For Krissi and Shawn

This one is going to be brief, but I want to do a couple things here.  This post isn't going to be me-centric like most of them are.  But after my last post, I felt like I should address the follow-up and share a couple things.

First off, there's this.  As you may know, the fire service is heavy on tradition.  And we've been processing the loss of our own for a really long time, so we've become pretty good at it.  What you just heard was the "final tone-out" for Shawn Carroll.  A farewell from his brothers and sisters in the fire family.  I'm not sure how well the dispatcher knew Shawn, but you can hear the emotion in her voice, a couple times.  I'm pretty sure I wouldn't have been able to get through broadcasting that.

Finally I'm going to share something here that, well, I've shared with a lot of people over the last eleven years or so.  Brief backstory- after Diane died I was chatting with a cousin and she asked me if I'd ever gone to a website run by a guy named Tom Zuba.  I'd never heard of him so she gave me the Reader's Digest condensed version of his story; lost his wife and two young children spread out over far too few years so he started speaking about grief, mourning, and healing.  At Tom's site there was a guestbook filled with posts from people dealing with the loss of a loved one.  I "met" some amazing people there and they helped me get through a very dark time.  I learned so much there.  Among the lessons, one from Paul in Georgia, grieving the loss of his daughter was this - 

"When I help you heal, I heal."

I found this to be so true.  I try not to be intrusive when I meet someone in the throes of grief, but I try and get my bona fides out to them to let them know they're not alone and that so many people are sending strength, love, and support to help them try and get along with their new normal.  There's a lot to navigate along the way and it can be so helpful to have someone you can talk to, vent to, cry with, etc. with no fear of judgement.  if I can do that for someone, I'll gladly jump in.

I also got this poem from someone there, I don't remember who.  I was going to give credit to the author, but it seems like every time I try and confirm the author, I find a different person credited for it so, rest assured I did not write this (I wish I had, it's beautiful) but since I'm not sure who did, I'll leave that blank.  The images this piece produces for me have always been a comfort, that's why I share it.  I passed it along to Krissi through a mutual friend, the guy I met those two through, so she has it, but I thought it was well past time for me to put it up here so anyone that feels the need can use it in time of need.  

Gone From My Sight

I am standing upon the seashore. A ship, at my side,

spreads her white sails to the moving breeze and starts

for the blue ocean. She is an object of beauty and strength.

I stand and watch her until, at length, she hangs like a speck

of white cloud just where the sea and sky come to mingle with each other.

Then, someone at my side says, "There, she is gone."

Gone where?

Gone from my sight. That is all. She is just as large in mast,

hull and spar as she was when she left my side.

And, she is just as able to bear her load of living freight to her destined port.

Her diminished size is in me -- not in her.

And, just at the moment when someone says, "There, she is gone,"

there are other eyes watching her coming, and other voices

ready to take up the glad shout, "Here she comes!"

And that is dying…

Peace

Saying goodbye

I'm not sure how long this one is going to be.

I just took a cruise through social media and I saw something that stopped me in my tracks.  A family I know is going through one of the hardest things imaginable.

Saying goodbye.

I met Shawn and Krissi four or five years ago while I was on tour with Pink Heals.  As it turned out, I didn't have to go far to meet them either, They're in the far southwest suburbs.  But, since I was on the Illinois portion of the tour that year, our paths crossed.

I'm so grateful they did.

If I remember correctly, at the time, Shawn was just finishing up kicking cancer's ass.  They showed us their appreciation for what we try to do on tour by showering us with snacks, bottled water, all sorts of food and some other small items that I, for one, certainly wouldn't have thought about but ended up using the heck out of.  Just simply two of the nicest, sweetest people on the planet.

I haven't seen them but a couple times since then in all honesty.  But every time I saw them, I was welcomed like a long lost relative.  One you like.  That's the kind of people they are.  So, when I heard a while back, that Shawn was going in for testing and ultimately, chemo, I never doubted he would kick cancer's ass once again.  This is one tough dude.  I followed his progress from a distance, trying to keep him in my thoughts, but knowing he'd be fine.

