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

Last Week This Afternoon (apologies to John Oliver)

I've been wanting to write this for every bit of the last week.  And yet, a part of me wanted to never write it.  This past week has been chock full of emotional quicksand and I wanted to male sure, out of self-preservation, I could sit down and work on this without losing my shit.  To be honest, my original open for this was going to be a disclaimer about how; if I didn't make you cry reading this, or at least put a lump in your throat, I'd fail at my craft.

I don't feel that way now.

For the most part.

Starting the week early, the Reigning Princess marked a birthday last Saturday.  Double digits, no less.  Regular readers will recognize the bittersweet aspect of an event like this.  But that kid and her megawatt smile can go a long way towards smoothing rough edges.

Monday was a wild ride.  In no particular order -

I picked up prescription refills for Sophie's many ailments.  Among other things, these make it easier for her to go on our walks together.  Which often reminds me of how much Diane would have loved taking her on those walks.

I took our local (ish) pink fire truck (engine) to her new home in Rock Falls, IL.  I wrote about how awesome the people are out there and this just reinforces it to me.

I pre-signed the closing papers for the sale of the Wonder Lake house.  I wrote about putting the house on the market last year and the deal is finally done.  It's a huge burden off my shoulders financially and a smaller burden emotionally.  I've been out of the house for over five years, so I've had plenty of time to get used to that, but still...

Speaking of having time to absorb an event; it was also 14 years since the crash that took Caitlin.  That sounds a little flippant and, of course, this is not a topic I take lightly.  But the fact remains it's been a long time and we've had a lot of practice at dealing with all the various mutations of life with a loss.  Time has turned the flood of emotions into a leaky faucet.  Metaphorically.

So that took care of my Monday.

Tuesday was a meeting, Wednesday, the 14th anniversary of Caitlin's death, Thursday was (due to the organ transplant timeline) 14 years to the last time we saw her.  You get the idea.  I recognized, after the fact, there were a few times I was glad I was by myself for the most part.  My human interaction skills had eroded a little bit, at least temporarily.

So, it took me a while to get back to where I was ready (ish) to write about the week.

Now, to prove to you that I've come 180 degrees from wanting you to cry, I'm going to share a story to make you laugh.

Several years ago, we had a particular frequent flyer, a blind guy that was also diabetic.  He was common knowledge around the FD or so I thought, since he had been racking up miles before I got hired there.  On one occasion we were called because his blood sugar was very low.  I don't recall what it was, but he wasn't near functional when we arrived.  As I recall, his brother-in-law lived with him at the time, to help around the house as needed.  Now, this patient was frequently unpleasant to deal with, but, for whatever reason, I always got along with him.  We got his sugar up to a normal level and he didn't want (or need) to go to the hospital so my partner at the time; ohhh let's call him "Dan" was getting the refusal form ready.  I was seated on our patients left side.  The BIL brought out a sandwich to help in stabilizing the patients sugar.  I told the patient exactly where I placed the sandwich and he reached for it and started eating.  "Dan" had the form ready and handed the laptop to our patient so he could sign.

I looked at "Dan".

He looked back at me blankly as he told the patient to sign and we'd leave.

I looked at "Dan"

He waved the laptop impatiently in front of our patient.

I looked at "Dan" and said "Uhhh he's blind 'Dan'"

"Dan" said "Here's where I need you to sign" loudly.  Check that, VERY LOUDLY

I helpfully pointed out to him "'Dan' he's blind, NOT deaf!"

Our patient, the rest of our crew, pretty much everyone in the room aside from "Dan" was laughing hysterically.

Ahhh firehouse stories, is there nothing sacred?

Short answer?  Nope.

Peace

Mom... Mom... Mom... Mom... Mom...

I wanted to write something badly today, here's hoping it doesn't turn out that way...

Sophie and I just got back from our morning walk, and with Townes Van Zandt as a back drop (highly recommended for a little light Sunday morning listening btw) I've been reflecting on today.  Social media and recollection tells me this is the first Mothers Day for several of my friends without their Moms.

It won't be an easy day for you if this is the case, please know my thoughts are with you.

