Christmas Wrappings

This is another one of those that may not see (I should try and figure out how many I've canned before posting) the light of day, I'm going to kind of wing it and see what I think.

So, if you spent any amount of time in a grocery store in the days leading up to Christmas, you may well have done a little bit of self-loathing for-

A.) Not stocking up well in advance of the madness
B.) Not shopping at 3:00 AM or some other ungodly hour when the store would be semi-vacant or
C.) Not conning a loved one into doing the shopping for you.  The crowds were insane, as usual.

And, I knew this going in when I pulled into the lot on the day before the day before.  I actually sat in the car for a couple minutes and texted the Oldest One to see if she needed anything since I was there.  And, I admitted I had no clue why I was there, since I had no urgent purchases looming over my head.

I again questioned my own sanity and entered the Jewels.

I wandered semi-aimlessly around the store for ten or fifteen minutes, hoping I'd see something that would trigger why I decided to stop.  I grabbed a couple not really essential items so I didn't feel like a complete boob and put them in my cart.  I called the Boy Child to see if they needed me to bring something over, again admitting I must have lost my mind for being there.  But when he said they didn't need anything, I wandered the store one more time and headed to the checkout.

I placed my dozen or so things on the belt and realizing someone had entered the line behind me, grabbed one of the dividers and placed it after my order.

All he had placed on the belt was a six pack of Stella Artois.

Feeling the need to make small talk, I complimented him on his selection.  In addition to being, imho, a lovely brew, it's also a union-made adult beverage.

The man looked to be about my age and was very soft-spoken, with, I think, a bit of a southern accent.  My hearing, not being what it used to be (25 years of sirens and air horns will do that to you) I couldn't really understand what he'd said.  But I thought I caught something and as I looked at the necklace he was wearing I saw a ring on it.

I said "Excuse me, but did you say your wife just passed away last month?"

He replied "Yes, she died suddenly November 30th.  From a massive heart attack."

He went on to tell me they had three kids at home.  He also told me she wasn't very old and had been in otherwise excellent health.

I told him how sorry I was for his loss and explained I'd lost my wife suddenly in 2006.  And, as I always do, I told him to be aware of "the seconds".  I guess it's become what I do.  We stood in line talking about grief and what lay ahead for him and his kids and I tried as best I could to let him know what he might expect.

As we left the Jewels and headed for our cars I wished him the best and tried to remind him he had a lot of people sending him strength, whether he knew it or not.

As I approached my car I heard a chuckle behind me and it was him, just realizing he'd parked right next to me.

He said his name was Frank and I told him mine.  And then I told him that I'd had no idea why I went to the grocery store and was questioning my sanity.

Right up until the time he'd told me his story.

We gave each other a hug and parted ways.

I'm not sure what I think.

You know, I mean about a higher power.  And the whole "why are we here" thing has me baffled.  My beliefs have migrated, and will probably continue to migrate, about things like that.  I think I'd probably describe myself as more spiritual than religious.  I don't have the wisdom to differentiate between random acts and Divine intervention.  In all honesty I don't know that it makes a difference, ultimately, which of those two occurrences takes place.  The end result is the end result.  And I get that there are those that will see something here and assign their beliefs to it.  To me, the definition of faith is believing in something that makes no logical sense.  I'm ok with that too btw.  If your faith leads you to believe things happen for a reason, so be it.  I'm not doing this to debate theology with anyone or anything like that.

I think I'm just going to leave this right here, I can feel myself heading in a direction I'd rather avoid.

I think I'll close this by just asking that what ever the thing is that gets you through the night, ask for a little strength and kindness for Frank and his family.

They're going to need it.

Peace

Good Girl

I took Sophie for a walk this morning, in the rain.

Actually "walk" is not the most accurate way to describe what we do.  When asked by one of the many neighbors she's caused me to meet, I usually describe it as "going for a sniff".  She's 10 years old, has arthritis in both hips and has synthetic ligaments in both knees, so she doesn't really tolerate long distances.  Instead, we go for four to six blocks, pausing often in favorite yards for a break and sniffing, what seems like, every possible smell she can find.  These short distances take us, typically, thirty minutes or more to complete.

She's always off leash when we do this, to be honest, I'm not convinced I know where the leash is at this point.  She does a pretty good job of staying by me but I really don't care too much if she wanders a little further from me than she should.  She's social with both people and other dogs, but I usually call her close because you never know how others might react to her.

I stood on the sidewalk, watching her blissfully roll in something (probably something disgusting) in somebody's yard, getting rained on.

And it didn't bother me in the least.

I told you that to tell you this.

Good news, bad news.

The good news is, I started my day by hanging out with the Beatle baby (Beatle toddler?) and the little Diamond.

The bad news is, I did it so my son and daughter-in-law could take their beloved boxer, Maggie (aka Good Girl) to the vet.

Her final trip to the vet.

Yes, THAT final trip to the vet.

Maggie was the first boxer I ever met.  She was a sweet, sweet dog.  She doted on her human babies.  And she filled huge portions of R and D's hearts.  And will for quite some time.