Then, the other day, I saw a post from Krissi about palliative care.  I figured I was mistaken.  It had to be about someone else.  I teetered back and forth whether to reach out to a mutual friend and see if I read that correctly or not.

Sadly, I read it right.

Krissi has asked for thoughts and prayers to let Shawn know it's ok to let his body rest.  He has fought like hell.  His spirit is so strong.  But "his body just couldn't take any more."

My heart is breaking for her.

A couple years ago I wrote "An Open Letter To A Grieving Friend" when a dear friend lost her husband suddenly.  Much of what I wrote then is still applicable.  And, now as it was then, much of what I learned was picked up first hand.  And, though I may never have said it here, I've said it often IRL, I wouldn't wish this on my worst enemy.  I certainly don't wish it on any of my friends.

While, in this case, I can imagine what Krissi is going through, I can't really relate.  My experience with the loss of a spouse took place over the course of six days.  And in Caitlin's case, it was three days.  Shawn has been fighting a lot longer than that.  I don't know, but I think it's a safe assumption that in this case it's stretched out a little further.  I always told myself that, if what happened to Diane had to happen, I was grateful it was so short.  Frankly, I don't know how I would've dealt with it had it been a longer term kind of thing.

Sure, with my parents, the decline in their health was long-term and noticeable, but it's not the same.  Shawn, like Diane, was in the prime of life when this started.

I guess maybe I want to wrap this up by saying, whether you know the family I'm writing about or not; if you pray, please do so for them.  If you don't pray, please offer up a kind word, or send strength and love in whatever way you believe.

Finally there's this.  If someone you know, someone you care about, loses a dear one, do something nice for them.  Cut the grass, walk the dog, fix a meal, call them just to say "hi".  Don't be afraid of reminding them they lost someone, they know what they lost.  Let them know you remember the person.  And let them know how important they, and the one they lost, are to you.

Shawn, I love you man.  You always made me smile.

Krissi, I'm so sorry for your loss.  Please know I'll keep you and the girls in my thoughts.  For a really long time.  You're such a special family and I'm truly so much better for having known you all.

Peace

Opposition Research

Am I the only one that finds it odd when someone uses a pen and paper to document something?  I mean; to-do lists, calendar appointments, etc. are all things that can be done electronically with relative ease.  Heck I do these things and I'm barely tech literate.  I feel like I know enough to do a lot of things on my phone/laptop/computer but I also know there's a ton of stuff I could do, but don't know how.  I've pretty much gotten to the point where I don't usually notice someone on their personal electronic device but if someone takes out pen and paper?  I'm drawn right to it.  It just seems weird now.

But that's not why you're here...

I went downtown to a concert last night, Drive By Truckers (if you haven't checked them out, shame on you) at Millennium Park along with my friend Tom and his son Alex.  Quick side note, Alex is the drummer for a band; NE-HI and you need to check them out, especially if you like good, loud, fast, rock and roll.  Any way, this was my second time seeing DBT this year but last night was part of Chicago's regularly scheduled free concert series so, yeah, kind of a no-brainer for this one.  Although parking was, while incredibly convenient, not so much in the "free" part of the evening.

I don't want to, nor am I necessarily qualified to, offer up a critique of the band but I'll say they write a lot about life in the South; both good and bad, and they're great storytellers.  Many of their songs have a distinct political opinion and that's one of the things that has endeared them to me.

Mostly because their opinion meshes pretty well with mine.

But, not everyone's.

Especially these days.

Which brings me, more or less, to my point.

As I often do, after the show, I posted some random pictures to various social media that I use.  It's what we do now, right?  We share these snippets of our lives with those we interact with, some good, long-time friends, some casual acquaintances, and some people we don't even know but may be friends of friends.  It feels like there's a word for that btw but I could be wrong.  No, not strangers...