So naturally I think today (pretty much every day, really, but you get the picture) of my own Mom, gone for five of these, and Diane, gone for eleven of them, and I think of how fortunate I am.  To have had them both as such important parts of my life and to have learned so much from them, about life in general and myself in particular.

Diane taught me so many things, among them (a lesson I need to improve on) the importance of making a big deal out of someone on "their" day as this story illustrates.

From Mom I learned how to quickly get over it.  I can be pretty quick tempered sometimes (no comments from the gallery) but I tend to also quickly realize the futility of keeping that flame stoked. She also taught me how important it is to be able to laugh at oneself.  That alone is probably the best thing she did for me.

I also think of my daughters and the amazing women they are.  To the Oldest One and the Quiet Child; you are doing an incredible job raising smart, funny, sweet, hard-working kids and I couldn't be prouder of who they are becoming.  And, to #PhoJoMama; in addition to the above, you're faced with the added task of wrangling the Boy Child.  

A.) I know how far from the tree that apple landed.

B.) I'm sorry.

I'm really glad I got to see the three of you yesterday, I hope your Day is filled with wonderfulness because each of you deserves nothing less and I love you all.

Now on to the Public Service Annoouncement portion of our program.

For all you first-time Dads observing your first Mothers Day.  I recognize this may be a tad late in the game but just in case (or for future reference) make sure you review your plan for the day.  Do what she wants and not what you think she wants.  There's a difference, believe me.  It's the least you can do.

Btw don't ever say "it was the least I could do" when she thanks you.  Just sayin.  This woman bore your kids for chrissake.  Do something special for her, especially today.

Also, unless you're in different Zip Codes (and probably not even then) don't ever say "she's not my Mother" as a reply to almost anything related to today.  If you do, well, I don't think celebrate means *skypoint to Inigo Montoya* what you think it means.

If your significant other has any type of adjective in front of "Mom" disregard it.  Please.  For your own sake as well as that of humanity at large.  Hell, even if you're divorced, if your kids still spend any amount of time with her, ensure that they do something nice for their Mother.  I don't care what type of words you use to describe her the rest of the year, it takes very little effort to be an actual human being instead of an "ex" for such a short time.  Whether she appreciates it or not is irrelevant.

Just be a better human being.

It reflects well on your own Mother and that, above all else, is what today is about, right?

Alright, I've got flowers to get and a couple cemetaries to visit.  If your Mom is here, make sure she knows how much she means to you.

If she's not, think back on how she made you who you are.

And thank her.

I love you El.

Peace

Foibles from the firehouse. And in real life too.

It has been pointed out to me recently, several times, gleefully, by the lovely fellows I share a firehouse with, that I have a few quirks.  They take great joy in pointing these things out to me.  So, since I'm not at all shy about poking fun at others, I figured it was time to have a little laugh at my own expense.

And I'd like to take just a second to ask any of you that are brave enough to add any of the little things you do, for no rational reason other than some unknown compelling factor, in the comments either here or on the social media that brought you here.  C'mon now people, don't leave me hangin' (s/o to BVR) in the wind.  Participate.

For starters, at our station in the "high-rise district" a while back a small, table lamp showed up.  Kind of a Prairie style, maybe 15" or 18" tall and maybe 6" or 8" square, it's hardly noticeable.  I'm not sure where it came from; someone brought it in from home, maybe from another station, heck maybe it was garbage picked.  I don't know and I don't care.  When I get in to work it's usually early enough that the crew that precedes us is still bunked out.  The dayroom (where we watch tv for you non-firehouse types) is dark except for this lamp.  Photo credit to Bob Barc btw.

The lamp casts a soft, warmish glow around its little corner of the world as it does what lamps do.  It creates no havoc.  Just sits there adding light to an otherwise dark room.

Until I get there.  Because, invariably, the first thing I do is mutter something under my breath, walk over and unplug the lamp, grabbing it by the cord and setting it on the floor next to the table that acts as its home.

I don't know why.  The lamp never did anything to me.  As lamps go, it's a fine lamp, I suppose.  I just don't like it. This behavior has, of course, a consequence and in this case I've been assured that once I hit where ever it is I'm going to spend my retirement, the guys that work the shift before me are going to ship the lamp to me.  A parting gift I suppose.  I told them I'll either send them pictures of the lamp smashed and lying in a dumpster or send each of them a piece of the lamp after I smash it into oblivion.

