological equipment but the wrong mental attitude’. I also say my kids (daughter Sara and step-daughter Stephanie) grew up to be great women, in spite of what I did. Both had some teen-age and beyond moments, but they have turned into women I am proud of and amazed by.
Motherhood: that 8 pound, 20 inch bit of a new person that nothing can prepare you for the first look at, the first time holding her – all of the firsts: first word, step, day of school, overnight away from, illness, accident, boyfriend, driving lesson, heartbreak, disappointment, life lesson, confession – all of the firsts, and the seconds and beyond. The trials, tribulations and triumphs. The joy and despair. The worry and wondering, sentiment and surprises, delights and tragedies. Nothing can prepare for it and nothing can compare with it.
“Mom, does it hurt when you have a baby?” “Yes, it hurts very much for a while.” “But then when you have the baby and hold it and everything you forget about that part, huh?” Pause to marvel at the insight a child can have, “Yes, yes, you do forget all about that part.”
At missing being the flag carrier in a rain-cancelled parade “This is the worst day of my life!”
From a leader during a very brief time in girl scouts: “When things aren’t going right, along comes Sara with her little smile and I feel better….”
“She pee’d on my jacket!!”
“We can’t sit with you (as young teens at a at a Disney movie) – you laugh too much. It’s embarrassing.”
At about age 12: “You better watch out, Mom, I’m bigger than you now.” “Yeah, well, you come on back when you get tougher.” Stephanie: “That’s Barbara, the Mighty Midget.” (that I used as a CB handle and still use for my email address)
“I’m gonna move in with Dickie.” “I’ve been expecting that.” “If it doesn’t work, can I move back home?” “You can always move back home – but I’m gonna say I told you so.” (She did and I did.)
And a whole bunch more.
Both girls, yes, Stephanie, who was afraid of blood, turned to nursing home work. Stephanie got her LPN, now she is part of the administration of a large senior facility. And is a mother to 5 girls herself.
Sara, who got her GED, learned bookkeeping on her own on some jobs, learned computer work on her own on some jobs, joined the rescue squad (that as a teen she professed to hate and never want any part of), and now is the administrator, running the whole thing. She’s got Stephen, who just keeps on giving me reason to say: ‘Grandchildren – a parent’s revenge.”
So, somehow, somewhere, sometime, I did something right. And I have to thank my girls for helping me be a mother to help them become what they did. I’m sorry for everything I did wrong and I’m glad we all got beyond it. And I’m proud that you became the great mothers you are. I love you. Happy Mother’s Day.
Motherhood: that 8 pound, 20 inch bit of a new person that nothing can prepare you for the first look at, the first time holding her – all of the firsts: first word, step, day of school, overnight away from, illness, accident, boyfriend, driving lesson, heartbreak, disappointment, life lesson, confession – all of the firsts, and the seconds and beyond. The trials, tribulations and triumphs. The joy and despair. The worry and wondering, sentiment and surprises, delights and tragedies. Nothing can prepare for it and nothing can compare with it.
“Mom, does it hurt when you have a baby?” “Yes, it hurts very much for a while.” “But then when you have the baby and hold it and everything you forget about that part, huh?” Pause to marvel at the insight a child can have, “Yes, yes, you do forget all about that part.”
At missing being the flag carrier in a rain-cancelled parade “This is the worst day of my life!”
From a leader during a very brief time in girl scouts: “When things aren’t going right, along comes Sara with her little smile and I feel better….”
“She pee’d on my jacket!!”
“We can’t sit with you (as young teens at a at a Disney movie) – you laugh too much. It’s embarrassing.”
At about age 12: “You better watch out, Mom, I’m bigger than you now.” “Yeah, well, you come on back when you get tougher.” Stephanie: “That’s Barbara, the Mighty Midget.” (that I used as a CB handle and still use for my email address)
“I’m gonna move in with Dickie.” “I’ve been expecting that.” “If it doesn’t work, can I move back home?” “You can always move back home – but I’m gonna say I told you so.” (She did and I did.)
And a whole bunch more.
Both girls, yes, Stephanie, who was afraid of blood, turned to nursing home work. Stephanie got her LPN, now she is part of the administration of a large senior facility. And is a mother to 5 girls herself.
Sara, who got her GED, learned bookkeeping on her own on some jobs, learned computer work on her own on some jobs, joined the rescue squad (that as a teen she professed to hate and never want any part of), and now is the administrator, running the whole thing. She’s got Stephen, who just keeps on giving me reason to say: ‘Grandchildren – a parent’s revenge.”
So, somehow, somewhere, sometime, I did something right. And I have to thank my girls for helping me be a mother to help them become what they did. I’m sorry for everything I did wrong and I’m glad we all got beyond it. And I’m proud that you became the great mothers you are. I love you. Happy Mother’s Day.
Saturday, May 8, 2010
Cats and storms and stalking
Everybody who knows me knows about my cats. Streetcar, found on Desire Street after Hurricane Katrina, Prettypurr, from a cat rescuer in the area, and Snowdrift, from a Freecycle posting.
Streetcar was here first, then Prettypurr, and they have established their relationship and it works. When Snowdrift came along almost two years ago, she upset the regime. She does not like other animals. Therefore, they do not like her. After several months of trying to get them all to fit together, I gave up. Snowdrift lives in my bedroom, she has a large size dog crate that is her ‘safe house’ to go into at night when I open the door and the other two come in.
Prettypurr and Streetcar will go to the crate when she is in it and taunt her, and I can’t get them to stop. Usually they don’t do it for long, but still, they are cat stalkers. I tell them this and they don’t care. They consider it their place, since they were here and she is the one who disrupted their happy home. They don’t care that they did the same thing, Streetcar did it to Mocha and Beauty Queen, who did not think we needed a kitten when I brought him back from Camp Katrina. He didn’t think he needed a companion when Prettypurr came along. So of course they both didn’t think we needed Snowdrift, don’t care about her story (abandoned, separated, reunited and separated again from her kittens), they only know that they didn’t like her and she doesn’t like them.
Last night – actually about 4 a.m. this morning – it started to rain and thunder and lightning. Now, I’ve had dogs who were terrified of thunder, even quiet and far away as this was, but I never noticed it in the cats before. But Snowdrift was pacing in her safe house, meowing and very upset. I got up once and talked to her and petted her and she was better for a few minutes and then started again. I got up again and this time Prettypurr ran out from underneath the bed. Streetcar had been up on the bed with me all along. He’s the one who should have issues with rain and thunderstorms, but he seems to be mostly all right, although he does get a little nervous sometimes during a storm.
So now I’m wondering, was Prettypurr under the bed to hide from the storm, or was she there to harass Snowdrift? There is cardboard around the safe house so they can’t see each other from the bed, but she knows they are there, and they know they can tease her from there.
Was Snowdrift fussing because Prettypurr was under the bed, hiding or harassing, either one? Or was she fussing because she was frightened by the storm? She no doubt was out alone in some, I don’t know how long she was on her own but I guess several weeks, I’m thinking she was probably dumped when her owners discovered she was pregnant, and when found the kittens were a few weeks old. (She was found first, the kittens about a week later, how they managed without her that long we don’t know but luckily they did.)
I’ll have to wait for the next storm to see if any of them do it again, I guess, to try to figure it out. Yeah, like you can figure out why cats do what they do.
Meanwhile, Streetcar is having his morning snuggle in the front of my bathrobe, Prettypurr is probably upstairs (where I have to clear out the cradle so she has her napping spot back) and Snowdrift is shut in the bedroom, but out of her safe house. A normal cat day in my little corner of the world.
Streetcar was here first, then Prettypurr, and they have established their relationship and it works. When Snowdrift came along almost two years ago, she upset the regime. She does not like other animals. Therefore, they do not like her. After several months of trying to get them all to fit together, I gave up. Snowdrift lives in my bedroom, she has a large size dog crate that is her ‘safe house’ to go into at night when I open the door and the other two come in.