So, among the pictures I posted was this one -

I don't recall the song, but "Sweet Baby" Jay was just crushing it.  So I snapped this shot.  As I was driving home last night, I realized I was starving and since I didn't go to the grocery store yesterday, I figured I'd just grab a bite to eat from a late-night diner on the way home.  I also took that opportunity to post my photos from the night on Facebook and Twitter.  In the ten minutes it took me to drive home after eating, I saw I had a couple "likes" and one "angry".

When I got up this morning, I checked to see who took note of what I posted and saw the "angry" poster had also added the comment "All Lives Matter".

Now, this gets tricky for me.  While I post what I want to post here, I do take pains to avoid blatantly controversial positions.  I have so few regular readers, I try to avoid alienating them.  For the most part.  And, since I know "angry" and like him, consider him a friend, I'm not writing this to call anyone out.

Quite the opposite.

I considered how I was going to respond for quite a little while this morning.  Because, as I said, I like "angry" and I didn't want to call him out.  I recognize we don't agree on several things.  But that's ok.  He's entitled to his opinion, just like I'm entitled to mine.  And I'm fairly sure a post on social media isn't going to change his opinion just like I know it isn't going to change mine.

I mean, really.  Have you ever looked at something 180 degrees from your beliefs and said to yourself

"Huh.  All this time I was wrong.  Breathing really is bad for me."

Exactly.  So I chose not to address the comment.  Still, I was prepared to step in if some of my more liberal friends chose to challenge the statement.  The situation resolved itself however, when "angry" deleted his post after an hour or so.

Here's the thing, I don't like trolls.  You may, but I don't. Some may enjoy taking them on, I don't. Some may enjoy being a troll from time-to-time but that's something entirely different.  When I post something of a political nature, I post what I believe.  I try hard not to post unverified stuff, but sometimes I get careless and let one slip by.  And I try, really hard not to inject my opinions into the posts of others.  More conservative others.  Again, occasionally I slip up.  And sometimes I've done as "angry" did.  Including self-deleting my comment.  I sometimes get surprised at the beliefs others have.  But I try, really hard, to understand how they may have gotten to that belief.  If some random troll pops up on one of my posts it's one thing.  But if a friend tosses out a comment I may not agree with, I try and give them the credit they've built up with me over the course of our friendship.

If a friend wants to block or unfollow me, it happens.  I've stopped following some friends because I'd rather hold to an opinion I've formed of them built over time rather than a random post or two that make me scratch my head.

I've actually been thinking about dropping Facebook again.  For whatever reason it just seems more trollable.  The only thing that keeps me on it is the fact that it draws more readers to my humble little blog than any other platform.  By far.  Like, it's not even close.  I almost feel like I'm selling my soul by doing that.

I saw a post recently that made a lot of sense to me, and I was able to relate it to something that also felt rational.  So, I think I'm going to end this way.

I can like the police and not like police brutality.  These things are not mutually exclusive.  Just like, as a firefighter, I have no use for a firefighter that is an arsonist.

I think these last two opinions make sense.  Maybe everyone doesn't, but maybe more people should.

Peace

48's

Ok.

Ima tell you right up front, this one is kind of hitting to all fields.  I guess that happens when you go a month(!) between posts...

I just settled in to my local happy place (with a lovely vanilla latte) after getting home from a 48.  For the uninitiated, a 48 is what we around the firehouse call it when we work two shifts back-to-back.  Our annual union golf outing (where we raise money for these folks) was yesterday, and, since I learned a long time ago my temperament is not conducive to happiness on the golf course (it does, however, dovetail nicely into creative use of bad words) I wasn't planning on going.  My Lieutenant was going to get "forced back" to work yesterday.  That means exactly what you think it means.  Since I wasn't golfing, he asked if I could take the force back for him.  Bob, in addition to being a good (shameless pandering since I know he reads this stuff) dude is also VP of our local so it was, to me, kind of a big deal that he be there.  Btw Bob, I heard you won some swag yesterday... just sayin... any way, I worked a 48 in the high-rise district.  It was basically uneventful, busyish both days but not crazy.  Apparently someone turned the gravity up in beautiful DG since several of our calls the last two days involved picking up someone unable to do so on their own.  Typically the people most affected by this uptick in the Earth's gravitational pull are, shall we say, full figured.  Additionally, it's rare that these folks are injured, other than maybe bruised pride.