She would almost always greet me with a toy in her mouth, eager to play tug of war and she loved flashing "puppy eyes" to guilt someone into giving her a treat.

She was 11 years old and for most of that time she was pretty healthy.  Knee surgery slowed her down for a bit, but she recovered pretty well from it.  Recently, she was diagnosed with kidney failure and while the vet took great care of her and it looked like she was on the mend, it took it's toll on her, leaving her unable to stand without falling and only hobbling around the house.

Maggie had a huge heart and hid her pain well, I think.  But it ultimately became obvious there was no choice but to ease her suffering.

Now, before you say something stupid like "it's only a dog" let me just say something...

I've got the grief bona fides down pat, thank you very much, and if you doubt that read here, here, here or here and if you're still of the opinion I'm spending too much time talking about "a dog" save yourself some time and stop reading.  Grief is grief and none of us have the right to tell someone else they're doing it wrong.

Lose my web address too.  Thanks.

I also wanted to say something to the Boy Child and my favorite daughter-in-law, even though I think they both know it.  There may come a time when you decide to get another dog.  That's ok.

That time may never come.  That's ok too.

You'll know the time if it comes.

So I guess I'll wrap this up by saying-

If you've got a pet of some sort in your life, good for you.  Personally, I think they add so much more to our lives than they may be an inconvenience to us.  My life has been enriched beyond measure by the animals that I have been around.  I still, on occasion, think about some of the ones I've lost.

Even Tobi, the Jack Russell terrorist.

And always, I smile at their memories.

Take good care of your pets, they do so much for us, and all they ask in return is a little love.

It seems to me they're getting the bad end of the deal.

Peace.

An open letter to a grieving friend

I'm so sorry for your loss.

This is something that, for reasons that are unclear to me now, I've become quite familiar with.  The untimely loss of a loved one.  It's never easy.  And, obviously, your life and the lives of your family are about to change in ways you can't imagine.  Please let me offer some advice, take it for what you will, but it's from my personal experience and I hope in some small way it can help prepare you for what's ahead.

People will say some things to you that will seem, at face value, unthinkably insensitive.  They mostly mean well, but unless you've lived through this, words often fail us at times like these.

"He's in a better place"

Bullshit.  His place is with you, where you thought he'd be until you were both well into your Golden Years.

"It was meant to be"

Why?  Why was it meant to be that way?  What purpose does it serve?  Whose purpose?  

"At least it happened fast, there was no suffering"

Excuse me?  No suffering my ass.  Have you noticed how my family and I feel?  We're going through Hell here.

"Oh you're so strong.  If it was me I don't know what I'd do"

This is probably the single most offensive thing you'll hear.  How dare you imply I'm not hurting?  How dare you think that whatever you've imagined in your head in the last 12 seconds is worse than what my family and I are ACTUALLY LIVING THROUGH?

And those are just for starters.  There will be more.  The people that offer these up truly mean well (almost all of them) but have no clue how hurtful these words can be.

You'll quickly be able to pick up whether someone is being sincere in their expression or not and that will be helpful.  Sincerity goes a long way toward assuaging the feelings you're going through. 

You'll also quickly learn to respond in kind.  When someone offers up a disposable phrase of condolence, you'll respond with an innocuous word or two of thanks.  But when someone reaches out in sincerity and touches your soul, however briefly, you'll be able to offer warm thanks to them.

Many people will tell you "call me if you need anything".  Take them up on it.  If something comes up that you can't deal with, call one of the people that made that offer and ask them to handle it for you.  Whatever it may be, no matter how serious or mindless the task, there will be times that you just can't bring yourself to deal with it.  So don't.  Ask for help.  

Your phone book will change.  I promise you that.  There will be people, in some cases long-time friends, that will stop calling you.  Try not to take it personally, it's a "them" problem, not a "you" problem.  And, conversely, there will be people you rarely had contact with that will become go-to sources for help, assurance, support, what have you.  You'll find you can count on them for things you'd never imagine you could need.  

Allow yourself time to grieve.  I know you need to "be strong" for your family.  And yourself too.  But make sure to find some time, whenever you can, whenever you need it, to mourn your loss.  You need it, more than you can know right now.  

And don't ever, EVER, let someone try to tell you "you've grieved long enough, get over it, move on".  Nothing makes my blood boil more than someone trying to tell me when I've had enough grief.  The Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders, 4th Edition says if you're still grieving after six months, you've got a problem.

No shit.

You just lost someone that you loved.  You don't, however, have a mental problem.  I don't know if the 5th Edition says the same thing, but you'll find people that believe the 4th is gospel.  They've never lived with loss.  In my opinion, as long as you're not doing something that harms yourself, anything you do to deal with that loss is ok.  Screw the DSM IV.

The first year is going to be rough.  Dealing with all the "firsts" holidays, birthdays, anniversaries, etc.  But the "seconds" will sneak up on you.  You'll think "I made it through the first year, I'm ok now" and as the "seconds" roll in, they'll hit you like a sucker punch to the gut.  So be aware of them too.