Prettypurr and Streetcar will go to the crate when she is in it and taunt her, and I can’t get them to stop. Usually they don’t do it for long, but still, they are cat stalkers. I tell them this and they don’t care. They consider it their place, since they were here and she is the one who disrupted their happy home. They don’t care that they did the same thing, Streetcar did it to Mocha and Beauty Queen, who did not think we needed a kitten when I brought him back from Camp Katrina. He didn’t think he needed a companion when Prettypurr came along. So of course they both didn’t think we needed Snowdrift, don’t care about her story (abandoned, separated, reunited and separated again from her kittens), they only know that they didn’t like her and she doesn’t like them.
Last night – actually about 4 a.m. this morning – it started to rain and thunder and lightning. Now, I’ve had dogs who were terrified of thunder, even quiet and far away as this was, but I never noticed it in the cats before. But Snowdrift was pacing in her safe house, meowing and very upset. I got up once and talked to her and petted her and she was better for a few minutes and then started again. I got up again and this time Prettypurr ran out from underneath the bed. Streetcar had been up on the bed with me all along. He’s the one who should have issues with rain and thunderstorms, but he seems to be mostly all right, although he does get a little nervous sometimes during a storm.
So now I’m wondering, was Prettypurr under the bed to hide from the storm, or was she there to harass Snowdrift? There is cardboard around the safe house so they can’t see each other from the bed, but she knows they are there, and they know they can tease her from there.
Was Snowdrift fussing because Prettypurr was under the bed, hiding or harassing, either one? Or was she fussing because she was frightened by the storm? She no doubt was out alone in some, I don’t know how long she was on her own but I guess several weeks, I’m thinking she was probably dumped when her owners discovered she was pregnant, and when found the kittens were a few weeks old. (She was found first, the kittens about a week later, how they managed without her that long we don’t know but luckily they did.)
I’ll have to wait for the next storm to see if any of them do it again, I guess, to try to figure it out. Yeah, like you can figure out why cats do what they do.
Meanwhile, Streetcar is having his morning snuggle in the front of my bathrobe, Prettypurr is probably upstairs (where I have to clear out the cradle so she has her napping spot back) and Snowdrift is shut in the bedroom, but out of her safe house. A normal cat day in my little corner of the world.
Saturday, April 17, 2010
For Emily
An email came across the country from my cousin to my sister, his youngest sister’s only daughter has committed suicide. She calls me - our morning starts with speechless shock.
I talk to my cousin tonight. She says “This is messed up. This is so messed up. Why would some one do this – a daughter, a wife, a mother? We had her yesterday and today she’s gone.” I wish I could tell you, I wish I had answers, magic words to ease your pain.
I wish someone had those magic words to ease hers, so she did not have to take this path, this final journey.
Suicide.
Who is to know the demons that drive a person to this final step, this ultimate, irreversible resolution? Why do they think this is the only thing left for them, the only way they now can go? Many say it is one of the most selfish acts, but I wonder also if it is in some way a form of bravery? I wonder if they feel that the swift, intense pain this will cause is better than the pain they feel they would inflict by staying with us, being as they are – do they do this bravely, thinking to spare those left behind a lasting burden caused by their unhappiness?
Tonight we looked at pictures of a laughing, carefree teenager on a long ago trip to Australia. Tonight we shed our own tears for her loss, for our family’s pain. Tonight and tomorrow and tomorrow those who loved her most continue their lives, wondering why, knowing they will probably never know.
She took a picture many, many years ago, of a hummingbird at the feeder my mother had outside her window and gave it to my mother. It’s on my refrigerator, I looked at it this morning and thought how lovely, how fragile, yet how hardy those tiny birds are. Emily, you were lovely. We grieve that you were too fragile, not hardy enough to fight your demons. We hope you are past them now. Go in peace.
I talk to my cousin tonight. She says “This is messed up. This is so messed up. Why would some one do this – a daughter, a wife, a mother? We had her yesterday and today she’s gone.” I wish I could tell you, I wish I had answers, magic words to ease your pain.
I wish someone had those magic words to ease hers, so she did not have to take this path, this final journey.
Suicide.
Who is to know the demons that drive a person to this final step, this ultimate, irreversible resolution? Why do they think this is the only thing left for them, the only way they now can go? Many say it is one of the most selfish acts, but I wonder also if it is in some way a form of bravery? I wonder if they feel that the swift, intense pain this will cause is better than the pain they feel they would inflict by staying with us, being as they are – do they do this bravely, thinking to spare those left behind a lasting burden caused by their unhappiness?
Tonight we looked at pictures of a laughing, carefree teenager on a long ago trip to Australia. Tonight we shed our own tears for her loss, for our family’s pain. Tonight and tomorrow and tomorrow those who loved her most continue their lives, wondering why, knowing they will probably never know.
She took a picture many, many years ago, of a hummingbird at the feeder my mother had outside her window and gave it to my mother. It’s on my refrigerator, I looked at it this morning and thought how lovely, how fragile, yet how hardy those tiny birds are. Emily, you were lovely. We grieve that you were too fragile, not hardy enough to fight your demons. We hope you are past them now. Go in peace.
Sunday, April 4, 2010
THE GREAT PEEPS CONTROVERSY
Peeps. Love ‘em or hate em’. Peeps have been taking up a large share of the comments from my Facebook friends this morning. I said that it was permissible for adults to eat peeps for breakfast on Easter, and a friend sent back ‘well, yeah!’. So that’s what I’m doing right now.
Used to be Peeps were just yellow chicks. Now there are lavender, blue, green. And bunnies in all those colors as well. I guess that’s ok, and helps the company sell more of them, but you’re messing with tradition here, folks. Although I have to confess I bought green bunnies yesterday along with the yellow chick.
How to eat Peeps? Do you nibble out the tiny chocolate eyes first? Bite the tail off? Or just go for the whole thing in one bite. Everybody no doubt has their own preferred method. Same with the bunnies – ears first or last?
More important, Peeps fresh out of the box or left out to get a little or a lot hard?
I don’t even care that much for marshmallows (S’Mores aside) but I gotta have my Peeps at Easter. Soft, right out of the box, not hardened.
Now, oh the sacrilege of it all, there are also Christmas Peeps. I, for one, will not indulge. Some things just are not right. I mean, it’s not Easter without Peeps, but Christmas? That’s like having striped peppermint eggs for Easter. Just not right.
I’ve got a friend who admits to being afraid of Peeps. A childhood trauma, no doubt. You know who you are, and I will be thinking of you when I eat the green bunny – ears first.
Used to be Peeps were just yellow chicks. Now there are lavender, blue, green. And bunnies in all those colors as well. I guess that’s ok, and helps the company sell more of them, but you’re messing with tradition here, folks. Although I have to confess I bought green bunnies yesterday along with the yellow chick.
How to eat Peeps? Do you nibble out the tiny chocolate eyes first? Bite the tail off? Or just go for the whole thing in one bite. Everybody no doubt has their own preferred method. Same with the bunnies – ears first or last?
More important, Peeps fresh out of the box or left out to get a little or a lot hard?
I don’t even care that much for marshmallows (S’Mores aside) but I gotta have my Peeps at Easter. Soft, right out of the box, not hardened.
Now, oh the sacrilege of it all, there are also Christmas Peeps. I, for one, will not indulge. Some things just are not right. I mean, it’s not Easter without Peeps, but Christmas? That’s like having striped peppermint eggs for Easter. Just not right.
I’ve got a friend who admits to being afraid of Peeps. A childhood trauma, no doubt. You know who you are, and I will be thinking of you when I eat the green bunny – ears first.
Saturday, April 3, 2010
Spring
Spring seems to have sprung in our corner of the world. Of course, it’s more likely a ‘faux spring’, a teaser of a few days of glorious weather that will turn chilly and rainy and then ease into the real thing in a few more weeks. But temps in the 70’s in early April – we’ll all take it.
