My friends know that I'm not a whiner. I'm not a victim. I am responsible for my own fate/circumstance.
Well, except for this situation in which I find myself with Officer Owens, a Birmingham Policeman, and I'm not sure how to handle it or what to do about it. I'll be as succinct as possible, but unless you know the circumstances surrounding it, you can't understand it. So here goes:
On February 7, while driving to Aaron's house to pick up his laptop, I ran over a fire hydrant that was lying in the road. It was old and rusty, so it probably fell off the back of a city truck. Anyway, it messed up the right front tire and wheel, and bounced off something under the car. I pulled into a driveway and onto the sidewalk in front of a house. (This was about the 4000 block of Clairmont Avenue.) I called Aaron to let him know I couldn't come for his laptop, but he brought it to me, along with his car, so I could get home after I handled MY car, and had a friend take him back home.
I pulled his car behind the fire hydrant that was still in the road, since I couldn't lift it, to be sure nobody else hit it. Leaving the car running, and the headlights and taillights and emergency flashers on, I call 911 for an accident report for my car. While waiting for the police, I called USAA to see about a tow, and to check benefits (repair, rental, etc.) As I'm chatting with the USAA rep, I see in the rear view mirror a car go through the 42nd Street light (about 3 blocks away) and barrel toward me. As it got closer, I realized the driver was oblivious to me, and wasn't slowing at all. I said to the USAA rep, "A car is coming, and it doesn't look like it's slowing." A few seconds later, I screamed into the phone, "OH SHIT! I'M GOING TO GET HIT!" and the car plowed into my rear so hard and fast that it knocked the shock absorbers and back wheels off the car.
Miraculously I was unhurt, except for being very shook up (and quite sore for a couple of weeks). The collision knocked the front of the car up onto the curb, and the other car was knocked up on the curb on the other side of the street. A girl (I would say mid-20s) wobbled out of the car and weaved across the street. "Are you ok?" she slurred. I assured her I was OK, and she got back into her car.
Since the police still hadn't responded to my call, I called them again. This time he came, approximately 10 minutes later. Parking behind me, he passed my winow and said, "I'll need to see your license and insurance information," and headed over to the other car.
About five minutes later, a firetruck and an ambulance arrived. Firemen and paramedics jumped out of their vehicles and came over to me with, "Are you hurt? Do you need to go to the hospital?" I said no. I was OK. So they went to the girl's car, loaded her on a stretcher, and took her away.
The policeman then came back to my car and asked what happened. I told him the whole story that I've just told you, and handed him my license and insurance card.
His first comment was, "Where did you hit the fire hydrant?"
I said, "Right back there. It was lying in the road."
He said, "It wasn't there an hour ago. Where was it when you hit it?"
I consulted my phone for the time of my first 911 call and said, "I hit it over an hour ago. It was lying in the road before that." (A while later, when neighbors started getting up and coming out to see, one man said, "See that oil spot back there? The hydrant had to have been in the road long enough for the oil to have leaked out of the top of it.")
He smirked and said, "I see you jumped the curb and hit that little tree over there."
I told him, "No. I didn't. I pulled into that driveway and onto the sidewalk."
"NO. YOU HIT THE TREE!" He repeated loudly, and walked over to the little tree and picked up a headlight on the ground. Carrying it over his head like Vulcan's torch, he marched over to the front of my car (on the sidewalk) and looked back and forth at the two headlights still on my car. Then he looked at the headlight in his hand, and again at the two on my car, as if he couldn't figure out where the third headlight was supposed to have been.
When he couldn't determine where the headlight had come from, but certainly not from my car, he returned to his car, and I called USAA back. I knew Aaron's car was a total loss, but mine looked repairable. USAA called a tow truck and gave me instructions about a rental.
The policeman finished whatever he was doing in his car, and came back over to where I was cleaning stuff out of Aaron's car and putting it in my car. It was now daylight.