Ok, one down.

This one became familiar to me a while ago.  I may have even mentioned it in one of my posts here, I'm not sure.  You know how dishwashers have a silverware rack?  Our machine has that device on the bottom shelf and it's positioned perpendicular to the door.  It has several smaller racks for holding silverware.  Without fail, the first two racks are filled, while the remaining racks sit unused and apparently unloved.  Until I voiced my displeasure at this.  Now it prompts either giggling or snark or both from the guys I work with or, in the event we've got a new guy cycling through, warnings to him that unless he wants to witness "Angry Joel" he should be careful loading the dishwasher.

"Angry Joel" is not a thing btw.  I'm one of the nicest, kindest, gentlest... oh hell, I can't lie to you like that.  Hey nobody is perfect, right?  At least I'm able to acknowledge my quirks, you know?

Also, "quirks" sounds so much nicer than Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, doesn't it?

Last thing, I think.  We do a decent job of getting our new guys up and running in our department imho.  But I'd like to add at least one more thing to their training curriculum.  I'd call it - "How To Remove Lint From The Lint Trap In The Dryer".  this is apparently needed because I CAN'T TELL YOU HOW MANY TIMES I'VE HAD TO EMPTY THE EFFING LINT TRAP ON THE GODDAMN DRYER.  btw that didn't start out all caps but when I looked at it, it felt about right so ima leave it right there for you.  Anyway, you'd think firefighters, of all people, would know that's actually an unsafe act as it leads directly to things like, ohhh, DRYER FIRES.

Just sayin'

Ok, kids, once again, here's your chance, light em up with your own quirky behavior.  Or, if you don't want to do that, here's your chance to add one of mine that I may have "forgotten".  Fire away.

Peace

Technology - 427 Me - 0

Now, before you go getting the wrong idea, I'm not a complete technodope.  Nor am I any kind of technowhiz.  I fall comfortably somewhere in the middle and, imho, I think I trend toward the upper portion of the curve.  I typically do ok with new technologies although I'll readily admit I'm not savvy enough to take full advantage of the wizardry that is available to us today.  Of course, the way things advance, sometimes in the blink of an eye, it is tough to stay on top of things.  So I do ok.

For the most part.

At least until recently.

Let me explain...

In the fire service today, there are apps available that send you (and when I say "you" I mean "us" because I don't think they're readily available to the general public) dispatch information for the 9-1-1 calls we when we get dispatched.

I'd better back up a little bit.

Until last week the village that employs me had our own dispatch center.  Meaning, when someone called 9-1-1 in our town it was ultimately answered by a dispatcher sitting in our very own police station and they would dispatch the appropriate units for whatever the situation dictated.  There was an app that a lot of our guys used and it would alert them to a call every bit of 30-45 seconds before we got "toned out" for the very same call.  Which invariably drew this response from me-

I can't help it.  It aggravated me that this was possible.  Even after it was explained to me (Magic according to one of the younger guys.  Who am I to doubt him) I still found it somehow wrong.  I mean, to me, it always seems as though WE should hear the tones before some app gets the notification pushed out, right?  I know, I know, I'm missing the point.  I should have gotten the app and joined the crowd rather than digging in my heels but I'm nothing if not stubborn at the most inopportune times.

Now, I told you that to tell you this.  We switched to a new dispatch center last week.  Situation out of our control, I believe it was a mandate from the state but don't hold me to that.  And, side note, all of our dispatchers are still gainfully employed.  This was a long, slow process so they all had ample time to find new gigs.  A couple switched to a new industry, but it sounds like happy endings (so to speak) all around.  Along with the new dispatch set up, a new app was issued.  I decided to give it a try.  I mean, if someone gave Sisyphus a jackhammer, I've got to believe the whole boulder thing would come to a rapid end.  Besides, it was offered to us for free, so...

I signed up for the app and downloaded it onto my phone.

That was the end of my technological success.

It took me half of the first day to get the app to work the way it's intended.

And I don't know how I did it.

The next morning the same thing happened only in reverse.  It took me half the day to get it shut off.  And, again, I don't know how.  This was, obvs, a little aggravating but I figured it was due to my lack of experience with the app and I was confident, weeellllll maybe "confident" is the wrong word. I'll call it hopeful, that I'd get the hang of the new app my next day in.