I just hung laundry outside for the first time this year. Yeah, I have a dryer, but I just love the smell, especially sheets, of things that dry in the sunlight.
Remember back before there were dryers? I remember hanging things on the clothesline in winter, and they would freeze solid before they dried. Then you’d try to take them in when the wind was blowing – well, there’s nothing like getting whacked in the head by a pair of frozen jeans, let me tell you. And try to fold them to get them into the wash basket – nope, no way. You’d have to make a stack, and then turn to get through the door.
I also remember hanging diapers (yes, cloth diapers, none of these ‘huggies’ when I was changing the baby) out one very windy day – by the time I got to the far end of the clothesline, the ones I’d hung first were dry!
About 10 years ago, about this time of year, I had to have my whole septic system dug up and redone. That meant moving flower beds that were right where the backhoe would have to be. So I did that, with the daffodils just ready to bloom, again it was quite warm. Then there was a very warm day, so I went over to Lindenwald to take the nature trail hike. That night the weather changed and it snowed about a foot. Those poor little flowers were saying ‘what the hey, here-first we’re moved then we’re snowed on-what’s goin’ on?’ So I won’t be surprised to see another snowstorm. But it won’t stay around long, if it happens.
Meanwhile, I have to start picking up the yard, raking the leaves off the flower beds – and figuring out where to put the garden bed I bought at the Austerlitz Historical Society festival last fall. It was a good idea then. It’s about 6x8’ or so I guess, and makes a bed raised about 10”, which will be nice, but I have to find a space with enough sunlight to put it. There’s the rub, with al the trees around my house. Then get topsoil and put into it, and then plant the garden. Making myself tired to think about it.
That’s for another day, today I have to meet the person bringing back the surrey, and work on show rentals, including the one that I told in January to get me measurements as soon as possible because of all I had going on. She sent them two days ago. Sigh.
Happy Easter, Happy Spring!!
I just hung laundry outside for the first time this year. Yeah, I have a dryer, but I just love the smell, especially sheets, of things that dry in the sunlight.
Remember back before there were dryers? I remember hanging things on the clothesline in winter, and they would freeze solid before they dried. Then you’d try to take them in when the wind was blowing – well, there’s nothing like getting whacked in the head by a pair of frozen jeans, let me tell you. And try to fold them to get them into the wash basket – nope, no way. You’d have to make a stack, and then turn to get through the door.
I also remember hanging diapers (yes, cloth diapers, none of these ‘huggies’ when I was changing the baby) out one very windy day – by the time I got to the far end of the clothesline, the ones I’d hung first were dry!
About 10 years ago, about this time of year, I had to have my whole septic system dug up and redone. That meant moving flower beds that were right where the backhoe would have to be. So I did that, with the daffodils just ready to bloom, again it was quite warm. Then there was a very warm day, so I went over to Lindenwald to take the nature trail hike. That night the weather changed and it snowed about a foot. Those poor little flowers were saying ‘what the hey, here-first we’re moved then we’re snowed on-what’s goin’ on?’ So I won’t be surprised to see another snowstorm. But it won’t stay around long, if it happens.
Meanwhile, I have to start picking up the yard, raking the leaves off the flower beds – and figuring out where to put the garden bed I bought at the Austerlitz Historical Society festival last fall. It was a good idea then. It’s about 6x8’ or so I guess, and makes a bed raised about 10”, which will be nice, but I have to find a space with enough sunlight to put it. There’s the rub, with al the trees around my house. Then get topsoil and put into it, and then plant the garden. Making myself tired to think about it.
That’s for another day, today I have to meet the person bringing back the surrey, and work on show rentals, including the one that I told in January to get me measurements as soon as possible because of all I had going on. She sent them two days ago. Sigh.
Happy Easter, Happy Spring!!
Sunday, March 28, 2010
A LITTLE BIT OF THIS, A LITTLE BIT OF THAT . . . .
A little idle talk of this and that, as Sancho sings in ‘Man of La Mancha’. Sancho, faithful servant as Don Quixote rides forth to tilt at windmills; faithful and caring to the end, as the musical depicts him. Wouldn’t that be nice, to have someone to follow us, to pick up the pieces when the windmill wins. Lynne keeps saying that she needs a slave and Monica and I keep telling her she’s already got us. I’d have a servant clean this disgusting house – after, of course, I got things put where I want them. And got rid of a lot of stuff that doesn’t need to be here. Maybe I’ll get to it someday, but for now, sorry, Sara, that’s still up to you after I’m gone, as of now anyway.
For now – that’s what I’ve been saying about where to put things in the new costume storage space. Yes, I know it means moving boxes twice or maybe even more times, but for now I need them out of the way so I can see where things might end up going. That’s going real well, I can see the light at the end of the tunnel, almost without my binoculars.
Speaking of cleaning out, I have managed to weed out some things from the costumes that we don’t need that many of. Furs. Bridal gowns. Fabric. We get donations of things that other people are cleaning out. We use a wedding dress maybe once a season, and then it’s usually something we build to get the designer’s right look, but still get donations or offers several times a year. Furs –same thing, maybe once or twice a season, but people want to give them to us. I pulled a lot out over the past few days, and put them on Freecycle. One response said ‘just a suggestion...................if no one responds you might try contacting the MacHaydn Theater in Chatham to see if they would be interested in any of this stuff for their costume department’. Um, maybe not. . . . . . .
I had a lot of people come to get fabric, again from donations, of things we won’t use. And a desk there won’t be space for at the new storage. I love Freecycle – I’m happy that others will get use out of what we don’t need any more.
Ever notice that when you put a cup of something in the microwave to warm it up, when the turntable stops the handle will always be on the side away from the door?
My friend Noreen is getting better, at last report. I am so glad of that. I don’t know what her husband, Michael, would have done. She still has a ways to go, and still needs heart surgery, but as of a few days ago was doing better. Hopefully she gets to sit by her little backyard pond and watch the fish again this summer. Hopefully I get to go down there and sit with her.
There are not enough radio stations that play good jazz music.
We’re almost done with auditions – the local kid’s one is today, then we will have callbacks for the kid’s roles this summer, and then done, except of course for ones during the season. Almost two months of auditions. Sigh.
It is hard to type when you are holding a cat on one arm.
If you do a lot of shopping on line, check our Mr. Rebates. You get rebates by going through that site to the places you shop. Now if I can just figure out how to go through that to get books for my nook; it probably can be done, but the nook wants you to use it to get to the books you want.
There have been several ads on the radio urging people to fill out and send in their census form. There were three mailings for that, a card saying it was coming, the form itself, and then a mailing saying it had been sent. And they claim these are still cheaper than sending people around to do it in person. I guess. But three? Wouldn’t people catch on when the form came that it had been mailed to them – do they really need to be alerted to the fact that it will be and has been? OK, yeah, some people would.
Think I’ll treat myself to breakfast out today. Since I don’t have a servant to make it.
Ah, shoot, I promised gossip and I don’t have any – let’s see - - - nope, you’ll have to look elsewhere for that. Maybe I’ll get some when I go to breakfast, I’ll pass it on if I do. But I hope I gave enough chat for a while. As Amos says in ‘Chicago’: ‘hope I didn’t take up too much of your time.’
For now – that’s what I’ve been saying about where to put things in the new costume storage space. Yes, I know it means moving boxes twice or maybe even more times, but for now I need them out of the way so I can see where things might end up going. That’s going real well, I can see the light at the end of the tunnel, almost without my binoculars.