Please remember hundreds, if not thousands of people, some you've never met and some you may never meet, are offering up their thoughts and prayers to you and your family.  You have more love and strength coming to you than you can imagine.  I hope that offers some small degree of support.  

It doesn't get easier with time.  But you'll learn to live with your new "normal".  We all have.  I always equate it to being a recovering alcoholic; one step at a time.  Keep putting one foot in front of the other and you'll get there.  Of course, I don't know where "there" is.

I don't know if I ever will.

I'll see you tonight, my friend.

Peace

  

The Last Paragraph

I was challenged by a friend recently, to write the last paragraph of, essentially, my life.

No, it's not like that.  I'm not terminal (although truly we all are) or anything like that, but rather, it's to help fill in the middle.  

I've been thinking about this task a lot for the last day or so.  I don't want it to be an epitaph (obvs) but really, what will my last paragraph be?  

What will anyone's be?

Pretty deep stuff for a Sunday morning, no?

I've documented large chunks of my life and the lives of my family here, so if you've spent any amount of time reading through these pages, well, you kind of get where I'm coming from.  I've never actively sought sympathy from this or any of the things I do related to the losses I've experienced.  Don't get me wrong, I appreciate a kind word or a warm touch on the arm and a genuine word of encouragement as much as the next guy.  But it's not something I seek.  Just like speaking, I find this both cathartic and crippling.  To open up a vein and bleed on the page or the stage is not an easy thing to do and it often drains me emotionally.  The message is, of course, important and that's a huge reason why I do what I do.  Frequent snark, here more so than when I speak, helps to blast through the emotion.  Kind of a dark humor approach, I think.  It's a defense mechanism I learned from my job many years ago and it serves me well from time to time.  It's not always appropriate but it works for me.

And personally, when someone says "If you reach one person, it's worth it" I say "Bullshit".  If I only reach one person, I've wasted everyone's time, mine included.  My intent is to get inside the head (and heart) of everyone I speak (or write) to, unless of course I'm being a smart ass at the time.  Which happens.  

I feel like this assignment is causing me, more than ever, to consider what my legacy might be.  I'm not sure if you've ever thought about your own.  In what way do you want the world to remember you?  The easy answers are "good person,father, husband, sibling, grandfather, etc." but is that really enough?  I mean, think about it.  I don't want a mountain or highway or anything really named after me, but I want to accomplish something so that, at least someone, will say "Oh yeah, he was the guy that did..."  Of course right now I have no clue what that ellipse represents.  

And, when I think of the things that were important to me fifteen years ago versus the things that are important to me now, well they've changed.  Some values are still the same of course, family and so on, but fifteen years ago, while I was involved in things with my union, it didn't take up the same portion of my time as it does now.  Politics are another example of something that takes up far more of my life than it did then.  And that's just two examples off the top of my head.  So, it seems to me that my last paragraph today may well be completely different than one I may have ten years from now.  But whatever it is it won't allow me to ever wear black ankle socks and black shoes with khaki shorts.  Holy crap.  Sorry for the break in the action but a guy just walked in to the coffee shop wearing that and... just... well, let me say, yikes.  

That doesn't lessen the pressure on me to craft a worthwhile last paragraph now either.  And I was kind of hoping it would.  Like a lot.  

I have faults.  The number and quality varies depending on who you ask.  I'd like to think the  (Grateful Dead plagiarism alert) long strange trip it's been has made me a better person, I really would.  But whether that's factual or not, I won't know.  Because really, I don't think I can know that.  It seems to me that since I won't know how the final chapter of my life ends, all I can do is try and take the lessons that life has handed me and make something from them.  I won't know the end result, since that won't take place until I'm on to the next plane of existence.  Trying to prevent what happened to us from happening to another family is something I've used, as have the kids, as a goal for my life.  And, just like my question of if I'm a better person now than I was, I won't know this answer.  So, as I evolve toward my ultimate conclusion, I'm going to ask this question.  Will I know?  Is there some quantifiable number of lives we've changed?  Will there be a Capra-esque scene at the end of (or after) my life where I'll find out?  

I hope so.  Because I think, as much as anything, that will be my legacy.

And I think I just wrote my final paragraph.

Peace.

Landed Gentry

I think I'm adopted.

Not really.  

In fact a better open to this tripe would probably be to ask my ancestors what the heck they were thinking.

Allow me to explain...

As far back as I can remember, my Aunt June was the family historian.  Both sides of the family too, in addition to being my Dad's sister, her husband, my uncle Don, was my Mom's brother.  That's how Andy and Ellie met, but that's a story for another time.  

Maybe.  

Probably not.  

But possibly.  

Don't hold your breath on that one.

Anyway, Aunt June was the "go-to" for family history and several years ago she made a pamphlet detailing what she knew about the Mains genealogy.  For some reason I had it stashed in my locker at work.  Don't ask, I don't know why.  But when I came across it a couple of weeks ago, I sat down and started flipping through it reading about my grandparents and my Dad's grandparents.  And, in there, I saw an ancestor that was born in New Jersey in 1765.  A great-great how ever many grandfather.  