BAHAHAHAHAHAHA

I was wrong.

Last day, same result.  Until about 2:00 or so in the afternoon when another one of the younger guys showed me how to turn the app back on.  And it worked fine the rest of the day.  This app doesn't seem to be quite as efficient as the old one, in that the notification doesn't come until 30-45 seconds AFTER the tones.  Now, you would think that would please me. No chance.  See, one of the changes that have taken place as I've attained more experience on the job which, btw, is me saying I'm old, is that it takes me longer to get out the door, especially in the middle of the night, than it used to.  I almost always used to be the first one out to the rig back in the day.  Now, not so much.  I've even tried changing around my sleeping routine to try and shave a little time off.  I think I figured that part out, btw but I digress.  Because I was hoping to get the notification a little early to help me get out on the floor quicker.  No such luck.

So now, here I sit, in my local coffeehouse, feverishly pounding the keyboard in celebration.  Because this morning, a full 48 hours after I left the firehouse and after not less than a half dozen attempts, I FINALLY figured out how to shut off that mother****er.

I think.

If I can successfully turn it on tomorrow morning at work, I will consider it a success.

If not, I'm deleting that bitch.

Who needs the aggravation, amirite?

Keep me in your thoughts.

And if anyone out there has figured out "I Am Responding" hook a brotha up, will ya?

Peace

PS- because, well, you know... I'm STILL getting the damn text messages from the stupid app... I guess I need to update the scoreboard.  Plus I feel like it's now just doing it to mock me.

Judgement Day

Well, not THAT one.  Still...

Here's a little insight to me.  I have often been far too judgmental of others.  It's not something I'm particularly proud of, and it's something I continue to work to avoid.  After all, it's not like I'm without flaws, right?  There are plenty of things I should be doing, that I just don't for whatever reason, to make myself a better, happier, healthier person.  Many of my personal favorite posts here have leaned heavily on snark as I make totally judgmental observations about my fellow man.  They may not be the most read posts, but they're ones I've thoroughly enjoyed writing; poking fun at quirky cohabitants of the space near me.  In no small part I like them best because I regularly make myself laugh at what I put into print.

So, as I sit here, almost four weeks since my last post, I realize I've been struggling to find something to write about.

And then, the universe provides...

What is it about a man that allows him to think his "man bun" looks good with a suit?  I mean, really?  I walked in to my local coffeehouse and voilá, there he was in all his manbunliness.  Don't get me wrong, I'm not inherently against man buns.  I don't know that I'd ever have one (that ship has sailed, btw) but I don't typically see them and think "Yikes" either.  But this, I don't know, incongruity I guess, of man bun and suit just kind of jolted me.

This actually started last week at the laundromat.  As I sat there, listening to the radio, playing solitaire on my phone while waiting for the washers to finish my clothes, a young family came in and started using machines right in front of me.  Their choice of machines offered me an unobstructed view of the tattoo on the Dad's left calf.

Now, because I care about you, gentle reader, I just did a quick Google search to see if I could find the exact image and, not surprisingly, it's an original.  It was...

A "Star Wars" stormtrooper guy staring at a Cubs logo.

And before any of you Cubs haters start throwing stones, let me pull you off your high horse by pointing out that the same Google search produced multiple examples of "Star Wars" themed art associated with any number of MLB (and other sports) teams.

Anyway, as I sat there, pondering how one comes to the decision to add that particular gem onto their person, I must admit I was stumped.  I'm not a huge SW nerd admittedly even though I do enjoy the movies.  And I am a long-time Cubs fan.  I'm not in the least anti-tattoo either.  I mean, I've got one on my left arm that I'm very proud to wear.  But to me, public nature of them notwithstanding, tattoos are intrinsically private.  Without doing anything in-depth, just by random conversation about tats, the people I know that are inked, are inked because it represents something important to them.  A reminder, a memorial, a recognition of a source of pride.

So again, with that in mind, why is that the choice you make to add to your body?  I'll hang up and listen for your answer.

Not really.