Speaking of cleaning out, I have managed to weed out some things from the costumes that we don’t need that many of. Furs. Bridal gowns. Fabric. We get donations of things that other people are cleaning out. We use a wedding dress maybe once a season, and then it’s usually something we build to get the designer’s right look, but still get donations or offers several times a year. Furs –same thing, maybe once or twice a season, but people want to give them to us. I pulled a lot out over the past few days, and put them on Freecycle. One response said ‘just a suggestion...................if no one responds you might try contacting the MacHaydn Theater in Chatham to see if they would be interested in any of this stuff for their costume department’. Um, maybe not. . . . . . .
I had a lot of people come to get fabric, again from donations, of things we won’t use. And a desk there won’t be space for at the new storage. I love Freecycle – I’m happy that others will get use out of what we don’t need any more.
Ever notice that when you put a cup of something in the microwave to warm it up, when the turntable stops the handle will always be on the side away from the door?
My friend Noreen is getting better, at last report. I am so glad of that. I don’t know what her husband, Michael, would have done. She still has a ways to go, and still needs heart surgery, but as of a few days ago was doing better. Hopefully she gets to sit by her little backyard pond and watch the fish again this summer. Hopefully I get to go down there and sit with her.
There are not enough radio stations that play good jazz music.
We’re almost done with auditions – the local kid’s one is today, then we will have callbacks for the kid’s roles this summer, and then done, except of course for ones during the season. Almost two months of auditions. Sigh.
It is hard to type when you are holding a cat on one arm.
If you do a lot of shopping on line, check our Mr. Rebates. You get rebates by going through that site to the places you shop. Now if I can just figure out how to go through that to get books for my nook; it probably can be done, but the nook wants you to use it to get to the books you want.
There have been several ads on the radio urging people to fill out and send in their census form. There were three mailings for that, a card saying it was coming, the form itself, and then a mailing saying it had been sent. And they claim these are still cheaper than sending people around to do it in person. I guess. But three? Wouldn’t people catch on when the form came that it had been mailed to them – do they really need to be alerted to the fact that it will be and has been? OK, yeah, some people would.
Think I’ll treat myself to breakfast out today. Since I don’t have a servant to make it.
Ah, shoot, I promised gossip and I don’t have any – let’s see - - - nope, you’ll have to look elsewhere for that. Maybe I’ll get some when I go to breakfast, I’ll pass it on if I do. But I hope I gave enough chat for a while. As Amos says in ‘Chicago’: ‘hope I didn’t take up too much of your time.’
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
For a friend
My dear friend Noreen is gravely ill. Each time the phone rings I fear it is her husband, Michael, calling to tell me she is gone. She’s had health problems for many years, and this seems to be the culmination of them all: heart, asthma, I don’t know what-all else.
Noreen and Michael are friends left over from a failed ‘relationship’ of years ago. Noreen and Jerry were cousins; they had not been in touch for years and reconnected during Jerry’s and my time together. When Jerry and I separated, I ‘kept’ Noreen’s friendship for which I will always be grateful and pleased. Jerry gained another lady friend after our split, and those two couples did not get along; this caused a rift between Jerry and Noreen that she and I often discussed; after his death she despaired over it, that they had missed times together.
She’s opinionated, outspoken and fun. She had some hard times, but kept on past them. She loves her animals, and friends, fiercely. She has a special love for wolves, and has an online ‘pack’ of friends that share interests and thinking.
We talk online, and I called her a couple of months ago, maybe more than a couple now. I visited several years ago, travel has been hard for her. We planned to go to a town in southern New Jersey called Shellpile, and to meet at a wolf sanctuary, but those were scrapped by one of her health issues. I keep saying I’d try to get down (Jersey Shore) to see them again, but as we all know how those things go, hadn’t made it. Or called again.
Now I hope I get another chance to.
Here’s what I think: that we should make the call, make the trip, when we can. Don’t put it off, because the chance might be taken away. Tell people now, when they can hear you. Because feeling like ‘I should have’ when it’s too late sucks.
Fly, fly, wolf-spirit friend
Through the forest
Over the fields
Stop, stop and stare
At what is ahead
Do you race on alone
Or stay with your pack
For more time
Only a greater spirit than ours knows
We pray he lets us have you longer
And hope to understand if he does not
Fly, fly, wolf-spirit friend
To the destiny best for you
Noreen and Michael are friends left over from a failed ‘relationship’ of years ago. Noreen and Jerry were cousins; they had not been in touch for years and reconnected during Jerry’s and my time together. When Jerry and I separated, I ‘kept’ Noreen’s friendship for which I will always be grateful and pleased. Jerry gained another lady friend after our split, and those two couples did not get along; this caused a rift between Jerry and Noreen that she and I often discussed; after his death she despaired over it, that they had missed times together.
She’s opinionated, outspoken and fun. She had some hard times, but kept on past them. She loves her animals, and friends, fiercely. She has a special love for wolves, and has an online ‘pack’ of friends that share interests and thinking.
We talk online, and I called her a couple of months ago, maybe more than a couple now. I visited several years ago, travel has been hard for her. We planned to go to a town in southern New Jersey called Shellpile, and to meet at a wolf sanctuary, but those were scrapped by one of her health issues. I keep saying I’d try to get down (Jersey Shore) to see them again, but as we all know how those things go, hadn’t made it. Or called again.
Now I hope I get another chance to.
Here’s what I think: that we should make the call, make the trip, when we can. Don’t put it off, because the chance might be taken away. Tell people now, when they can hear you. Because feeling like ‘I should have’ when it’s too late sucks.
Fly, fly, wolf-spirit friend
Through the forest
Over the fields
Stop, stop and stare
At what is ahead
Do you race on alone
Or stay with your pack
For more time
Only a greater spirit than ours knows
We pray he lets us have you longer
And hope to understand if he does not
Fly, fly, wolf-spirit friend
To the destiny best for you
Tuesday, March 9, 2010
The Crandall Theatre
Speaking of movies, in our little village there’s been a movie tragedy. Not a tragedy movie. The Crandall Theatre is closed. The Crandall started life as a vaudeville house, back in those days. When vaudeville lagged, it converted to a movie theatre. I’ve been going there since I was a little kid. I remember seeing “War of the Worlds’ there, my grandmother took us, and in my memory, on the way home there was a full moon and we looked out the windows to see if we could spot any alien space ships. I remember going there on dates in high school, and after the movie going to the Boston Candy Kitchen for ice cream. I took the kids there – we went to a Disney movie and I was laughing so much they were embarrassed and went to sit somewhere else, not with me.
The tragedy is a true one, the owner, Tony Quirino, unexpectedly passed away in January. The theatre is closed while the family recovers.
As one merchant put it ‘We look like a ghost town at night now’ – there were always cars parked on Main Street, every night of the week, while people went to the Crandall.
Tony had been in negotiation to sell the theatre. The Chatham Film Club, an active group that the Crandall helped by giving space for an annual film festival and an ‘art’ film every month, had been trying to raise the money needed to buy it. I heard last night that they are still trying and might be able to close the deal. I hope so, as they have pledged to keep the Crandall – ‘the Crandall’. I hope it happens.
I’m not anti-movie, despite being anti-excess for some things connected with movies. I like movies, I just don’t go often, especially now with the Crandall closed. It’s handy, 2 minutes away, as opposed to half an hour for other theatres. And, the best part, it was only $5.00 for admission and $1.50 for popcorn – not the $10.00 and $5.00 the big chains rip you off for. So I am hoping that the film club can complete their deal, and keep the Crandall in Chatham. It’s a needed part of the community.
Anybody around here reads this, give a donation! Please.
The tragedy is a true one, the owner, Tony Quirino, unexpectedly passed away in January. The theatre is closed while the family recovers.
As one merchant put it ‘We look like a ghost town at night now’ – there were always cars parked on Main Street, every night of the week, while people went to the Crandall.
Tony had been in negotiation to sell the theatre. The Chatham Film Club, an active group that the Crandall helped by giving space for an annual film festival and an ‘art’ film every month, had been trying to raise the money needed to buy it. I heard last night that they are still trying and might be able to close the deal. I hope so, as they have pledged to keep the Crandall – ‘the Crandall’. I hope it happens.