And I thought to myself "holy crap we've been here a long time".  I never really paid that much attention to this kind of stuff in the past. But now, my curiosity was piqued (an underused word imho) so I decided a few days later to dig a little deeper.  

My cousin Judy (June's daughter) has taken over the role of family historian, and, through the wonder of the interwebz, has dug pretty deep (as has the photojournalist in the family, shout out to the D-I-L) and thanks to the well-known ancestry website, they've both uncovered quite a little bit of Mains family history.

Like, back in the day, my people ran with Robert The Bruce.  They were granted large tracts of land.  They had "Sir" in front of their first names.  They married into dynastic families.  They were kind of a big deal.  

Of course, in this instance, "back in the day" refers to the 90's.  

As in the 1290's.

As in the 13th Century.

THAT 1290's

So here's my question...

Where did we (and when I say "we" I mean "you people") go wrong?  What happened?  How is it that I grew up here in beautiful northern Illinois and not on the Scottish highlands?  

Where's my castle?  

Why do I not have serfs?

Do people even have serfs anymore?

I don't think I need a manservant, I mean I've been dressing myself for quite some time now, but still, I could have had one if you people upstream of me in the gene pool hadn't done something.  So what was it?  What did you do?  Some kind of mayhem or thuggery lost to the ages?  

I found a website that's apparently dedicated to the oulde (too much?) clan (I thought it was a nice touch, besides, you never know when good old 12th cousin 46 times removed the Earl of Upson Downham might read this) and this (totally made up title btw) is how my peeps were described.-

The Menzies’ are recorded as a relatively peaceful clan, predominately siding with law and order and the established Monarchy. Although surrounded by powerful neighbours, the Menzies held on to their inheritance without recourse to violent conflict. Differences with their neighbours were mainly resolved by diplomacy, litigation or convenient marriage and they became the oldest family in Strathtay with an unbroken descent in the direct main line down to 1910

So we've got "relatively peaceful" going for us and while siding with "established Monarchy" isn't necessarily my cup of tea (see what I did there?) I like the diplomacy aspect of my family's past.

But still, nothing to indicate what is, ultimately, my loss of title and land.

They stuck around the grounds more or less until 1600 when good old Josiah Means was born in County Cork, Ireland.  No clue why they went to Ireland and the old man died 44 years later in Scotland.  Josiah's grandson, born in Enniskillen in 1665 and died in New Jersey in 1742, was apparently the first of the lot to set foot here in the colonies sometime before the birth of a son in 1699.  

Again, what's the deal?

Not much of consequence once we got to the States, although there is a document that shows one of them received a pension (first familial drain on society, yaaay us!) for serving in the Revolutionary War.  That leads me to believe we lost our stuff pre-America.  

So.

What was it?

For any interested parties, feel free to post your thoughts.  I'm willing to adopt the most creative demise of the dynasty as my reality.

Fire away.

and (ironically)

Peace.

The Blonde Dog

Meet my favorite four-legged being in the history of the world -

Forgive the grainy quality of that picture, it was taken several years ago and technology wasn't quite what it is today.  Nevertheless, this ranks among my favorite pictures of my goofy dog.  "Someone" had the audacity to put one of her tennis balls in the garbage and she wanted to know why she couldn't have it.  In my defense, it was a shell of it's former self.

Literally.

The cover had been ripped off and it was almost in two pieces.  Still, it was hers and she wanted it back.  

Until I showed her the new and improved (Now with squeaker!) version.

I remember, pretty vividly, how she came to enter our lives.  The Quiet Child had come home for a visit.  She was around 4 months pregnant with the Boy Genius and one evening we were all sitting on the front porch when she told us she wanted to get a puppy.  She figured she could get it trained more or less before the baby was due and she thought it would be good for the two to grow up together.  I admit I was surprised when she said she was thinking about a Lab.  I'd thought she would go for a Rot or Pit Bull.  I'm not sure why I thought that, but I remember thinking it.  Her mother mentioned there was a breeder (spare me the hate, I know it's far better to rescue.  I'm merely telling you how it went down back then) just around the corner from us, maybe they could go look at puppies.  

They did.  The next day.

I was (surprise, surprise) at work.

I got a phone call that started off, and I quote -

"These puppies are so frickin' cute!"  (again, surprise, surprise)

"You want one don't you?"

"Do you mind?" (like I had any actual say in the matter)

So, this face 

Became a part of our household.  I think that date is pretty accurate too.  We got her at about 6 weeks old and from the start, she was a pretty easy dog.  And by that I mean she was pretty easy to housebreak and she was also very laid-back.  I've heard Labs are either complete spazz's until they're about 6 years old or they're pretty mellow and Sophie was always mellow.  I still remember the first "big girl" bark she let out.  She scared herself at the sound of her own voice, like she didn't recognize that she had made the noise and she wondered where the other dog was.

There was, btw, an "other" dog.  A Jack Russell terrorist (no, that's not a misprint) named Tobi and here they are 

It's funny, looking back at this picture, because even though Sophie grew to outweigh Tobi by about 5 to 1, they always treated each other like they were still this size.  Tobi would only have to curl his lip at her and she would cower down.  He was king of the dog castle and it was never questioned.

