In order to be a smart ass, first you must be smart

I'm fairly confident I can pinpoint the place in time in my life where I made a conscious decision to be more mindful of how I treat the world around me and those I encounter in my day-to-day existence.

Now, I don't mean to say I was a bad person before this decision.  Andy and Ellie raised me better than that.  They raised all of us to be better than that.  But I can also admit to the world (or at least the part of said world that reads this) that I haven't always been the kind of person I'd like to be.  Even after I became more mindful of it.

Hey, I'm a work in progress, I'll admit it.

What was the root cause of my desire to be a better person?

The day that this once little boy entered my life -

I don't remember how old he is here, eighteen months or so, and he's giving Papa a goodnight kiss while on a sleepover at our house.  Btw, no snark on Papa's hair or the hair color please.  Just sayin...  This is one of my favorite pictures of the Heir to the Throne and certainly my favorite of the two of us.

No offense to the generation that separates us, but I don't remember feeling the need to be more aware of who I was and what I stood for when they were little.  But when this face -

came along I found a feeling that, I don't know, maybe drew my own mortality into focus.  And I just knew I needed to try and make a better, safer world for him and for those that would follow him.

Wow, that took a turn I didn't really see coming.  This is all way too heavy for a Saturday morning, right?

I tried to impart some grandfatherly advice when he hit his teens but I'm afraid it turned out with kind of a fortune cookieish quality to it.

And so young man, there are so many things I want to tell you, so many things I want to share here for the world (more or less) to see as I try and express my feelings and wishes for you.

Here goes...

Let's start with the title for this post.  And a quick disclaimer.  Just because I used that word doesn't mean you're allowed to use it around me or any other adult yet.  Nice try.  But the title is, imho, accurate.  So pay attention to the world around you and the events that shape it.

Now that I've got that out of the way.  Let me tell you this.  You're the best baseball player this family has produced.  Without question.

But having said that, let me also say that particular bar was never very high.  I was a pretty terrible Little Leaguer.  Your uncle was a little better than me.  And as softball players go, your Mom fit right into the family profile.  She is, after all, the one you got your "blazing" speed from... just like she got hers from me.

Sorry.

Baseball gets a bad rap, in my opinion, from many people.  "It's boring" "bunch of overpaid whiners" and so many more knocks on such a beautiful game.  Let me tell you something.  And you may not appreciate the truth in this for a while.  A long while.  Baseball transcends generations.  It is essentially the same as it was a hundred years ago.  "Field of Dreams" expressed that beautifully, and many other movies have drawn from the romanticism of the game.

The love of baseball is a common bond you and I share that no one and no thing can ever take from us.  Even if you never play another game.  Forty years from now, as you approach the age I'm at now, you'll see something; some common, ordinary, everyday, thing that will remind you of a time in your youth when life was so much simpler.  Appreciate the beauty of the moment.  As you get older, life tends to get more hectic, there's not much you can do about that.  Looking back on fond memories with family and friends can help you refocus on what is most important to you, whatever it may be.

The decisions you make moving forward are yours and yours alone to make.  Think them through carefully, there are few small ones.  And sometimes those that seem the most inconsequential will have the loudest repercussions.  Sometimes life-changing.

I'll explain that one to you later.

I'll always be there for you pal.

Happy birthday.

I love you.

Peace

Ten Years Gone

This is not a new song, it's from Physical Graffiti, an album that came out in the mid 70's.  But, as happens from time to time, random songs pop in to my head.  This time though, I don't think it's quite so random.  I don't know why, but a couple days ago the song appeared in my brain.  Probably because I had been thinking about the the time, ten years ago, leading up to this date.  I started thinking about the lyrics and, while they're not a perfect fit, they sum up nicely what it's been like.  As I wrote a couple weeks ago, this month contains some memorable days both good and bad.

Today is the first of each.  Even though yesterday we celebrated the first birthday for the little Diamond (shown here with her "smash" cake) today is her actual birthday.

 

This one is actually fairly early on in the "smash" process.  Shortly after I took the picture I had to walk away for a couple minutes and regain my composure.  