I’m not anti-movie, despite being anti-excess for some things connected with movies. I like movies, I just don’t go often, especially now with the Crandall closed. It’s handy, 2 minutes away, as opposed to half an hour for other theatres. And, the best part, it was only $5.00 for admission and $1.50 for popcorn – not the $10.00 and $5.00 the big chains rip you off for. So I am hoping that the film club can complete their deal, and keep the Crandall in Chatham. It’s a needed part of the community.
Anybody around here reads this, give a donation! Please.
The Oscar's and Excess
I didn’t watch the Oscars. I admit it. It may be un-American, but there it is. I know, especially since I’m in the ‘entertainment business’, I should. But, there’s just too much hype and folderol with them, and too much talk for too little action. Plus, I haven’t seen and probably won’t see most of the movies; or know most of the people nominated. Just doesn’t make any difference to me.
I understand it was a pretty good show this year, according to the people who did watch. That the thanks given by the winners was limited – that’s another reason I don’t watch, I mean, it’s nice that they want to thank everyone from Mom and Dad to their hairdresser’s neighbor’s cat groomer, but that doesn’t interest me a bit. I understand that one winner thanked the men and women in the armed forces and I think that’s great. Otherwise, blah-de-blah, de-blah, de-blah. Should have thanked those people in person when they did the job for you.
And this year, maybe subconsciously it was my own private protest. Look at the Oscars. First there’s the movies themselves, costing how many millions of dollars to make. The stars making how many millions of dollars. The ‘goody bags’, the gowns, the speakers and presenters, the security, the press – the excess of it all. It’s a show that many enjoy, but it’s all about excess. The winners sell more tickets so the movies can make more money, that goes where? Now that’s a good question-gotta go into somebody’s pockets and I wonder whose-no doubt someone who already has quite enough there. All about excess.
Meanwhile, all over the country, live theatres are closing because they don’t have enough money to keep running. Not to say that the Tony Awards aren’t their own little exercise in excess, but not to the extent of the Oscars. But those theatres provided entertainment to thousands of people too, enriched the lives of thousands, provided employment, enhanced the quality of life in their area, contributed to the overall economy. They don’t deserve to close. How about sending some of that excess their way, our way?
Yeah, right, like that’s gonna happen. There’ll be another Oscars extravaganza next year and the year after and so on. And more theatres will close.
Here’s what I think – the Oscar for helping cause that goes to, in part to – the award excess. Is there a way to even the playing field? Nope, not that I can see happening. Sad, but true.
I understand it was a pretty good show this year, according to the people who did watch. That the thanks given by the winners was limited – that’s another reason I don’t watch, I mean, it’s nice that they want to thank everyone from Mom and Dad to their hairdresser’s neighbor’s cat groomer, but that doesn’t interest me a bit. I understand that one winner thanked the men and women in the armed forces and I think that’s great. Otherwise, blah-de-blah, de-blah, de-blah. Should have thanked those people in person when they did the job for you.
And this year, maybe subconsciously it was my own private protest. Look at the Oscars. First there’s the movies themselves, costing how many millions of dollars to make. The stars making how many millions of dollars. The ‘goody bags’, the gowns, the speakers and presenters, the security, the press – the excess of it all. It’s a show that many enjoy, but it’s all about excess. The winners sell more tickets so the movies can make more money, that goes where? Now that’s a good question-gotta go into somebody’s pockets and I wonder whose-no doubt someone who already has quite enough there. All about excess.
Meanwhile, all over the country, live theatres are closing because they don’t have enough money to keep running. Not to say that the Tony Awards aren’t their own little exercise in excess, but not to the extent of the Oscars. But those theatres provided entertainment to thousands of people too, enriched the lives of thousands, provided employment, enhanced the quality of life in their area, contributed to the overall economy. They don’t deserve to close. How about sending some of that excess their way, our way?
Yeah, right, like that’s gonna happen. There’ll be another Oscars extravaganza next year and the year after and so on. And more theatres will close.
Here’s what I think – the Oscar for helping cause that goes to, in part to – the award excess. Is there a way to even the playing field? Nope, not that I can see happening. Sad, but true.
Friday, February 26, 2010
Whose Rights Are Right?
Last night I went to the Zoning Board of Appeals meeting. A performance space on the other side of the village had applied to continue the variance granted 5 years ago for them to put up a tent to have shows in, while they raised funds to put up the building they hope to have. This summer will be the last of the 5 years, and they wanted to continue the variance as they are not even close to getting the building built. Yup, we know how that goes, we’ve been talking about a new building for about 40 years that I remember.
I put on my Chatham Business Alliance hat and went to read a letter of support for the place, PS21. Yeah, individually they might be considered competition, but they do different kinds of things than we do, and it’s a fact that arts bring arts audiences to an area, so we get some run-off from them.
What a process the whole hearing was, and this was part 2, there was another last month. Some of the neighbors didn’t want the variance continued, because they hear noise from the tent when performances are going on. A decibel level was set when the first variance was granted and numerous tests have been done to show that the noise is below that, but these people can still hear it. Which brought up the question “What is considered objectionable?” The town lawyer said they had to go with the dictionary definition: ob•jec•tion•a•ble: –adjective 1. causing or tending to cause an objection, disapproval, or protest. 2. offending good taste, manners, etiquette, propriety, etc.; offensive: objectionable behavior.
Without going into details on who said what at the meeting, this brought up the old: ‘beauty in the eye – or ear in this case – of the beholder’. ‘one man’s pleasure ---‘ and so on debates.
Which makes me wonder, again, where do one person’s rights begin and another’s end? Does the Zoning Board deny the variance, and close down PS21 after this summer because of two people (well, three, one was a couple) objecting? They claimed there were many more but those others were ‘afraid to come and say anything because they might have a request of the board at some point and it would be used against them’. There were many more there in support, and the owner claims an audience of thousands over a season. So if the space is closed, what happens to their rights?
The objectors said they wouldn’t mind the noise from the 20 houses that could be built on the acreage that PS21 occupies. It’s zoned residential/rural. I wonder what they’d say to a tractor running from 6 a.m. to 10 p.m., if it was turned into some type of farm?
Noise is a fact of life, unless you’re camping at The Goosenecks on the San Juan River in Utah. I can hear people in the trailer park next to me, the loudspeaker and cheers from the football field at the school, and in Chatham of course there are always the trains. But these neighbors didn’t mind any of that sort of thing, what they mind is the music from The Tent.
Seems to me, as I said in the letter I read, that all should try working together to find a solution. There could be one. There should be ways to baffle more of the noise, I would think, and I think it is PS21’s responsibility to look into this.
The wife of the couple objecting asked what the Zoning Board was going to do for HER, because in effect her life is ruined by this noise. A reasonable question. Is there a way to mollify, to throw a bone to the losers in this case? Where do their rights start and PS21’s stop?
And this whole discussion could continue into so many other things that there’s not space to list – and I got work to do. But think about it. Where do your rights end and someone else’s begin? And who decides?
Asides: When we went to the town board (different town) for the variance to operate our theatre, the owner of the trailer park next door said he didn’t think we should be there because, among other things, our audience might come down into the park and steal people’s lawn furniture.
The Board voted to allow the variance, with one nay vote. I want to know why there are no women on the Board.
I put on my Chatham Business Alliance hat and went to read a letter of support for the place, PS21. Yeah, individually they might be considered competition, but they do different kinds of things than we do, and it’s a fact that arts bring arts audiences to an area, so we get some run-off from them.