She has always, always, been the most gentle dog I've known.  

Like here 

She could have easily shoo'd the kitten away and snarfed the food, but she laid there, watching, waiting, "oh please, oh please" for the kitten to finish so she could sneak in and claim the spoils of food war.  Check out the look on her face.  "I'm not here, you can't see me, pay no attention to the dog behind the curtain" all at once.  

And there's also the "what did I do to deserve this?" look.  Like here, when she shared her dog bed with the other two knuckleheads 

She loves many things, my Sophie.  

Like kiddie pools in the summer...

And almost anything in the winter...

Especially this...

I apologize if the audio is a bit loud, I'm not sure how to manage that, and rest assured, no animals were harmed in the production of that video.  I don't know why she loves biting the snow as it leaves the snowblower, but it's probably her favorite thing in the world.

Sophie has been one of the few constants in my life for the last 10 years.  If you know me in RL or if you're a regular visitor here, you know my family has experienced our share of sorrows.  And I don't say that, ever, because I'm looking for sympathy from anyone, merely as a frame of reference.  I fully recognize, and will offer up if asked, that my life has been blessed with more good fortune than any one person should ever get.  wonderful friends, great family, awesome kids and grandkids, I'm one lucky son of a gun.

But Sophie helped me out of a lot of funks when I didn't really want to be a functioning member of society.  She always wanted to go out and play, walk, sniff things, whatever dogs enjoy.  And I couldn't sit there like a mope when she needed to do what she needed to do.

Funny thing about Sophie, when we got her, Diane was the one that trained with her.  Took her to obedience class, worked her on her commands every day, the whole nine yards.  But whenever I came home, whether it was after five minutes or a full 48 at the firehouse, Sophie was at my side.  

Right from the start.

I don't know why, but she was.  Still is.  

I'm so very lucky to have her and I don't know what I'll do when the time comes and she's no longer with me.

                                 

I'm going to go ahead and close this gem out now, I've been far too long "crafting" this piece and I need to pick up a Sophie-friendly birthday treat for her.

Peace

PS. 

Because there's (almost) always a PS, I'm not sure if that last video is going to function or not.  If it didn't my bad, but you're SOL

Dates

 No, not the fruit.

And not the social meeting with another person either.

Instead, as I tend to do around here, I'm going to go off on a calendar date of some significance.

Yesterday's date to be exact.

The Heir to the Throne turned 15 yesterday.  15.  Yeesh.  I feel old(er).

All bias aside (not really, but it's my blog and I don't really care if I'm biased or not) he's a pretty special kid.  He's smart and smart-alecky.  He's proven to be a pretty amazing older cousin and he dotes on the younger ones, just as they adore him.  He's learning very well what it takes to suck up to me, even though he doesn't need to.  As I said when I referenced the Reigning Princess, he had me right from the start.  

He's had to deal with more grief, at a very young age, than anyone should ever have to deal with; losing first an aunt, then a grandma, then an uncle, then a great-grandmother, all before he hit his teens.  He's gone through life with the Boy Child and me as the primary male role models.   

Talk about an uphill battle...

Here's an example of why I think this kid is so special *pulls grandfatherly bragging platform out*

This past summer a tornado hit the small town a couple miles to the west of where he and the Oldest One live.  As did many others out that way, they went over to help in the aftermath; cleanup, organizing supplies that came in for the stricken, etc.  A week or so after the tornado hit, I called him to see if he wanted to go to the batting cages with me.  It's something we've been doing for the last several years.  He loves baseball, he's a pretty good player, and I enjoy helping him with his swing.  He didn't jump at the offer like he usually does, but said, sure he'd go with me.  I talked to the Oldest One a little later and she told me why he was hesitant.  

He wanted to go back over to help with the recovery some more.  

Rather than go goof off with me, he felt like it was more important to help his friends, team mates and classmates that had lost so much.

Who am I to say no to that?

I called him up and told him how very proud I was of him and told him to go help wherever he could, that doing that was so much more important than what we would do.  And I told him how very proud I was of him for being so selfless.  

See what I mean?

I saw a picture that he posted yesterday, I've seen it before but not in a while and I wanted to share it here, along with some of my other favs from over the years. 

Here he is with the Blond Child.

And here, his Nana.

And, finally, one with Sophie.

Lastly, as I try to wrap this thing up, there's a reason I wanted to do this today.  Aside from writing about a great kid, that is.  He posted something on his page yesterday and reading it broke my heart.  A classmate of the Heir's took his own life three days ago.

He was 14.

And the victim of bullying.

This needs to stop.  How did we get to this point in our collective history, where a 14 year-old feels so hated, so unloved and feels like life has given him (or her) such a raw deal that they feel they have no choice but to take their own life?  Or take the lives of others for that matter?  

We all know (or should know) the statistics, we've lost more veterans to suicide than we lost in combat in Iraq/Afghanistan.  Now, in my profession, we're learning similar statistics.  