Ok, as long as I'm on this whole "struggling with my judgementalness (judgemantosity?) (judgmentivism?) kick, I see Mr. Poops With The Communal Newspaper has just strolled in to my coffeehouse.  And if you missed that episode, shame on you.

Time for me to hit the road, in addition to the title, it's also laundry day (woohoo) and time for me to head that way.

Peace

Pocket Olives

Well, this one has been cooking in my brain for a week or so and one of the side effects is that I can now add to my original thoughts on Springfield.  The middle grandson (Boy Genius) and I went down for a couple days this week during his Spring Break.

So, for starters, we all made it home safely from Springfield.  It was quite a unique experience, let me tell you.  No, I mean it, let me tell you about our experiences at the Legislative Conference.  I mean, after all, it's kinda what I do here, you know?

Let's see... where to start... Oh!  I know!  Food, let's talk about food!

Or at least where we ate.

Now, granted, Springfield doesn't have the concentration of fine dining that a city like Chicago does.  So, don't misunderstand what I'm about to say.  Besides, the food itself was fine.  On the other hand, the service was, well, I don't know, awkward?  The place we chose is known for who you see there as much as for what you eat there.  It's very popular among the political crowd, which means it's not unusual to see various elected officials dining there.  I think that's why our chief political nerd chose it for dinner our first night.  I'm not throwing stones at him either fwiw, but if you know me, you know I hold my stomach in high regard and would much prefer an excellent meal over random politico sightings.  After all, they're in season now and you can't swing a dead cat without hitting one.

I wouldn't btw.

Swing a dead cat, that is.

So, you know, don't sic the ASPCA on me.  Keep Sarah McLachlan away too.  I'm fine with cats, really I am.  For most of my life I've shared a residence with them and we've always been fine.  Although, truth be told, if that arrangement never comes up again, I'm ok with it...

Back to the topic...

We were seated after a brief delay.  Although some IBEW guys came in after us and were seated before us.  Just sayin.  Once in, we placed our beverage order along with, I believe, an appetizer or three.  As our waitress started bringing the drinks by, there was, oh let's call it a bit of confusion on her part.  Up to and including dropping the olives for the martini that was ordered by one of our little group.  I'm not sure why they weren't, you know, IN the martini, but whatevs.  At any rate, when she came back, she produced, from her pocket, replacement olives.

Two things came to my mind...

A.) Why did she have olives in her pocket?  

B.)  Pocket Olives would be a great name for a band.

There were some interesting suggestions on her part, in accompaniment to our food selections.  She seemed particularly proud of their red gravy, even suggesting it along with an Alfredo sauced dish.  But, before I stumble off onto an unwarranted ramble, let me direct you to the end of our meal.  Several of us ordered coffee at the end of the meal, nothing unusual there.  And, if you know me IRL, you know just how important a part of my life coffee is.  I mean, after all, I'm sitting in a coffeehouse as I write this.  Whiskey may be the water of life but coffee is, at the very least, nature's defibrillator after all.

The coffee that was delivered to us was, ummmmmm, an abomination, no, a crime against humanity, no, it was, it was, GOOD CHRIST I CAN'T EVEN FIND THE WORDS!!!

I think in all honesty, the coffee was run through old grounds.  You could see the bottom of the cup through it, that's how thin and watery this slop was.  So, obviously the above is only a mild exaggeration.  And to top it off, she kept asking us if we wanted more.  Like, every 30 seconds or so. It was like the record had a skip in it.  OK, I recognize I'm dating myself with that reference, so if you don't get it, ask an old person.  And screw you for pointing it out to me.

Just kidding.

Not really.

Other than me stepping on a portion of my anatomy you never want to step on in front of a recently defeated candidate, the trip was more or less uneventful.  Oh wait!  Hold that thought.  Our very own Local 3234 Secretary/3234 PAC Chairman presented to the assembled group on the last day of the Conference.

He did great btw, showing how to set up your very own local PAC.  That was one of the high points to me, seeing him on the statewide stage representing our Local.  One of the other guys represented Local 3234 in the Honor Guard at the opening ceremony and that too meant a lot to me.  Lastly, having two guys make their first visit to Springfield for this event made my highlight list as well.  Looking at the end of my career, it helps ease the separation anxiety when I know 3234 is being left in capable young hands.  The guys that came before me sacrificed so much to establish what we have.  Knowing the younger guys understand the importance of that and are ready to take on the challenge of growing it is definitely a warm fuzzy.