Because today is also ten years since Diane died.  As I stood in the driveway (smash cakes should be an outside event whenever possible, for obvious reasons) I couldn't help but reflect on how spoiled the grandkids would be had Diane and Caitlin been here.   I could clearly imagine Diane beaming, could almost hear her laugh, as she watched this little gem destroy her own personal chocolate cake.  I thought of something the Oldest One posted about Caitlin referring to the Heir to the Throne as "her" baby when he was an infant and transferred all those feelings in to yesterday.  And to every single event involving each of the grandkids for the last ten years.  Today too.  So, feeling the emotions get the best of me, I chose to walk away rather than allow my sadness to intrude on a day of joy.  

Removing myself like that probably isn't the healthiest way to deal with grief, I recognize that.  But, at this point in my life it rarely lasts more than a few moments.  Whether that's a function of a normal grief life-cycle now or me willing it away I don't know.  But it's been a long time since it brought me, quite literally, to my knees.  

Time has a way of marching on at it's own pace.  Despite our best efforts to change it.  In that respect not much is different since we marked a decade without Caitlin.  In my humble opinion, grief marches at it's own pace too.  At least it should if we allow it to.  

That's a lot easier to do after ten years though.  I read something recently by Patton Oswalt about the sudden passing of his own wife.  He wrote about how, after doing something for 102 consecutive days, you should become quite good at it.  And yet, 102 days after his wife's death, he felt no better about any of it.  It was really well done, quite profound and right. on. point.  If I can figure out how to link it here, I will.   Done.  Give it a look.  But as I was saying, grief needs to move at it's own pace.  I've mentioned here before about how making it through the first year is all well and good, but that the "seconds" will hit you hard if you're not aware of them.  I feel like that's one of my missions in life now, to spread that information around to people that may find it useful. 

It's taken me a lot longer to get to where I am now than I thought it would.  Literally.  I started this post this morning at the coffeehouse, but I wanted a picture or two that I only have on my home computer.  

And, I took a side trip to the cemetery.  It seemed like the thing to do.  I took Diane a rose, "talked" to her for a little bit, and headed back home.  I used to to do that a lot more often (I promise, no more links today) but the last time I was there was, I think, last fall when the Boy Child and I took the grave blankets there.  

I don't really have a feel for how I want to wrap this up so I think I'm going to default to one of the aforementioned photos 

Ok, one last thought from the cemetery.  When we picked out the headstone I had a verse inscribed on the back.  I don't remember where I heard it originally, I've searched the interwebz a few times looking for it (most recently about thirty seconds ago) but can't find it's origin so I can't give props.  But, to paraphrase it -

Know the gift you have been given.  And realize the gift has not been taken from you, only the wrapper.  For once you have been given the gift, it can not be taken away.  

Maybe it can help someone else.  I know it helped me.  So did believing that these two were together again.

Peace

Birth of a Nickname; or more adventures with new guys

***Full disclosure alert***

I do my best, most clear headed, creative thinking in the bathroom.  Too much information?  Sorry, but you were warned.  I'm also sorry about the visual.  #sorrynotsorry

As the random firing of synapses started working their magic this morning, I sorted out two distinctly different post topics.  One seriousish, one, not so much.

Guess which one I chose.

Regular readers will recall my chronicling the madcap (an under appreciated word imho) misadventures of Shawn and Wes over the last several months.  Well, the steady stream of replacement parts has delivered unto us at the high-rise district (High-Rise District?) yet another new guy.

Meet Mike.

Mike comes to us with plenty of experience at his previous employer, a far south suburban FD.  So Mike knows how to be a firefighter/paramedic.  That's not to say he's entirely comfortable here.  I mean, after all, he is still an "at will" employee while he's on his twelve month probation, so if he displeases us, he can be terminated at the drop of a hat without cause.   So he watches his hat very carefully.

Metaphorically speaking, that is.

We were on a patient assist call a couple weeks into his tenure and, after getting the woman squared away and comfortable in the chair of her choice, Mike started gathering information for the refusal.  The woman told him her name was "Joan" and as he entered that into the tablet, paused, looked up at her and said-

"Is your name, by chance 'Joanathan'?"

This drew head swivels from most of us in the room and as she snapped back "No, it's JOAN!"  we all fought the giggles.

So, Joanathan was hatched, at least from a couple of the guys.  It didn't feel quite right for me though.

Moving right along...

Having worked with him for the last month or two (or three?) he does (I really don't remember how long we've had him) a fine job on EMS calls, not afraid to take charge when needed, even with a senior medic if need be.  Not me, btw, just sayin... I was just mentioning that to him the other day, as I told him we hadn't had much in the way of fire calls to judge him on.  Lo and behold we caught back-to-back "fires" last shift.  I use quotation marks because, while they technically were fires, any reasonable firefighter on the planet would never count them among the notches on his proverbial fire belt.  And, as a kicker, I didn't get the chance to do anything with him since I was the only on-duty investigator that day so I was re-assigned pretty early on.