I don't pretend to have any answers, though I wish I did.  I wish it was as easy as; be nice, be respectful, be considerate.  

But it's not.  

Or maybe it is?  Maybe that small thing, something we're all capable of doing, can help to make a difference.  I don't know.  

Every human life has value.  

And every one of us has demons.

Please don't let them get the best of you.  Please remember you are loved.  And please, if you know someone going through a hard time, for whatever reason, reach out to them and reassure them as best you can.

Peace

Diamonds

As I was driving home from work this morning, after a couple of button punches, the David Bowie classic "Changes" came on my radio.  

And it made me stop and think a bit.  I've (obvs) mentioned changes in (random southern-speak alert!) these here parts in the past a time or two and will again in the future, I'm sure.  But today I've got changes on my mind...

We were sitting at the kitchen table this morning chatting with today's shift pre shift change, when Kevin mentioned today was Rochelle's last day in the ER.  Ro is one of my favorite people on the planet and she's been a regular presence across the street for over ten years.   I had no idea she was leaving, apparently mention was made of it at one of our paramedic training sessions recently but I must have missed that one.  So, on the way home, I swung by the ER to say goodbye and fare-thee-well to a dear person.  

Ro was standing at the Charge Nurse station when I walked up behind her, put my arm around her and asked "why was I not consulted on this?"

She jumped back, got a big smile, immediately followed by a sad look on her face.  

I felt the same way.

She's moving up to one of the floors, she said it was time, and I wished her well.  She was on the verge of getting emotional (me too) but managed to laugh it off and said she'll be down to visit from time to time.

Rochelle is an outstanding nurse with a great sense of humor and those of us that had the joy of interacting with her will miss her.  And I'm sure every one of us wish her nothing but the best.

This next point, in itself is no change because I've hated winter for quite some time now.  But I've found myself looking at retirement locales recently.  

Warm(er) weather locales.  

As in, not northern Illinois locales.

Today I checked out my pension calculations.  I was curious what it would be if I left in two years, three years and two months.  

Yikes.

I'm not leaving in two months.  I don't think.  I'd really like to stick around long enough for the Heir to the Throne to come to work with me and do a ride-along and he's supposed to be 18 (again, yikes! 18? yeesh) for that to happen.  I think.  Maybe 17.  Maybe I'll get confused in a couple years and think he's 18 when he's really only 17...  

Stranger things have happened.  Just sayin...

Speaking of which, I've been on a small roll of late in that I've been "on time" for the last few appointments and/or meetings and/or gatherings of one sort or another.  This is no small accomplishment for me.  I think I can blame these on genealogy as much as anything.  At least that's my story and I'm sticking with it.  My family tends to not be the most punctual, a habit that makes some crazy.  Sure often times it's no big deal, but it can be construed as a sign of disrespect too, I get that.  And that part of it bothers me.  I'd like being punctual to be a bigger part of who I am for that reason.

Now, I wrote all that drivel to get to this...

According to the Boy Child (I believe in citing my sources whenever practical) two percent of all babies are born on their due date.  Two percent.  For all you non-math types out there, that's not many.  You're welcome.  

Grandchild number 5, granddaughter number 2 (that's one and the same person btw) arrived yesterday morning at 7:38, on her due date.  She obviously gets her promptness from her Mother's side of the family.  I have decided her nome de plume will henceforth be some derivative of-

Diamond

Clever, no?  

And so, my little jewel (not to be confused with the Jewels) let me tell you a little about the family you've been delivered to.

We're a little off...

I mean we're all (well, mostly all) nice enough, but certainly not without our quirks.  The aforementioned timeliness being one of them.  We tend to be smart alecky.  We tend to not always think things through as well as we should.  We sometimes look good advice right square in the eye and plow right ahead with our own ideas.  And we sometimes (maybe more often than we should) don't pay enough attention to the feelings of those closest to us.  

I'm not particularly proud of that last one.  It's caused a lot more pain than it ever should have.  But since you're coming into this hot mess of a family, you need to know these things so you can avoid them.  

That's not to say we have no redeeming qualities either.  

They're just not as much fun to list.

And so, my little Diamond, before the wheels fall off this thing, let me just say I can't wait to meet you today.  My heart has been filled with such joy since your Daddy sent the text announcing you were here that I have a hard time finding the right words and for some strange reason I keep getting stuff in my eyes since then too.  

Must be awfully dusty around here.

Or something.

Peace

Epilogue to "A leopard can't change it's spots"

Many of you may recall this post from last November where I described receiving a phone call that set off a whole new chain of events, stirring up emotions that, while hardly nonexistent, tend to live somewhere buried in my subconsciousness. 

Today my least favorite Governor in America (sorry, can't avoid my natural snarkiness) signed HB 3533 into law.

For those of you just joining this literary adventure, HB 3533 is an amendment to the Illinois Vehicle Code.  Prior to today if someone with multiple DUI convictions (or someone that killed another person while driving drunk) wanted to apply for a new drivers license they were required to install a Breath Alcohol Ignition Interlock Device (BAIID) in their car for one year.  HB 3533 changes that to 5 years with a BAIID.