This week, I made a return trip to Springfield with the Boy Genius in tow.  The weather was not our friend; cold and drizzly if not downright biblical deluge coming from the sky for the better part of our visit.  But we did manage to get a visit with a State Senator from Rock Island, Neil Anderson, who btw is a firefighter in Moline, IL along with a visit to the Abraham Lincoln Museum.  Thanks to my State Rep. (and one time political opponent) Barb Wheeler for the hook up on tickets.  We spent several hours there looking through the various exhibits and really enjoyed ourselves.  We agreed to head back around 3:00 yesterday afternoon and had, despite horrible weather for much of the drive, an uneventful (that's a good thing btw) trip home.

As we were heading north, I found my mind wandering to a variety of topics over the course of the four hours or so drive.  Driving through rural northern Illinois, I wondered who came up with the address system currently in use in some parts.  I wondered how the local FD's get where they need to go and I played through in my head what I would say and how I would describe to the 9-1-1 dispatcher where to send the troops.

"Look, I'm on XYZ Road about a mile or so east of ABC Street.  I don't know the number, because, apparently, you people don't require them.  I'll tell you what, unless you drop those tones right now and get them started you can just tell them to drive north out of town, they'll see the header cause that fucker is getting pretty big already"

Or something to that effect.  It made me laugh.  A couple times over.

Unless the Quiet Child is reading this.  In that case, what I meant to say was that my mind was laser-focused on driving, the roads, and the vehicles that we shared those roads with.  Because I would never, ever, do anything even close to letting my mind wander while one of her offspring is in the car with me...

For real.

Peace

Leslie

Well, here we are.  And by "we" I mean, of course "me" but you get the picture.  I hadn't really considered getting to this point back in November 2013, but time does what it does and so...

For those of you that haven't kept up with the rest of the class, November 2013 is when the Great Vincenzo and I brought Leslie from Houston, TX to the greater Downers Grove, IL area.  Leslie, in case you didn't know, is a pink fire engine.

She's a 1989 E-One Hush pumper, or, she was in a previous life.  She has been a part of the Pink Heals family since 2012 and has seen parts of both coasts and (since November 2013) a good portion of the Midwest.  That's when several of us started the "Chicagoland" chapter of Pink Heals.  In that time we've done countless home visits (ok, maybe not "countless" but I'm not going to sit here and try adding them up.  Let's just say we've done a lot) and multiple other events, trying to put a smile on the face of someone going through a bad time health wise.

I've been involved with this fine organization since 2011.  I wrote about my adventures out on the road with the National Tour a lot, if you check out the archives over >>>>>> here, in 2012 and 2013 you can get a good idea of the fun we had and the people we met.  Also, after exhaustive (not really) research, I've discovered my all-time favorite PHT picture is not commemorated in any blog posts...  I now have a sad.  Sigh.

Well THAT was an odd little detour.  I'll blame it on hunger.  Yeah, that's it.

So, to the reason for this post.

In November 2013 it never occurred to me that Leslie would ever be housed anywhere but DuPage County.  I mean, it's a well populated area and with my numerous Fire Department (and non-Fire Department) contacts from working there for 24+ years, I figured she'd always have a home there.  But, as the time for me to retire inched closer and I started looking in earnest for someone to take her over, I realized the number of people with the availability and/or the required time commitment were few and far between.  And I get that, I really do.  I learned a long time ago, not everyone has the same level of interest in any given thing.  I don't take it personally and I don't hold grudges.  But, I can't just let something like Leslie fall by the wayside either.  I've seen first hand how much of an impact she can have on someones mental health, at least for the short term.

So I started thinking of suitable homes for her.  And the first thing that popped into my head was this. The Rock Falls/Sterling/Dixon/Morrison area has done an amazing job of supporting both Leslie and the National Tour for the last several years.  They get what we're doing and they embrace it fully.

So, I reached out to some folks I know out there.  And after a few conversations, they're thrilled to be getting Leslie.  As much as it saddens me to take her out of an area with so much need, it helps to know there are three other chapters within an hour of DuPage County and all are really good at what they do.