That doesn't always go both ways either.  The last two people we helped to regain verticality were both in excess of 350 pounds.  It's also, btw, rare that these folks are left in a position that lends itself to proper lift technique.  You know, lift with your legs and not your back?  Yeah, that's often just not possible in the real world.  So there are two main goals here-

A.) don't cause further harm to the patient.
B.) don't cause harm to any of our crew.

But when said patient is wedged alongside her car with the door hanging open it's not easy to get enough people in there to make a lift while spreading the work to enough of our people so that no one had to move awkwardly.

This is also one of the reasons I'm as active politically as I am.  The laws of unintended consequences are fully involved in things like, oh... say... Tier II pensions.  These came about due to some "sky is falling" types that said public safety pensions wrecked, and would ultimately destroy, America as we know it.  And quite possibly the entire planet if not the entire solar system.  Tier II came about as compromise legislation by all involved stakeholders and, among other things, it raises the minimum retirement age from 50 to 55 along with raising minimum service time from 20 years to 25 years.

At face value these moves are no big deal, right?

Life rarely operates on face value only.

When people ask me why I'm retiring, I often tell them I know it's time because "everything aches, nothing hurts" and while I say it to bring a chuckle, it's also pretty accurate.  Twenty eight years of picking up people that fought the law (of physics) and the law won has taken a toll on my body.  Without going into details I'll just say that the longer I stay, the more likely I'm going to get hurt or cause injury to one of the guys I work with.

Neither is an acceptable outcome.

Ever.

What I'm getting at here is this; the guys that are now Tier II employees are going to, I believe, have a much higher incidence of on-the-job injuries than my generation has had.  I mean, through no fault of their own, it's just the aging process of the human body.  There's no way a 55 year-old can do the things as well as she or he could do at 40, 45, or 50.  The differences may be negligible, but when compounded over time, they show up.  In the form of more workers comp claims.  Something our very own governor (small "g"intended) Nero is trying to address by making it harder for employees to qualify for, file for, and claim, workers comp injury.  And that's assuming no one comes on the job above age 30.

That's messed up, imho.

Last thing; if you start today at 35 years of age, the maximum here in Illinois, you'll be 60 years old when you're eligible to retire.  I do know a couple guys that worked or are working into their 60's and believe me, they are the exception and not the rule.  That's not throwing shade at anyone either, merely my opinion.

So, back to my 48.

One of the perks to this recent 48, which is very likely my last one because did you even read what I just wrote, is the Lt. I worked with yesterday is a wonderful baker and he made for me (us) a blueberry cobbler from scratch.  Can I just say that my belly was very happy?  Despite a mild admonition at my annual physical to cut down on sweets, I had a chunk for breakfast too because, again, did you read what I just wrote?

BLUEBERRY.

COBBLER.

Yes, please.

I kind of wanted to say a little more here, but when I got home this morning the pooch was off her game a little, I think due to my absence, so I'm gonna head back and hang out with her a little longer. Besides, I think I hear an ice pack calling out for my back...

Peace

Random Acts and Kindness

Caitlin was born 32 years ago today.  She only got to celebrate 17 birthdays though.  I'm sure you're aware of that if you've ever spent any time here.  And, if you haven't, well, you see, it's like this.  

Caitlin was killed by a drunk driver in May of 2003.  The crash was on the 22nd and she died from her injuries on the 24th.  The next year we started a 5k walk to raise funds for a scholarship in Caitlin's memory and we kept that going for 10 years.  

In the course of those 10 years, the emotional train that ran roughshod through our family took Diane too, from a massive heart attack.  

Which prolonged the train ride for those of us left behind.  

But, as with most things, the more you do a thing, the more you learn what to do.  And, for that matter, what not to do.  There's no timetable on that however.  It's still very much a learn as you go kind of thing.  But the natural repetition of life allows us to handle most Caitlin/Diane related scenarios fairly smoothly.  Outwardly at least.  See the title of this blog for clarity.  