What a process the whole hearing was, and this was part 2, there was another last month. Some of the neighbors didn’t want the variance continued, because they hear noise from the tent when performances are going on. A decibel level was set when the first variance was granted and numerous tests have been done to show that the noise is below that, but these people can still hear it. Which brought up the question “What is considered objectionable?” The town lawyer said they had to go with the dictionary definition: ob•jec•tion•a•ble: –adjective 1. causing or tending to cause an objection, disapproval, or protest. 2. offending good taste, manners, etiquette, propriety, etc.; offensive: objectionable behavior.
Without going into details on who said what at the meeting, this brought up the old: ‘beauty in the eye – or ear in this case – of the beholder’. ‘one man’s pleasure ---‘ and so on debates.
Which makes me wonder, again, where do one person’s rights begin and another’s end? Does the Zoning Board deny the variance, and close down PS21 after this summer because of two people (well, three, one was a couple) objecting? They claimed there were many more but those others were ‘afraid to come and say anything because they might have a request of the board at some point and it would be used against them’. There were many more there in support, and the owner claims an audience of thousands over a season. So if the space is closed, what happens to their rights?
The objectors said they wouldn’t mind the noise from the 20 houses that could be built on the acreage that PS21 occupies. It’s zoned residential/rural. I wonder what they’d say to a tractor running from 6 a.m. to 10 p.m., if it was turned into some type of farm?
Noise is a fact of life, unless you’re camping at The Goosenecks on the San Juan River in Utah. I can hear people in the trailer park next to me, the loudspeaker and cheers from the football field at the school, and in Chatham of course there are always the trains. But these neighbors didn’t mind any of that sort of thing, what they mind is the music from The Tent.
Seems to me, as I said in the letter I read, that all should try working together to find a solution. There could be one. There should be ways to baffle more of the noise, I would think, and I think it is PS21’s responsibility to look into this.
The wife of the couple objecting asked what the Zoning Board was going to do for HER, because in effect her life is ruined by this noise. A reasonable question. Is there a way to mollify, to throw a bone to the losers in this case? Where do their rights start and PS21’s stop?
And this whole discussion could continue into so many other things that there’s not space to list – and I got work to do. But think about it. Where do your rights end and someone else’s begin? And who decides?
Asides: When we went to the town board (different town) for the variance to operate our theatre, the owner of the trailer park next door said he didn’t think we should be there because, among other things, our audience might come down into the park and steal people’s lawn furniture.
The Board voted to allow the variance, with one nay vote. I want to know why there are no women on the Board.
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
The Naming Of Cars Is A Curious Thing
As well as the naming of cats (with apologies to T.S. Eliot and Andrew Lloyd Webber), but that’s another story.
Car’s names. Who names a car, anyway? Lots of us do.
This is brought to mind after reading one of the blogs I follow, wherein the writer was mourning the loss of his pickup truck, Frankenhoopety. He has a 7 y.o. daughter so you can pretty well guess where the name came from. Missed a curve in the rain. That’ll do it.
The first named car I remember – in fact the first csr I remember, was a Model A Ford that got named Singy. I cannot help but boast that I named it - I was maybe 3 or 4 when we got the car, and were all in it for the first family drive. In those days it was customary to warm the car up before moving off, and while this was happening I asked what the nose of the motor was. ‘The car is singing to us’ my father said, and I said ‘then it’s name should be Singy’. And so it was. Singy was around for quite a while. I think it was Singy that suffered the results of my terrible carsickness all the way to Wilkes Barre, PA, when we drove there for my uncle’s wedding. Suffice to say it had to be washed before my parents would drive it to the church. We may have still had it when we moved to the farm, and then had to get a truck to bring in hay and take milk to the dairy in Hudson. One day my mother had Singy loaded with aunts and cousins, going somewhere; we got about a quarter mile down the road and suddenly smoke started pouring out of the space where the shifting lever came up through the floor (ah, yes, my younger friends, in those days all cars were standard shift and Singy predated shifters on the steering column). My mother stopped and we all piled out; my mother ran back towards the house shouting ‘Honey, the cars on fire!’ my sister and I were as close behind as we could be, crying ‘Daddy , Singy’s on fire’, and the aunts and cousins were either circling the car or somewhere in between, all yelling ‘Ed the car’s on fire’. It didn’t spread and was put out with little damage. I can’t remember if we continued our trip, but I suppose we did.
I don’t remember any other cars being named for many years after that, although I remember several of the cars. And trucks. But those are other stories.
I got back into naming cars through Linda and Lynne. They had a cute little Dodge they named Samantha – nope, don’t know where that came from and neither did they but they said it just seemed like a Samanatha. After they got a newer car they stopped naming them, because if the car had a name, they couldn’t get rid of it. They sold Samanatha to my ex, just to ‘keep it in the family.
We named the theatre cars for a while, the theory being that the un-car-savvy people could identify a named thing better than ‘the green Pontiac’. Each name was carefully chosen, debated and re-debated, sometimes hotly, before one was settled on. Most of these escape me, except for Miss Mona. Miss Mona was a full size, back when they made them FULL size Ford station wagon. She was give to us by Dee’s ex (what is it about the ex’s and cars?). There were a lot of miles on her but the motor had been run on lp gas, not gasoline, so it was clean as a whistle. So, she was ours, free, and all we had to do was drive it up from Georgia. Guess who got elected to do that. Linda took me to the airport on Tuesday morning, and I said ‘I’ll see you tomorrow’. ‘Oh, no, you won’t be back until Thursday or Friday’. ‘No I’ll see you tomorrow for the matinee. Maybe not the start but before it’s over,’ At that time, I’d been doing the coat sales and been to Georgia a few times so had a good idea about how long it would take me to drive back from Savannah. After dillying around a good share of the day with waiting for something to be done to the car, and getting paperwork done, I left Savannah about 5. Got to north of DC and stopped to sleep for a few hours, and came on home. Got to Chatham about 3 or so, it was intermission of the matinee. I went in to the office and said ‘the new car has a name, and there is no debate about it. Her name is Miss Mona (after the Madam in Best Little Whorehouse in Texas).’ Linda said ‘Miss Mona? Why? ‘Because she might be a tired ol’ ‘ho, but if you talk to her right she’ll go all night and all day for you’.
Miss Mona was around for many years, and starred in many theatre stories. When we finally had to give her up, we sold her to a guy to put into the demo derby at the fair – but we insisted that he paint Miss Mona, in pink, on her.
I think I started naming cars with The Arab’s Delight – a v-8 Chevy that would pass anything on the road but a gas station. I think that’s the car I ended up with when David and I split up, he got the red convertible to use in parades. I drove the Delight for several years, took it on the road to some of the coat sales, and finally gave it to Sara, I think that was when I bought the grey Citation, which I named Silver, and I think the second grey Citation was Silver Jr. Then the blue wagon was Colonel (after the blue roan horse I had), can't recall what the white station wagon was. Now the Vue is named Big Girl – from the guy at a delivery in Michigan who asked did I drive that great big truck all the way from Massachusetts and when I said ‘well, somebody had to’, he said ‘My - you a Big Girl’.
Is it weird to name a car? Is it weird to love a car? And be sad when you miss a curve and hit a tree? Or just have to finally admit that it’s useful days are done? Define weird – those of us who do it don’t think so.
PS, AD, I’m waiting for the photos of Frankenhoopety II.
Car’s names. Who names a car, anyway? Lots of us do.
This is brought to mind after reading one of the blogs I follow, wherein the writer was mourning the loss of his pickup truck, Frankenhoopety. He has a 7 y.o. daughter so you can pretty well guess where the name came from. Missed a curve in the rain. That’ll do it.