He said, "I've called Weil for three wreckers. They will be here shortly." I told him USAA had already called a wrecker for my car.
"You HAVE to use Weil!" he said.
"NO. I DON'T." I said.
"OH YES YOU DO!"
"OH NO I DON'T!"
"WEIL IS GOING TO TOW YOUR CAR TO THE WEIL LOT!"
"NO. IT ISN'T. I HAVE A TOW TRUCK COMING!'
We were at a standoff, when three Weil trucks arrived. He told the closest driver, "Get that one first," indicating my car.
"No," I said. "I have another tow coming for THAT car."
The little policeman now looked like Rumplestilskin, hopping about and yelling. "YOU HAVE TO USE WEIL! AND BESIDES, YOU CAN'T LEAVE A CAR IN SOMEONE'S FRONT YARD ALL DAY! AND I CAN'T STAY HERE ALL DAY WAITING FOR SOME TOW TRUCK!"
About that time, the lady who lived there came outside, saw me and my friend (who I had called and who had arrived by then) and yelled, "What happened? How long have you been out here in the cold? You want to come inside and have some coffee and use my bathroom?" She also assured Officer Owens that my car could stay in her yard all weekend for all she cared.
The other two cars were being hooked up to tow trucks, and I asked for the other driver's name and insurance info, since she had left before I could ask her. Officer Owens snapped, "It will be on the accident report. You can get that in 72 hours," and then my tow truck arrived.
That's basically what happened. Although I don't have many interactions with policeman, (and aside from the fact that he was the ONLY person who came onto the scene that never once asked if I was OK), this was without a doubt the rudest bully I've ever encountered in law enforcement.
OKAY... so there's THAT. I depended on USAA to handle the cars, repair, rentals, etc... which they did.
Aaron's check for his car came, along with a letter that said, "This is payment in full, minus the $500 deductible."
Wait a minute. Why isn't this girl's insurance paying for his car? So I asked for a copy of the accident report, which USAA emailed to me immediately.
I couldn't believe what I read. The report was basically false. It said I called 911 at 0508 and that he arrived at 0512. I actually called at 0440 the first time, and 0456 the second time. I don't know what time he arrived, but it was a good 10 minutes after the second call. It said that I was "illegally parked in the road" (I wasn't parked at all). It said that the contributing factor was an "unseen object", with me ("Unit 1") being the contributing factor. (I saw her coming 3 blocks away. How could she NOT see me, lit up like 4th of July fireworks? Unless she was either drunk, asleep, or texting and not watching the road?). If I had been changing a flat tire, I would be DEAD. If I had been successful in moving the fire hydrant at the moment she came by, I would be DEAD. If Officer Owens had come when I called the first time, it would be HIS car that was hit, and probably we both would be dead.
Does anyone know what recourse I have about this?
OK. I'm finished. I think I'll contact Chief Roper about this anyway. He is serious about cleaning up the police department, and about deterring crime. And I think he needs to know about Officer Owens' unruly and ill-mannered behavior.
Wednesday, April 8, 2015
Thursday, December 25, 2014
Prayer
You have heard the warning, "Be careful what you pray for." That's because God always answers prayers, but sometimes not in the way you had hoped. And He always answers in His time, not yours. And sometimes His answer is "NO."
Prayer has been part of my life for as long as I can remember - from the bedtime "Now I lay me down to sleep" to "Please, God, don't take him at Christmas." I pray every day, and usually many times a day. For me, prayer is a conversation with God. Over the years, my prayers have changed - or maybe they have just matured.
When I was a child, God was an imposing figure - a larger-than-imaginable man with a long white beard who was able to strike down bad people, but who always looked kindly on little children. Now I know God is all powerful, spiritual, loving, giving, and forgiving. And He wants to hear our desires and needs. But we don't have the whole universal picture, and never will. Only God does. And we're not alone down here on earth, either. There are other people down here with us, and as much as I sometimes have my doubts, all those people are God's children, and He loves them. It's good that He does, because some of them aren't very loveable at all.