I know.  It's not perfect.  But the reality is, if we had pushed for something like lifetime revocation with no chance at ever getting a license, people would just drive without one.  

That's no good. 

For anyone.

By making this compromise, we felt the odds of people complying with the new law would be much greater.

I ("we" really, but since I'm the only one writing this... you get the idea) have so many people to thank for making this happen.

It started with the kids.  When I told them what happened back in November, the general consensus was "what can we do about this?"  I told them to write letters (well, emails actually) to (sue me, I'm old and the words are interchangeable to me) their elected officials telling them why the law needed to change and to ask for their help.  

And then, I didn't write anyone.

Well, not for a few days anyway.  

When the Oldest One called to tell me she got an encouraging response from one of her emails (better?) I thought I should practice what I was preaching.  I wrote to Barb Wheeler and Pam Althoff, my State Rep. and State Senator.  I'd met both while on union business in Springfield over the last few years.  In fact, I ran against Barb last year, my first foray into politics.  But that's a story for another day.  Maybe.  

A couple days later I got a reply from Barb asking me if I could meet her for coffee to discuss what we wanted to try and do.

So we did.  At the local Pacific northwest based, coffee beverage based, super-mega-global conglomerate (sponsorship opportunities still available btw) along with a friend of Barb's that specializes in defending people that have received DUI's.  

I gave her the condensed version of our story since the Blond Child was killed and then told her about the phone call that described the drunk's latest run-in with the law.  From that point on, Barb was all in.  The next step was a meeting in Springfield, with Barb, Ron Sandack (81st Dist. Rep and former Mayor of the town I work in) my friend Nancy from AAIM and a couple of legislative aides.  We met in Springfield and talked about what we could do to effect change.  From there, based on the suggestions at our meeting, the legislative aides crafted the language that, ultimately became law. 

Let me digress here for a minute.  I think it's safe to say that Barb Wheeler and I are about as diametrically opposed politically as any two people can be.  She's a pretty conservative Republican and I'm a pretty liberal Democrat.  

We don't see eye-to-eye on much.  

But we couldn't have gotten this bill into law without her.

More "Thank You's" to follow...

The bill went before the House Committee on Transportation: Vehicles and Safety on March 17th, a day that I was, coincidentally, in Springfield for my union Legislative Conference.  I mentioned, in passing, to a couple of my friends, that I had to duck out briefly in the morning to testify before the committee on behalf of the bill.  The Boy Child (also in town for the LC) and I sat in the committee room waiting for the meeting to start.  At least 10 of my fellow firefighters from around the state walked in to the room as a show of support.  

I was completely unprepared for that.

But, I managed to maintain some sense of composure and got through my testimony in about 5 minutes.  One of the things Barb tried to stress to me was to be brief.

Obviously she doesn't know me well.

The committee passed the bill unanimously, by a vote of 9-0-0.  More importantly, to me anyway, was that we picked up three more cosponsors, including the Chair of the committee.  This brought the number up to six; three R's and three D's and that was also something that was important to me.  By the time the bill came up for it's third reading in the House, on April 16th, we had added five more sponsors and again, they came from both sides of the aisle.  When the vote went down I was stunned to find out it was unanimous again, by a count of 105-0-13.  The 13 represented absent members that did not vote.  

From here the bill went over to the Senate where Pam Althoff was it's sponsor.  It had already picked up a cosponsor before reaching the Senate and ultimately would add two more.  Pam asked me if I could come down to Springfield to testify before the Senate Committee on Criminal Law.  Of course, I did.  And on May 12th I sat before them and, just like in the house, I gave them a five minute version of what this proposed language meant to me and to my family.

It passed out of committee 11-0-1.  On May 25th the bill went before the full Senate for it's third reading and as I watched the vote online I was once again pleasantly surprised to see it was a unanimous vote; 55-0-4.

Our bill would become law.

It would, at this point, become law whether the Governor signed it or not.  He could veto it, of course, but with only unanimous votes, I felt confident that even if he did, for whatever reason, there would be enough votes to overturn said veto.  So we waited.  Even though I didn't think it would get vetoed, I knew it wasn't a done deal until it became law either through his signature or by waiting 60 days after he received the bill.  

And I actually thought that was how it would go down at that point.  With all the acrimony in Springfield, I didn't think this would take a high priority so I thought it would just pass through quietly.  

It was sent to the Governor on June 23rd and yesterday, I got a phone call from Barb.  She told me she had just gotten off the phone with the Governor's office and that he would be signing HB 3533 into law today at the Thompson Center in Chicago.

I couldn't make it in, I'm on shift at the firehouse, and the Boy Child is too.  But the girls and 3/4ths of the grandkids went to witness the bill being signed.  It would have been nice to be there, but with no time to find a trade, I had no choice.  I'm ok with it, I didn't need to be there.  And I'm glad the Heir to the Throne, Boy Genius and the Reigning Princess were able to go.  I'm a big believer in civics lessons and today was a chance for them to see, and hopefully learn, something that not every kid has a chance to be a part of.  