The first named car I remember – in fact the first csr I remember, was a Model A Ford that got named Singy. I cannot help but boast that I named it - I was maybe 3 or 4 when we got the car, and were all in it for the first family drive. In those days it was customary to warm the car up before moving off, and while this was happening I asked what the nose of the motor was. ‘The car is singing to us’ my father said, and I said ‘then it’s name should be Singy’. And so it was. Singy was around for quite a while. I think it was Singy that suffered the results of my terrible carsickness all the way to Wilkes Barre, PA, when we drove there for my uncle’s wedding. Suffice to say it had to be washed before my parents would drive it to the church. We may have still had it when we moved to the farm, and then had to get a truck to bring in hay and take milk to the dairy in Hudson. One day my mother had Singy loaded with aunts and cousins, going somewhere; we got about a quarter mile down the road and suddenly smoke started pouring out of the space where the shifting lever came up through the floor (ah, yes, my younger friends, in those days all cars were standard shift and Singy predated shifters on the steering column). My mother stopped and we all piled out; my mother ran back towards the house shouting ‘Honey, the cars on fire!’ my sister and I were as close behind as we could be, crying ‘Daddy , Singy’s on fire’, and the aunts and cousins were either circling the car or somewhere in between, all yelling ‘Ed the car’s on fire’. It didn’t spread and was put out with little damage. I can’t remember if we continued our trip, but I suppose we did.
I don’t remember any other cars being named for many years after that, although I remember several of the cars. And trucks. But those are other stories.
I got back into naming cars through Linda and Lynne. They had a cute little Dodge they named Samantha – nope, don’t know where that came from and neither did they but they said it just seemed like a Samanatha. After they got a newer car they stopped naming them, because if the car had a name, they couldn’t get rid of it. They sold Samanatha to my ex, just to ‘keep it in the family.
We named the theatre cars for a while, the theory being that the un-car-savvy people could identify a named thing better than ‘the green Pontiac’. Each name was carefully chosen, debated and re-debated, sometimes hotly, before one was settled on. Most of these escape me, except for Miss Mona. Miss Mona was a full size, back when they made them FULL size Ford station wagon. She was give to us by Dee’s ex (what is it about the ex’s and cars?). There were a lot of miles on her but the motor had been run on lp gas, not gasoline, so it was clean as a whistle. So, she was ours, free, and all we had to do was drive it up from Georgia. Guess who got elected to do that. Linda took me to the airport on Tuesday morning, and I said ‘I’ll see you tomorrow’. ‘Oh, no, you won’t be back until Thursday or Friday’. ‘No I’ll see you tomorrow for the matinee. Maybe not the start but before it’s over,’ At that time, I’d been doing the coat sales and been to Georgia a few times so had a good idea about how long it would take me to drive back from Savannah. After dillying around a good share of the day with waiting for something to be done to the car, and getting paperwork done, I left Savannah about 5. Got to north of DC and stopped to sleep for a few hours, and came on home. Got to Chatham about 3 or so, it was intermission of the matinee. I went in to the office and said ‘the new car has a name, and there is no debate about it. Her name is Miss Mona (after the Madam in Best Little Whorehouse in Texas).’ Linda said ‘Miss Mona? Why? ‘Because she might be a tired ol’ ‘ho, but if you talk to her right she’ll go all night and all day for you’.
Miss Mona was around for many years, and starred in many theatre stories. When we finally had to give her up, we sold her to a guy to put into the demo derby at the fair – but we insisted that he paint Miss Mona, in pink, on her.
I think I started naming cars with The Arab’s Delight – a v-8 Chevy that would pass anything on the road but a gas station. I think that’s the car I ended up with when David and I split up, he got the red convertible to use in parades. I drove the Delight for several years, took it on the road to some of the coat sales, and finally gave it to Sara, I think that was when I bought the grey Citation, which I named Silver, and I think the second grey Citation was Silver Jr. Then the blue wagon was Colonel (after the blue roan horse I had), can't recall what the white station wagon was. Now the Vue is named Big Girl – from the guy at a delivery in Michigan who asked did I drive that great big truck all the way from Massachusetts and when I said ‘well, somebody had to’, he said ‘My - you a Big Girl’.
Is it weird to name a car? Is it weird to love a car? And be sad when you miss a curve and hit a tree? Or just have to finally admit that it’s useful days are done? Define weird – those of us who do it don’t think so.
PS, AD, I’m waiting for the photos of Frankenhoopety II.
Thursday, February 4, 2010
ADD TO THE LIST OF THINGS I JUST DON’T GET….
Why people who have had your email address for years, now that you are ‘Friends’ on Facebook can’t just email, they have to open Facebook, find your Wall, post a message on it and send it to you that way. Then when you open your email you see that you have a message from them but instead of just answering like you used to do when they used email, you have to go to Facebook to answer it – and then they in turn have to open their Facebook to respond to you.
??
And while we’re at it – and don’t get me wrong, Facebook is fun and even useful as we found when trying to locate a person and an address last year – but what’s with all the games and putting things on your status and all that?
Not to be rude, but I got too much to do to get involved in all that. Plus, if I started any of those games I know I’d get hooked and spend more time on those than doing what I don’t get done already.
Ah, modern technology – it’s a wonderful thing – more and more ways to spend more and more time doing – sometimes, who knows what?
Gotta go write on somebody’s wall…………………..
??
And while we’re at it – and don’t get me wrong, Facebook is fun and even useful as we found when trying to locate a person and an address last year – but what’s with all the games and putting things on your status and all that?
Not to be rude, but I got too much to do to get involved in all that. Plus, if I started any of those games I know I’d get hooked and spend more time on those than doing what I don’t get done already.
Ah, modern technology – it’s a wonderful thing – more and more ways to spend more and more time doing – sometimes, who knows what?
Gotta go write on somebody’s wall…………………..
Saturday, January 23, 2010
Winters back when . . . .
Well, here’s another one I started and never finished, this was from last winter on a real cold day. Today’s not so cold, but seasonal, and some snow on the ground.
Everybody has been whining about winter and the weather. I keep saying it’s just that we have had a few easy winters and this is more like what it used to be.
Some winters I remember:
here would be one ‘big’ storm, at least, every year, where there’d be 1 ½ to 2 feet of snow, instead of the under 1 foot from the usual storms. After one of these, I guess I was about 14, so it would have been about 1957 or so, we had a storm that snowed and blew so much that the road coming up to our farm, which had high banks on each side, was completely blocked in about 4 to 5 feet deep. My father was away and the neighbor was helping us with milking the cows, we loaded the cans of milk to go to the diary in Hudson, and the car could not even get out of the driveway - and carrying the cans back to the milk house we managed to drop one and spill it - my father kept asking why the dogs were always licking the snow in that one spot but we just said 'I dunno!"
Many times the temperature going well below 0 – 10 or more below. We always had to keep the water running in the house and barn so the pipes did not freeze. I still have to do that!
Again when I was in high school, one winter the ice was thick enough to skate on by a little bit before Thanksgiving, and we were able to skate right up until sometime in March. And when I lived in Utica while going to college, it snowed every day from Thanksgiving to Easter, not a lot some days, but every single day there was at least a little fluffy of snow.
One year we had so much snow that my father could not get the tractor and manure spreader into the fields, so he just kept spreading it on my mother’s garden – boy did we have some vegetables that summer!
Having a couple of feet of snow on the ground used to be the norm, and we thought nothing of it. I have a photo of Sara as a toddler, in a bright print jacket, climbing over a huge snowbank in front of the trailer we lived in then, over in back of my folk’s house on our old farm.
Our farm was on top of a big hill, with more hills behind the house and barns, so we had plenty of places to go sledding. We could use the road, and with the packed snow on it you could really fly – there was a longer hill and a little flat space and a shorter hill and the goal was to be going fast enough to get down them both. It was a longer walk back up but what a ride! At night it was so neat – there was very little traffic and the neighbors would know that we might be sledding so we’d be watching out for each other. Once there was a crust on the snow, and I went sliding on top of it in the neighbor’s field on the other side of the road. Sliding until the runners broke through the crust, and the sled stopped but I didn’t and my face hit that crust – ye-ouch!