And so, finally, to the point of this little literary adventure.

Last fall, while returning from the last (good timing) home visit of the season, Leslie's motor blew.  Technically, she dropped six fuel injectors, but the end result is what it is.  She's been sitting at a repair shop over the winter while we scrambled, trying to find funding to get her up and running.  My feelings on running a non-profit is, as long as we've got enough to go out the door, we're ok.  And that philosophy works fine, by and large.

But when you're faced with a major, unexpected repair, well, not so much.

So, to that end and after much debate, we've decided the best way to raise the $6,000.00 we're looking at in repairs is to set up a Go Fund Me page for Leslie.  Just click on the link and you'll head over to her page where you can (if you like) donate any amount.  And by "any amount" I truly mean "any amount".  As in, no amount is too small.

I fully recognize economic uncertainty.  I also recognize, and I hope you do too, that more and more people are falling through the cracks of society and furthermore that those cracks are getting larger and larger.

Leslie is very good at helping people through those moments.  We're hoping that right now, you'll be good at helping Leslie through this moment.

Thanks so much for any help you can provide.

Peace

Brotherhood

Two weeks ago I was in D.C. for our union's Legislative Conference, yesterday was the first day in Springfield for our state association's Legislative Conference.  It got off to a good start, imho.

For instance... Local 3234 had a nice mix of old guys and new guys; two first timers, a second timer and a third (fourth?) timer.  This makes me happy as it tends to indicate to me that my local will be in good hands after guys from my generation are gone.  And there's not many of us left.  

The other thing that pleased me about the day was this; it reinforced my feelings that, while the International (IAFF) may have vacated the "we support those that support us" theory, our state association (AFFI) has not.  Not by a long shot.  A look at the speakers list reveals the truth.  

Without having the materials in front of me as I write this, we've got Rep. Durkin, the minority leader of the Illinois House, tomorrow along with Senator McCann among the speakers.  He's one of my favorite examples when I try and prove the point to new guys.  The "we support those that support us" point, that is.  Here's the deal, as it turns out the good Senator has many state employees that live in his district.  Many union workers that live in his district.  For those of you that may not be aware (you don't come around here very often, do you?  Welcome!) our current Governor hates organized labor.  Hates it.  btw, that should be said like the "Men On Film" bit from In Living Color  and if you Google it, you'll thank me.  Back on task now, Governor Bur... errr Rauner, attempted to do one of the few things he has in his playbook, throw vast amounts of his personal wealth at his problems.  

Last I heard, our Governor (side note; if you Google image search C. Montgomery Burns you don't need to scroll very far before you get to an actual photo of our Governor) has given roughly $54 MILLION of his own into the campaign fund to defeat Democrats or any Republican that dares to challenge his views.  Which brings me back to Senator Sam McCann.  He understands what it's like to be a middle class resident of Illinois.  He recognizes the value union membership has for a family working hard to make ends meet.  And he refused to turn his back on those members and their families.  And union members all across his district rose up to support him as he (figuratively) kicked the Rauner designee in the teeth and won despite vast sums of money getting funneled to his opponent.  

Don't get me wrong, I'm a liberal Democrat and I always will be.  But I'd like to think I'm pragmatic enough to understand both sides need to work together.  Or should.  See my earlier comments about negotiating.  It's kinda the same thing.  

This, imho, is one of the key reasons nothing is getting done in our fair state.  

"Somebody" refuses to negotiate in good faith.  I don't understand the basis for this... phobia... the Guv has with organized labor, well, actually I guess I do, but I don't believe it's founded in reality.  Historically, organized labor has tended to lean Democratic when it comes to politics.  Anecdotally, however, I think we're far closer to an even split if not 60/40 to the Republican side.  Yet, the Governor hates nothing, NOTHING, more than organized labor.  

Wait...  Check that...  There is one thing he hates more than unions....

The letter "G"

Seriously, have you ever heard him speak?  I'm sure it's all affect, trying be all "common man" but instead, it's laughable.  It comes across as hollow.  And pandering.  And disingenuous.  The "$18 Timex" he wore while campaigning or the Carhartt jacket he wore that looks like it never seen the outdoors.  Side note, out of all the Governors listed in the Legislative Handbook in D.C. guess who the only one was whose photo didn't include a suit and tie?  Ok, the only male.  So, yes he thinks we're all rubes and boobs that buy into his act.  