Of course, ultimately, it's a pretty rotten reason this happened, but...

So, I think that's it.  Except of course for the Thanks.  I usually try and avoid this, because I'm so afraid I'll forget someone.  But here goes.

Thanks so much to Rep. Barb Wheeler and Sen. Pam Althoff, our original sponsors.  And a huge Thank You to their staffs, the people that did, without question, the bulk of the work required to pass this law.  Reps. Ron Sandack and John Anthony, the first two cosponsors in the House.  Reps. John D'Amico, Natalie Manley and Kathy Willis, the cosponsors from the first committee and to Reps. Terri Bryant, Anthony DeLuca, Jack Franks, Martin Moylan, Carol Sente and Sens. Martin Sandoval, Julie Morrison and Iris Martinez for signing on as cosponsors.  Thanks to the members of the AFFI Legislative Committee; Eddy Crews, Richard Martin and Chuck Sullivan and President Pat Devaney for your guidance, suggestions and connections.  Thanks to AAIM and especially to Nancy Easum for your expertise in writing bills.  Thanks to the many friends and family members for their support and encouragement every step along the way.  Thanks to my kids.  Without you none of this would have happened.  Each and every one of you made a commitment to try and prevent another family from having to go through what we've gone through.  And today, I think we've made a big step in that direction. 

And finally, thank you to the Blonde Child and her Mother.  We miss you each and every day.  You have been the motivator behind everything we've done to try and prevent the pain of loss that we've felt from happening to other families.

I hope I didn't forget anyone...

Peace

Homeward bound

No subtlety, no snark, I'm officially a quitter. 

I'm heading north out of Indy, riding the rails. I'd probably have Steve Goodman's "City of New Orleans" rolling through my brain, but Gary Clark Jr. is pushing every other musical choice out of the way. If you're not familiar, I highly recommend him. 

I always thought O'Hare was the best place ever to people watch. It may still be, but I promise you, the train station in downtown Indianapolis gives it a run for the money. 

Very ummmm interesting clientele there. 

To say the least. 

Amtrak made a lot of sense for the return trip. It's about a quarter of the cost to fly back and will only add a couple hours to the trip compared to flying. The cheapest airfare included a layover in Detroit. 

Like I said, no brainer. 

And the best part?  Regular readers will no doubt remember the type of person that usually sits next to me when I travel. 

You do remember, right?  

You don't?

C'mon. Think for a second. 

Think Washington DC trip.   

Yes!

Except, this time it's a rather ample woman. With her own 32 oz fountain beverage (diet, I'm sure) and a gleaming new copy of Life magazine "The Most Notorious Scandals in American History "

How can that not be riveting?

Also?  She appears to be blissfully unaware of the auto-dim feature on her smartphone as she's illuminating half of the train car. 

On the plus side, at least she seems pleasant enough. I just caught a glimpse of a woman that looks like she failed her screen test for "Orange is the New Black" but liked the look and decided to rock it all out. All 350 pounds of her. 

I find the Side Show Bob hairstyle compliments her look perfectly. 

I'm not gonna lie, she scares me a little. 

And by "a little" I mean given the option to walk past her to go to the dining car I'd rather walk through the worst neighborhood of the most crime-ridden city you can think of. 

At midnight. 

With hundreds hanging out of my pockets. 

Pulling a neon sign that says "I'm a pacifist"

However, having said that, the urge for caffeine is strong. I think I'm going to go for it. 

If my family finds this draft, please post it for me.  

Moving right along...

Yesterday, if you haven't figured that out already, marked the end of this year's adventures in Pink Heals Touring.  Which is always a bittersweet time imho.  I really do enjoy being out on a road trip with the guys, how could you not?  I haven't met a bad one yet (full disclosure, in my time on the road there have been a couple I wouldn't choose to socialize with but it's a really small number) and most are just outstanding (truth!) human beings that I wish I saw more of.  

It's always good to go (be) home.  Especially when you get a reception like this...

Ok, since I'm not even sure the video is going to work, it may not even make the final cut which also means this might not make any sense.  

So let's just say my little (she's not really little) poochie was happy to see me after three weeks.  Tip of the hat to the Oldest One and the Heir to the Throne for taking such good care of her, they always do, and also to one of the neighbors who spoils her rotten when Sophie visits.  It's the kind of love and attention you just can't get when you have to board your animals and no matter how good a place it may be, there's no substitute for an actual home.    

Alright, now that I'm completely off track, let me just wrap up by saying thanks to everyone for everything, especially the people I met for the first time out on tour, the people with whom I renewed an acquaintance with for the last three weeks, the people we visited (every one of you changed our lives whether you realize it or not), my family for putting up with this nonsense every year and last, but certainly not least to the guys I traveled with this time around.   Vin, Rodman, Don, Ray, Mikey, Sean, (Geez I feel like I missed someone) and, of course, Dave.  You guys all helped to make three weeks of mayhem out on the road in to something none of us will forget soon and I'm grateful to each of you for the gifts you brought out on tour.

Thanks brothers.

Peace.