I’m sure I’ll remember more as soon as I post this, but that’s a few. Does this count for the ‘memory a day’ that I started last year and of course fell short of. Let’s call it that.
Everybody has been whining about winter and the weather. I keep saying it’s just that we have had a few easy winters and this is more like what it used to be.
Some winters I remember:
here would be one ‘big’ storm, at least, every year, where there’d be 1 ½ to 2 feet of snow, instead of the under 1 foot from the usual storms. After one of these, I guess I was about 14, so it would have been about 1957 or so, we had a storm that snowed and blew so much that the road coming up to our farm, which had high banks on each side, was completely blocked in about 4 to 5 feet deep. My father was away and the neighbor was helping us with milking the cows, we loaded the cans of milk to go to the diary in Hudson, and the car could not even get out of the driveway - and carrying the cans back to the milk house we managed to drop one and spill it - my father kept asking why the dogs were always licking the snow in that one spot but we just said 'I dunno!"
Many times the temperature going well below 0 – 10 or more below. We always had to keep the water running in the house and barn so the pipes did not freeze. I still have to do that!
Again when I was in high school, one winter the ice was thick enough to skate on by a little bit before Thanksgiving, and we were able to skate right up until sometime in March. And when I lived in Utica while going to college, it snowed every day from Thanksgiving to Easter, not a lot some days, but every single day there was at least a little fluffy of snow.
One year we had so much snow that my father could not get the tractor and manure spreader into the fields, so he just kept spreading it on my mother’s garden – boy did we have some vegetables that summer!
Having a couple of feet of snow on the ground used to be the norm, and we thought nothing of it. I have a photo of Sara as a toddler, in a bright print jacket, climbing over a huge snowbank in front of the trailer we lived in then, over in back of my folk’s house on our old farm.
Our farm was on top of a big hill, with more hills behind the house and barns, so we had plenty of places to go sledding. We could use the road, and with the packed snow on it you could really fly – there was a longer hill and a little flat space and a shorter hill and the goal was to be going fast enough to get down them both. It was a longer walk back up but what a ride! At night it was so neat – there was very little traffic and the neighbors would know that we might be sledding so we’d be watching out for each other. Once there was a crust on the snow, and I went sliding on top of it in the neighbor’s field on the other side of the road. Sliding until the runners broke through the crust, and the sled stopped but I didn’t and my face hit that crust – ye-ouch!
I’m sure I’ll remember more as soon as I post this, but that’s a few. Does this count for the ‘memory a day’ that I started last year and of course fell short of. Let’s call it that.
Sunday, January 17, 2010
Random thoughts from a drive across the country:
* No matter how warm the sun is coming in the windows on the right side of the car, when it is minus 1 degree your breath will still frost over the window on the left side. PS, making it impossible to see the rear view mirror on that side, so you have to hold your hand on the cold frost to melt it, and then put that hand under your leg to warm it back up.
* There is no place to pee in Hardin, Montana after midnight unless you want to go in to a casino. And when the rest area is closed for winter or repair or whatever, that means no place until Billings, which is 54 miles away.
* There are more casinos per square mile, I think, in Montana than in Nevada. Don’t know what the difference is, nor why Nevada gets all the talk about them and Montana doesn’t. They are just small ones, though, not the huge hotels with all the extra stuff.
* The Exxon station in Kaycee may be all lit up at night, but it won’t give you gas, even when you use your credit card in every direction and kick the pumps besides. The Sinclair station on the other side of the interstate will give you gas, but has what is possibly the world’s worst pre-made pizza.
* If you want to buy a bridge, there’s one for sale alongside the interstate somewhere in the middle of Montana.
* In Montana they call the cars that skid and go off the road ‘spin-offs’. There were very few spin-offs in Montana, despite a couple hundred miles of icy roads. In Iowa and Nebraska, there were spin-offs every few hundred yards. I don’t know what the difference is, but on both the way out and back, the carnage was incredible. Do they drive differently in Montana?
* All the left over hippies who did not go to Eugene, Oregon went to Missoula, Montana.
* There are an awful lot of drivers who do not think ahead, and a lot of the time don’t know what they are doing on the road.
* Even though you have a legal right to do so, if you are driving 10 to 20 miles under the speed limit, you really should pull over to let traffic behind you past.
* Everyone should drive across our country at least once, to see the grandeur of it, and to have an appreciation of what the pioneers went through. Just think about walking that distance, through heat, rain, snow, cold, losing friends and family to the perils of the trip, not knowing what you will encounter next, not knowing what is waiting at the end of your trip – and then think twice before you complain about a little traffic tie-up, or because the towel in the motel is too small.
* Come to think of it, where did they pee?
* Our National Parks (and forests, heritage sites and so on) are truly a Great Idea and we should thank those who established them for their foresight and vision. Visit as many as you can, and support their efforts.
* A store that will take your word that the left boot of the pair you bought a week ago in one of their other outlets has a defective zipper that won’t stay up, and just gives you another pair even though you’ve been wearing the first pair, is a good place to shop. Cabela’s.
* New snow on a sunny day, sunset over the mountains, sunrise through clouds, rock formations, trees and a creek – there are some things it is hard to not take a pretty picture of.
* Finding a nice motel is a bonus.
* There are a lot of places that are too built-up.
* There are also a lot of places where there are miles and miles of nothing but miles and miles.
* No matter how good a trip is, it’s nice to be home, and so nice to pee in your own bathroom.
* There is no place to pee in Hardin, Montana after midnight unless you want to go in to a casino. And when the rest area is closed for winter or repair or whatever, that means no place until Billings, which is 54 miles away.
* There are more casinos per square mile, I think, in Montana than in Nevada. Don’t know what the difference is, nor why Nevada gets all the talk about them and Montana doesn’t. They are just small ones, though, not the huge hotels with all the extra stuff.
* The Exxon station in Kaycee may be all lit up at night, but it won’t give you gas, even when you use your credit card in every direction and kick the pumps besides. The Sinclair station on the other side of the interstate will give you gas, but has what is possibly the world’s worst pre-made pizza.
* If you want to buy a bridge, there’s one for sale alongside the interstate somewhere in the middle of Montana.
* In Montana they call the cars that skid and go off the road ‘spin-offs’. There were very few spin-offs in Montana, despite a couple hundred miles of icy roads. In Iowa and Nebraska, there were spin-offs every few hundred yards. I don’t know what the difference is, but on both the way out and back, the carnage was incredible. Do they drive differently in Montana?
* All the left over hippies who did not go to Eugene, Oregon went to Missoula, Montana.
* There are an awful lot of drivers who do not think ahead, and a lot of the time don’t know what they are doing on the road.
* Even though you have a legal right to do so, if you are driving 10 to 20 miles under the speed limit, you really should pull over to let traffic behind you past.
* Everyone should drive across our country at least once, to see the grandeur of it, and to have an appreciation of what the pioneers went through. Just think about walking that distance, through heat, rain, snow, cold, losing friends and family to the perils of the trip, not knowing what you will encounter next, not knowing what is waiting at the end of your trip – and then think twice before you complain about a little traffic tie-up, or because the towel in the motel is too small.
* Come to think of it, where did they pee?
* Our National Parks (and forests, heritage sites and so on) are truly a Great Idea and we should thank those who established them for their foresight and vision. Visit as many as you can, and support their efforts.
* A store that will take your word that the left boot of the pair you bought a week ago in one of their other outlets has a defective zipper that won’t stay up, and just gives you another pair even though you’ve been wearing the first pair, is a good place to shop. Cabela’s.
* New snow on a sunny day, sunset over the mountains, sunrise through clouds, rock formations, trees and a creek – there are some things it is hard to not take a pretty picture of.
* Finding a nice motel is a bonus.
* There are a lot of places that are too built-up.
* There are also a lot of places where there are miles and miles of nothing but miles and miles.
* No matter how good a trip is, it’s nice to be home, and so nice to pee in your own bathroom.
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