But that's a story for another day.  Probably not.

Mike is a likable kid, around thirty years old, pretty easy going, doesn't seem to get flustered by much, really.  At first blush anyway.  I think because he presents himself well and because he knows the technical aspects of the job, we haven't gone crazy with the minutiae of the job.  Mike was off the other day and I was talking to our Lieutenant, Bob, about him.   Bob mentioned that he'd gone over the six month probate review with Mike during a previous shift.  I asked how he'd done and Bob said that Mike knew things like the hose loads, nozzle pressures, EMS SOP's and the like.  But that on the test overall Mike had crashed and burned.  I asked why, what had he done so poorly on and Bob pulled up a copy of the test to show me some of the questions.

In addition to containing questions of a technical nature, it also contained many, many questions specific to our fine Village and our equally fine FD.  Like addresses and phone numbers to the firehouses.  Addresses to the schools in town.  The name of our EMS System and the like.  Nothing too dramatic in there, but it's on the review and he's going to have to know it at some point.  So the next shift, which was last Friday for those scoring at home (or even if you're by yourself) (s/o to Patrick and Olbermann) I barn bossed the other two guys first thing in the morning and requested Mike go on the engine with me so I could go over stuff with him.

Now, one of our regular Friday duties is the weekly engine check.   We go through each compartment making sure everything is in it's proper place, is clean and functioning as it should.  That also helps teach you where everything is in the vehicle so, if you need something at a call, you don't go wandering around the vehicle opening and shutting every. single. compartment. until you find what you're looking for.  Bad image to present to the public, that one.  And, as we walked around doing the check, I would randomly ask Mike the phone number to a specific firehouse.  This was a struggle.  More so than it should have been and, while I didn't see beads of sweat breaking on his forehead, he was clearly uncomfortable trying to come up with the answers.  I reminded him the Area Code and the prefix are the same for all.  I also pointed out the first two digits of the last four are the same for each station.  So really, he only needed to learn the last two digits in the phone number for each house.

This turned out to be more challenging than I thought.  For example, Station #3 became 8111 instead of 81 and Station #1 became 7111 instead of 71.  By the end of the day I think he got a little more clear on the concept though.  Progress!

We also worked on the name of the Mayor and the Village Manager, both questions from the review.  I shit you not, they're both review questions.  I'll make no further editorial comment on that particular topic...

He struggled the first time or three with the Mayor's last name, mispronouncing it a few times before nailing it (I think) down.  But for some reason when asked the Mayor's first name, Mike kept answering

"Kevin"

Pro tip- that's NOT the Mayor's first name.  Not even close.

We moved on to the Village Manager.  Similarly, Mike struggled with it early, but after a few tries over the course of the day, was able to correctly identify the VM's last name.  He also confidently declared the VM's first name to be...

Any guesses from the crowd???

That's right!

"Kevin"

Pro tip- that's NOT the Village Manager's first name.  Not even close.  Again.

So, as we sat at the dinner table, all five of us, and I asked Mike to name the Mayor, he flawlessly pronounced the last name of Hizzoner and, again, attached Kevin to it.

smdh.

New guys.

Whatta ya gonna do?

So, heretofore, by the power vested in me by no-one in particular, I hereby do resolve and declare "Mike" shall know be known as "Kevin" forever and ever Amen.

Peace

Further fables from the firehouse

That may be the most F's I've ever used in one sentence but it just felt right.

So, we've all got stories from work; some dramatic, some... less so and some downright hysterical. Today, inspired by a text conversation with an old friend, retired from here last year, I've decided to share some with the class.

First, a disclaimer of sorts.  Don't get me wrong-

A.) I love my job.
B.) I work (and have worked) with many outstanding human beings.
C.) Nothing in this job precludes us from our fair share of knuckleheads, space cadets and nerds.

Sorry kids, but you know it's true.  Despite efforts of some to paint this profession as some sort of superhero, many times we are nothing more than a bunch of 16 year olds on a sleepover.  Again, that's not to say we don't have many fine individuals among our ranks, it's just that, well, we're people, after all is said and done.  We sometimes make mistakes.

For instance.