Gosh, our Governor may have a net worth of a Billion dollars but he sure does talk like one of us.

Uh huh.

We're getting ready to head over to the Capital to meet with our State Representatives.  The Senate isn't in this week so it'll be a quick day.  Then off to the Legislative Reception tonight.  

It should be a lot of fun, let's hope it's productive. 

Against our own best interests

While perusing social media this morning, I noticed today is the 25th anniversary of the organizing of Dolton's firefighters union.  So, first off, kudos to the brothers and sisters over there.  But, secondly, and of (hopefully) more relevance to many of the rest of you, it got me thinking again about our own Local 3234 union meeting last night.

As I was giving my regular spiel about what was happening politically; I recapped the events from the IAFF Legislative Conference last week in DC for starters, followed by a preview of the AFFI Legislative Conference next week in Springfield.  Quick photo detour from last week...

Anyway, as a part of my preview, I touched on pending legislation, both pro and con, that stands to affect our profession.

Off the top of my head, there are five bills that we, as a union, support.  They range from qualifications for a potential Fire Chief to logos on privately operated fire department vehicles to pension contributions for secondary employment.  None of these proposed bills have a fiscal impact on taxpayers yet each may make life, at least somewhat, better for our profession.

On the other side of the ledger there are no less than NINE bills we oppose.  These bills represent efforts by minions of our virulently anti-labor Governor C. Montgomery errr... I mean... Bruce Rauner.  And I can't describe to you how much it pains me to put his name in one of my quality productions.  But it needed to be done.

To the bills.  By taking a page out of Wisconsin's playbook, these bills attempt to weaken our profession by eliminating presumptive illnesses.  When compared to the general population we have a significantly higher statistical chance of contracting (multiple types of) cancer due to the chemicals we come in contact with fighting fires.  We have a significantly higher statistical chance of dying from heart disease or stroke due to the stresses of our job.  Those are just for starters.  Illinois was among the leaders in recognizing these risks and now are among 37 states the protect against heart disease and 32 states that protect against certain cancers among firefighters.  This bill removes all such protections.

So much for America's heroes.

Another two bills go after our pensions.  The money WE pay into our own pension funds so that we may (hopefully) retire with some security.  btw, statistically we tend to die about seven years after our retirement.  Seven.  Years.  That's not very long imho.

Another bill prevents payroll deduction for collecting dues, a very popular tactic to weaken organized labor and one that has no purpose other than that.

There's a bill that limits what we are allowed to bargain over.  To steal a line from The Princess Bride I don't think bargain means what you think it means.  Nothing happens until both sides say "yes" to it.  See, when we "bargain" a contract, there's no such thing as unilateral acceptance between the two sides.  They must "agree" on every issue or it doesn't work.  Perhaps you've heard of the phrase "give and take" or something similar.  It's what's known as "negotiating"  Look it up, sir.

I also (they've got to be tired of hearing me talk about this) restated my opinion that our members could make no better investment in their own future than to send money to our unions Political Action Committee to help facilitate the work our members to do for all of us.

Now, you may ask yourself "why do firefighters and paramedics need to worry about protecting their jobs?  I thought everyone liked them?"  My reply to you is to re-read the preceding few paragraphs.

Back to the meeting...  As always, when I finished, I wondered if I'd had any impact at all on our younger members.

I got the answer when we got back to the station.  My Lt. came up to me and told me Nate (you've been wondering if I was going to write about you, happy now?) mentioned to him that the things I'd spoken about "scared the shit out of him".

Nate, if you want to stay out of future posts, heed my advice and start working on your own future.  And if any of you other new guys (even if you're not from my local) are reading this; get up, get out, get on your feet, and get to work.  You have much to appreciate that was provided by the guys that came before you.  Repay that debt by continuing the effort to protect what you have.  Believe it or not there will be guys following you.  Lay solid foundations for them.  I promise you that time will come before you can possibly imagine now.  My 25 years has gone by in the blink of an eye.  Yours will too.  The work you do now will help to ensure you can retire one day too.

Lastly, remember, Democracy is not a spectator sport.  Be involved in your own future.