I wish I could remember a story from one of Caitlin's birthdays to relate here.  Instead, thinking about the title for this post, and the randomness of the events that led us to this point, I'll tell you about the immediate impact of that random act.

As we walked into her room in the NICU, the first glimpse of Caitlin took my breath away.  That image is one of the things from this time that is indelibly burned into my brain.  She looked so tiny in the huge bed.  Her arms were bundled up in huge rolls of gauze and she was propped up by pillows under both arms and legs.  Her face was bruised, swollen and distorted.  She had tubes and wires everywhere.  She was on a ventilator.  She had a broken femur in her left leg and a broken tibia in her right leg.  She had a broken humerus in her left arm and a broken ulna in her right arm.  She had a fractured pelvis.  A lacerated liver, a ruptured spleen and contusions on her heart, lungs and brain.  Even though she hadn’t regained consciousness since the crash, they had her in a medically induced coma because they were already concerned about the bruising on her brain.  The doctors were concerned that the swelling of her brain, left unchecked, would increase pressure on her brain and reduce blood flow to and oxygen supply for her brain.  The brain is surrounded by cerebrospinal fluid.  Among other things, it acts as a cushion for the brain so if, for example, you hit your head against something, your brain won’t smash against the inside of your skull causing even more damage.  Typically, at rest, the pressure in your brain is measured in the low teens.  Caitlin’s intracranial pressure (ICP) was already in the low 20’s and, despite the best efforts of the doctors, it showed no signs of slowing down.

Diane sobbed as we walked up to Caitlin’s bedside.  The nurse was speaking to us, explaining everything we were looking at, but I don’t think either of us heard a word she said.  

It was hardly the first time I’d seen something like this.  In my job, it’s not unusual to be on the scene of a crash like the one Caitlin was in, a crash that results in multi-system trauma.  It’s also not uncommon to be passing through the Emergency Department and see someone with the types of injuries Caitlin sustained.  The problem came in, for me, because very early in my career I learned to de-personalize the things I saw.  I learned how potentially easy it was to assign the personality traits or the physical characteristics of a family member to many of the emergency situations I would encounter.  And how unsettling it would be to me unless I removed every bit of emotion from what I needed to do.  So that’s what I always did.  Not this time though.  This, this was so different from anything I’d ever known.  I couldn’t possibly de-personalize this.  Not that I ever wanted to.  I mean, for crying out loud, this was Caitlin lying there, broken and bruised.  This hurt like nothing I’d ever known before.  And I know it was a hundred times worse for Diane.  

A thousand times worse.  

A million times worse.

How could it not be?  I think the bond between mother and child is probably the strongest human connection.  At least in most cases.  And the bond between Diane and her girls was always strong.  Sure they had their differences, who doesn’t?  But they genuinely enjoyed the company of each other in any number of different settings.  True, most that I’ve mentioned revolved around shopping, but to leave it at that is an oversimplification and it does a great disservice to them.

So, because I don't want your takeaway to this post to be all sobby and sniffly and teary eyed I thought I'd follow up that part of Caitlin's too short life with this part.

As with so many stories involving Diane and the girls, this one took place one day while I was at work.  It was a little before Mother’s Day 2002.  Caitlin and Diane had spent the entire day, a Saturday, cleaning the townhouse we lived in at the time, cleaned it from top to bottom.  After they finished, they were taking a break and Caitlin came up to Diane, put her arm around her and said -

“Mom, we worked hard today.”

Diane said “Yes we did.”

“We should do something nice for ourselves.”

Diane looked at her.

Caitlin said “Mom, let’s go get our belly buttons pierced.”

“Are you crazy? I’m 47 years old, I’m not going to get my belly button pierced!”

“No, really Mom, let’s go.  It’ll be a bonding thing.  It’ll be my Mother’s Day gift to you.”

Sigh “Ok, but don’t ever tell Grandma.”

I’ve got so many stories like that, of things Diane did with one or both of her girls, they were very close.  So when Diane described a “Caitlin-sized hole in her heart” I believed her.  I just didn’t realize at that time how close to reality that description was.