Twenty plus years ago, I had about eighteen months on the job when Greg got hired.  I was going through a bit of a slump at that time.  I hadn't had a "good" fire in forever.  We'd had car fires, dumpster fires, small grass fires, but nothing of consequence.  Other shifts had fires, but I was riding a shutout.  We were assigned to the original Station #2 at the time.  It was an old, borderline decrepit, barely functional firehouse and it was loved by anyone that worked there.  Located on the main drag in town, it was really a neighborhood firehouse, something that added to it's charm.

Or maybe it was the lead paint altering my recollection.

I kid.

I think.

At any rate, on this particular day, I was driving the ambulance and Greg was riding backwards on Engine #2.  This meant that if we caught a fire, Greg would have the nozzle and my job was to assist him and our Lt. on the hose line.  But I never got fires.  Except for this day.  The call came in late at night, I don't remember the exact time, but for the sake of the story, let's say it was around 11:30 pm.  As I've mentioned here before we never really take the information given on 9-1-1 calls at face value.  So when the call for a house fire came in we got ready like it was legitimate, but doubted the veracity of the dispatch.  Until we pulled onto the street, about four blocks from St. #2  and saw smoke rolling across the street ahead of us.  We all fell quickly into our assignments.  Greg stretched the hose line to the front door and I grabbed a halligan to force our way in if needed.  I think I can safely speak for both of us when I say we were pretty jacked up, even though it was only a smallish fire.  We masked up, gave each other the thumbs up and while kneeling at the front door, I reared back with my halligan to give the door a good hit to loosen it up before I popped it open.  I hit that sucker with all I was worth and to my surprise the front door flew open on the first hit.   I set the halligan alongside me  and in one motion turned and started into the doorway.

And almost broke my face as the door rebounded off the inside wall and slammed shut micrometers from said face.

I hit the door again, again opening it with one hit but THIS TIME I kept my hand in the doorway to prevent further embarrassment.  The rest of the fire was pretty forgettable but Greg and I both have gotten many laughs from this particular story.

Now this next story may have occurred before the first one, it might have happened after.  Timing is not germane (an underused word imho) to the story.  Either way it's another shining example of public service excellence.

And wisdom, don't forget wisdom.  On many topics...    

On this particular day, I was driving Engine #2 and Greg was again riding backwards.  Dave, our Lt. rounded out the engine crew.  Mid-afternoon we got a call for a tree on fire.  That's actually a little more common than you might think, but usually it's due to power lines in the tree shorting out and starting the tree on fire.

Not so this time.  I have no idea what started the fire, but as we pulled up, sure enough, from the yard on the southeast corner, there was smoke wafting from the main trunk of the tree, about nine or ten feet off the ground, at the point where the branches split.  We pulled the trash line and dumped, I'm pretty sure, all 500 gallons from our tank into the tree.  We looked into the tree and saw charring as far down as we could see from our ladder.  And both of us, confidently, told the woman that lived there she would need to call an arborist to come in and cut down the tree, as it was CERTAINLY dead after the fire burned out the center of the trunk so badly.

I think about that story every time I drive through that intersection and see the tree, a Sycamore I think, fully leafed out.  The lady probably looked at us like we each had an eye in the middle of our respective foreheads.  Twenty years proved her right, I'd say.

There you have it boys and girls, two of my (and there are probably more than I'd care to admit) less than flattering examples of excellence.

Hey if you can't laugh at yourself, what good are you?

Peace

August is the cruelest month.

With apologies to T.S. Eliot, I really don't know what to make of August.

The current month, over the course of my life (specifically the last 21 years) has brought towering joy and crippling pain.  Probably everything in between too, but me being what (who?) I am, these are the markers I follow.

August of 1995 was not easy.  Dad passed away on the 31st.  His last several months had not been easy for him.  He had COPD, a heart attack about ten years earlier had weakened him too.  That in itself wasn't easy for me to accept, in retrospect.  Here was a man that, although I stood about six inches taller than and outweighed by close to thirty pounds, I never doubted could kick my ass if he chose to.  Not that he ever exhibited that temperament though.  Dad was (still is) the most laid-back, even-tempered person I've ever known.  And that's made all the more remarkable by being married to Mom for 52 years, lol.  To say nothing of my siblings and I.

Well, them at least.

I never gave them any trouble...

Ahem.