Now, more and more frequently, I find myself waking up in the morning with, "Thank you, Lord, for giving me another day in this wonderful world. Please keep me safe today." And as the day progresses, there are lots of little conversations - as if I'm talking with a friend. "Lord, thank you for this food. Let it fuel me to make it through the day." "Lord, please hold my hand and cover my mouth." "God, help me know what You want me to do here, because I'm at a loss." "Lord, I need your guidance. I don't know which way to go." "Lord God, give me patience to deal with this traffic in a Christian way." and usually ending the day with something like "Dear Lord, thank You for all my blessings. Thank You for walking with me today. If You want me to continue, please give me another tomorrow. And most of all Lord, stay with me, guide me, and know that I love You."
I laughed when they outlawed prayer in school. What a joke! Did they really think a law could put a stop to my communication with God? How can anyone really, truly prevent someone else from praying? To this day, I don't understand the concept there. They can prevent Bible reading aloud. But they can't prevent the human brain from thinking, "The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want..." I can't remember very many times I sat down to take a test that I didn't say, "Lord, be with me and guide my pen." I was a pretty good student, but I figured you can't be too careful, so just in case...
OK, I admit that most of my prayers are selfish. Sometimes not, though. There are the prayers for panhandlers or politicians: "Lord, bless her. She needs a blessing BADLY." There are prayers for friends and family: "God, take him in Your loving arms and help him through this. Wipe his tears, and strengthen and comfort him." And prayers for my children: "Lord, You know I did the best I could raising him. I love him more than only You can know, and I know You love him too. Now, all I can do is relinquish his care to You. Please hold him in Your arms, like I did for so many years, and keep him safe."
God has seldom told me NO. But He HAS has put me places I didn't want to be. He has kept me from places I DID want to be. He has tested me many times in uncomfortable ways, and He has put people and obstacles in my path that I have stumbled over, and occasionally I have fallen. But He has never left me down there. He has always offered His strong hand to help me pull back up.
Don't misunderstand me here, though... There have been times in my life that I have doubted God. There have been times I have even doubted His very existence. I have been angry at Him. I have yelled at Him, and questioned His decisions and actions. Directly and loudly. I don't know for sure, but I think when I get that way, God probably waits patiently and quietly for me to calm down, settle down, and come back to Him, kinda like a wise and loving Father with a wayward and sassy daughter.
I'm happy to report it has been many, many years since I doubted Him.... not so many since I've been angry. But God is all-knowing and all-powerful, and He lovingly and patiently tolerates my stupid little tantrums. At least I hope He does, since I'm human, and have human emotions.
Today is Christmas. The day we celebrate as the time God gifted us his Son in human flesh and blood. Now, over 2000 years later, we gather our own families and friends around us in love and companionship and happiness. Oh yes, we put up Christmas trees, and we sing Santa songs, and we hang stockings. We give each other gifts. Theoretically gifts symbolize the gifts of the Magi to the baby Jesus, or even symbolize God's gift to us of Jesus. Now, I have no illusions about that. I know there are people celebrate Christmas as merely a opportunity to score toys and stuff. But that's all I have to say about that.
This morning, I was blown away by Mark and Michelle's gift to their friends and family. In fact, I teared up when I opened the little envelope and read the card that said, "A gift to Heifer International in your honor will provide the resources to help smallholder farmers increase their income so that they can feed their families nutritious meals every day, send their children to school, and light their way to a better future." What a thoughtful and meaningful gift! (Last Saturday, they gave a donation to the Birmingham Humane Society in honor of Aaron and Britt.) And then Mark cooked breakfast for us. I can't remember a more warm and wonderful Christmas morning. (I know it's Michelle's influence. Again, I have no illusions LOL). Thank you, God, for bringing Michelle into our lives. She is a blessing - not only to Mark, but to our family.