So, as we try and mark today in Caitlin's honor, using an idea ignited by the Oldest One (soon to be even older...) I want to ask you to join in.  See, Random Acts of Kindness is something we do now in Caitlin's memory.  Do something nice for someone at random. If you choose to do it anonymously, that's fine.  If you choose not to, tell the person it's to honor an amazing, young, woman taken too soon by a drunk driver.  

Help us turn a horrible random act into a beautiful one.

Happy birthday kiddo.

I love you.

Peace

Learning Has Occurred.

Today came about pretty spontaneously.  Well, today didn't.  It was going to happen whether any of us wanted it to or not.  I guess I should say that this post came about all on its lonesome due to the actions of a plucky few.

Allow me to explain.  Trust me, it'll go a lot easier if you do...

As it turns out, I'm working in the high-rise district today, on a trade so I can go to the aforementioned Wilco show tomorrow night in Rockford.  As a result, I'm working mostly with guys I don't normally work with.  Except for one, Mike, who is also in on a trade.  This means I don't necessarily know the habits (quirks?) of the guys here today.

As we sat around the kitchen table this morning figuring out who was doing what and looking at how our day might shake out, there was a little discussion (as is typical) about (and, I might add, vitally important) meals.  The guys on Fightin' Medic 3, sorry, old habits die hard, Fightin' Medic 103, were tasked with meals which, of course, includes shopping for same.

Now, we have the good fortune of having multiple options for groceries in our still district.  We have, in no particular order; Angelo Caputo's, Trader Joe's and Jewel.  That's kind of nice from a shopping perspective, but there is a point or two I'd like to make here.

Eventually.

If you come by here at all, you've probably seen one or more of my rants on life around the firehouse, including what unionism has done to make things better in our jobs.  I take that seriously, far more seriously now than I did back in the day.  Back when I was too ignorant to heed good advice from my local's union leaders.  And that's one of the many reasons I spend as much time as I do preaching the positive aspects of unionism to the young guys around here now.  Kind of a "learn from my mistakes"  lesson.

But if you ask me, and, frankly, even if you don't, I'll tell you that I believe good union members don't look out only for the best interests of themselves and their coworkers.  Good union members look out for the best interests of union members everywhere.  And, indirectly, the best interests of everyone else in a "rising tide lifts all boats" kind of way.

So what do I mean?  I mean, if you're going to call yourself a good union member, spend your money in union shops whenever possible.  If you need a new car, buy one that's made by United Auto Workers members instead of something that was shipped here from overseas.  Need some electrical work done in your house?  Hire a member of the International Brotherhood of Electrical Workers.  And if you're buying groceries, patronize a United Food and Commercial Workers store.

Like, in the greater Chicagoland area, a Jewel store for instance.

I didn't make a point of mentioning this to the guys before they left.  Again, I don't have to say it to the guys I usually work with, they get it.  And, with rare (very rare) exception, they spend our money at the Jewels.  So, as I sat in the bubble this morning (the best spot in any of our firehouses to sit and think btw) contemplating what I would say to (and write about, because obvs) the fellas when they got back, you can imagine my delight when they rolled back to the station carrying...

Yup.  Jewels bags.

Go on, take a second and imagine my delight.

Cause let me tell you, my delight was significant.  And I pointed that out to them.  I was (still am) proud that they chose so wisely.  Of course, Al admitted to me that thinking about the earful I'd have given them had they not gone to the Jewels was what kept him on the straight and narrow.  Hey, any port in the storm, amirite?

I fully recognize people sometimes will overlook, innocently, what should be an easy choice.  I recognize that sometimes people will, unknowingly, make a non-union choice.  I also know that sometimes people, like my friend Erick (I haven't figured out if the "c" or the "k" is redundant, but one of them is), will make a deliberate choice of non-union brewed adult beverage for the sole purpose of getting me spun up for his own amusement.  But that's a story for another day.