So to watch Dad in this condition, to see him, in his last weeks, confined to a hospital bed after a devastating stroke, was something so foreign to me, well all of us really, but since I'm the one writing this, you know.  One of my most lasting impressions, one that comes fresh to my mind every time I let my (now) greying beard go for three or four days between shaves, is of Dad, unable to do that for himself.  He asked me if I could shave him.  Of course I did, gladly.

I also remember Dad's cardiologist, after the stroke had left him unable to speak clearly, which frustrated him to no end, commenting on how Dad was an angry old man.  Never in my life did I want to punch someone as much as I did this doctor.  I refuse to capitalize those words btw.  I don't know where he's practicing now.  He was pretty young so I'm sure he's still in practice.  Hopefully he's learned some bedside manners.

My most lasting impression of that time though, is that Dad wouldn't let Mom call for the ambulance if I was at work.  He'd tell her "Wait.  Joe will be home tomorrow.  You can call then."  That happened four or five times his last year.  The first couple times I was able to function as his paramedic as well as his son.  After that, I couldn't do both.  I had to be his son and let the crew perform what needed to be done for him.  That was a difficult reality to come to grips with.

Let's move ahead now to August of 2000.  And the birth of the Heir to the Throne.  What an amazing moment.  My first grandchild.  He was perfect in every way.

Now?

Wellllllllll...

The truth of the matter is he really is a pretty great kid and I count him among my blessings every single day of my life.  He's growing into a fine young man and I couldn't possibly be more proud of him than I am.    I remember how thrilled Diane was to go in to the delivery room with the Oldest One.  And how she wasn't sure what to make of this whole "Grandma" thing she was experiencing.  She did kind of dig it though when people would tell her she looked too young to be a Grandma.  She also doted on the HttT every chance she could get, right up to the end.

Which, btw, came in August of 2006.

Diane picked him up one morning, the week before he was supposed to start Kindergarten.  We were going to keep him for a few days and just goof off.  Whatever he wanted to do, that was our plan.  Life, of course, got in the way as it usually does.

That afternoon we were playing in the pool we had in the back yard.  Diane got out, said she had some stuff to do in the house, so I got the HttT out of the pool and dried him off.  We went in to the house and Diane told me she'd experienced some discomfort in her chest while she was in the pool and again climbing the stairs.  She said she felt fine now but had never felt anything like that before.  We talked about the dozen different things it might be but agreed the smart thing to do was to get it checked out.  We called the Boy Child and asked him to come over and hang out with the HttT while we went to the ED.  I vaguely remember calling him a few hours later and telling him they were keeping her overnight and calling the Oldest One and making up a story about why we had to bail on our plans.  At that point Diane didn't want anyone to know what had happened.  At her request I didn't even call the Quiet Child to tell her any of this yet.

When I say the week spiraled downhill from there it doesn't begin to describe the next six days.  Let me just say that it ended with me, sitting cross-legged on the floor; in the bedroom at the house of one of my nieces; trying to explain to my five year-old grandson why the Nana that adored him, that he worshipped, was never coming home.  The memory often brings tears to my eyes, even today, ten years later.  It is the single most difficult thing I've ever had to do.

Fortunately, in time, August made a move toward redemption.  Last year my favorite gemstone joined the family.  The old saying goes- "Diamonds are a girls best friend" right?  Well, I may not be her bestie but my fifth grandchild and second granddaughter made her appearance to rave reviews.  She, like the Reigning Princess before her, had me wrapped around her little finger from the start.  Her personality is showing more and more each day and she cracks me up regularly.  The Boy Child and my favorite daughter-in-law (still working on an actual nome de plume for her) have become my go to Sophie sitters when I need to go out of town for a few days.  Both of the littles are great with Sophie, but my little Diamond squeals with glee every time she sees Sophie, even if only moments have passed since the last time she saw her.  Literally.  Almost "peekabooish" and it's hilarious.

She's also very watchful of Sophie's dietary intake as this photo clearly shows.

You can see how pleased she is that Sophie is eating.

As plans are finalized for celebrating the little Diamonds first birthday I fully realize that August, fickle beast that it is, is currently a happy place.  Time has taught me that it may only be temporary.  So, I think I have really only one last thing to say, and, while it's hardly an original thought, it's certainly one we should all heed.  Enjoy your commas.  No, that's not it, although I do enjoy them. 

Rather, it's enjoy the life you live.  We all have little to no control over it, so stress as little as possible and embrace the warm fuzzy moments when they present themselves.

Peace