So what am I getting at here?  In brief (Ok, the "brief" ship has long since sailed) I want to remind my brother and sister union members (and anyone else willing to listen) that we owe a lot to our unions.  In many cases the roof over our head, the clothes on our back, the food in our kids belly, etc. These wages, work conditions, benefits, et al were not given to us out of the generosity of our employers, they were fought for by our unions.  We should be proud of our unionism.  We should support our unionism.  And, if we want others to support us, we should recognize other union members need our support too.  When union jobs are lost; say, because we want to save a few pennies by shopping at a cheap, non-union store, we have no one to blame but ourselves.

Brotherhood is more than just a word.  It's a way of life.

At least it should be.

Peace

PS.  Can I just give one more tip of the hat to Al and Nate?  Not only did they shop Jewels, they brought back some chocolate chip and some double chocolate cookies.  And as we all know, cookies are good for the soul.

There, Their, They're; Let's Play Fun With Words

As I was driving over to the coffeehouse this morning, I saw something that I see often and almost always prompts the same response from me; muttering under my breath (not really) about (I mean, I was muttering but it was out loud) the quality of the education the bearer received.  Perhaps you've seen this too.  A car with either a window sticker or bumper sticker or, as was the case this morning, a license plate holder proclaiming there was an "alumni" of some institution of higher learning inside.  I've got news for you Mr./Ms. college graduate... unless there are two or more of you in the vehicle, or, possibly, if you're schizophrenic, you are NOT an "alumni" of any school.  What you ARE is, in fact, an "alumnus".

Look it up.

Here for instance.

You're welcome.

As I said above, this is not an isolated incident.  I can only recall one time off the top of my head where I noticed one of those things and thought to myself "Oh look!  Someone that gets it!"  Whereas I've seen, literally, hundreds of them with the wrong use of the word.

The things that occupy my mind...

I've gotten to the point where I completely disregard anything on social media until I proofread it.  You want to get your point across to me?  Spell shit correctly.  And I'm not talking about the occasional typo.  Everyone makes them, I know I do.  If I catch a mistake after I post something I almost always edit it and send it back out.  Here too.  And it still happens.  I typically proofread these at least twice before I hit the publish button and I still miss stuff.  I know that because I sometimes reread old posts.  And seeing my own errors makes me twitchy.

And fwiw, it's not "I could of done that" it's "I could have done that".  Jesus people, check out a book once in a while, would you?

Now that I've gotten that off my chest, let me tell you about my week.  Wednesday night I'm going with my friend Tom to see Wilco play a show in Rockford.  Needless to say, I'm stoked.  Plus there are few people on the planet I'd rather see a concert with than Tom.  So there's that.

Next, Thursday is (or should be) Caitlin's 32nd birthday.  A bittersweet day, as so many of them are.  A day like this can't go by without wondering, in the words of Kenny Chesney "Who You'd Be Today" and that usually being accompanied by a tear or two.  I may write more about her on Thursday, I haven't decided yet.  There's so much to write, and to think about.  14 years down the road how can you not wonder what would be?

We stopped doing The Walk in 2013, after 10 years of raising money for her scholarship.  After that, the Oldest One decided she wanted to do something more to continue Caitlin's presence among people that never knew her.  So she started Random Acts of Kindness for Caitlin as a way of doing that.  It's a wonderful way to commemorate her too short life and I heartily recommend it.  You can do a search on Facebook to find her page and participate.  Or, of course, you can just do something nice for some random, unknown person on Caitlin's behalf.

Speaking of the Oldest One, Friday is her birthday.  And, while I don't want to put her age out there on the interwebz, let me just say that, Ellie was 39 for as far back as I can remember.  And I'm not even joking.  I don't recall a time when, if asked her age, my Mom would reply with any answer other than "39 years old".  To the point that when my oldest nieces were younger, they couldn't understand how Gram was younger than their mother...

So, since I'm not going to put OO's actual age up on here, I will point out that she'll soon be older than Ellie.  Which, while making me chuckle a little also fills me with no small amount of dread since, you know, I'm her father and, by default, significantly older.

Insert wide eyed emoji >here<

Peace