Aaron and Britt were in Indiana with Bobbie and Steve and the rest of Britt's family. There's another blessing, (Thank you, Lord. You seem to know what we need!) and I had already prayed for traveling mercy for them.
And then, this afternoon, my phone rang. I saw it was Aaron, and answered with a cheerful, "Merry Christmas! Are y'all having a great time?"
"No. I'm not."
"Oh, Aaron! What's wrong? Is everyone all right?"
"Oh, Mom, Coda is dead." and he moaned in despair and pain.
Aaron's words still echo in my head. Their dear, sweet, loving, happy Coda dog had been hit by a car. I can't express in words the grief and anguish I feel for Aaron and Britt. And my own selfish helplessness and distress at the loss of my precious Grandpuppy.
It was a stupid accident... basically an unavoidable accident, unless Coda had been kept in a cage or on a chain. And in his short life, he never knew anything but being hugged and loved by Aaron and Britt. He didn't know desertion or cold or hunger. Coda never heard a loud or unkind word. Even Aaron's reprimands were gentle and loving. "Coda, we don't pee in the house. Understand? That is a no-no." "Coda, Buddy... see that garbage can? We don't pull things out of it. Getting in the garbage is a no-no. Understand? Coda, Look at me. Understand?"
So a perfect morning turned into a tragic afternoon. Coda was truly a part of our family. and sadly, MORE a part of our family than some real family members are.
Dear Lord, I know you have your reasons, but for the life of me, I don't understand this. Maybe I never will. I know Coda's sweet spirit is in doggy heaven, because I can't fathom such a loving spirit being anywhere but playing with squirrels and butterflies over the Rainbow Bridge. So here is my prayer, my sincere desire, my deepest need right now: I need You to be with my dear son and his beautiful wife. Now, more than at any moment in the past, they need peace. They need courage to get through the next few days and weeks, so give them courage. Give them comfort. I believe with your help, they can lean on each other, depend on each other, comfort each other, and help each other work through the unbearable grief and loss they both feel. Only You can perform this miracle, and we need a miracle now.
Amen.
Prayer has been part of my life for as long as I can remember - from the bedtime "Now I lay me down to sleep" to "Please, God, don't take him at Christmas." I pray every day, and usually many times a day. For me, prayer is a conversation with God. Over the years, my prayers have changed - or maybe they have just matured.
When I was a child, God was an imposing figure - a larger-than-imaginable man with a long white beard who was able to strike down bad people, but who always looked kindly on little children. Now I know God is all powerful, spiritual, loving, giving, and forgiving. And He wants to hear our desires and needs. But we don't have the whole universal picture, and never will. Only God does. And we're not alone down here on earth, either. There are other people down here with us, and as much as I sometimes have my doubts, all those people are God's children, and He loves them. It's good that He does, because some of them aren't very loveable at all.
Now, more and more frequently, I find myself waking up in the morning with, "Thank you, Lord, for giving me another day in this wonderful world. Please keep me safe today." And as the day progresses, there are lots of little conversations - as if I'm talking with a friend. "Lord, thank you for this food. Let it fuel me to make it through the day." "Lord, please hold my hand and cover my mouth." "God, help me know what You want me to do here, because I'm at a loss." "Lord, I need your guidance. I don't know which way to go." "Lord God, give me patience to deal with this traffic in a Christian way." and usually ending the day with something like "Dear Lord, thank You for all my blessings. Thank You for walking with me today. If You want me to continue, please give me another tomorrow. And most of all Lord, stay with me, guide me, and know that I love You."
I laughed when they outlawed prayer in school. What a joke! Did they really think a law could put a stop to my communication with God? How can anyone really, truly prevent someone else from praying? To this day, I don't understand the concept there. They can prevent Bible reading aloud. But they can't prevent the human brain from thinking, "The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want..." I can't remember very many times I sat down to take a test that I didn't say, "Lord, be with me and guide my pen." I was a pretty good student, but I figured you can't be too careful, so just in case...
OK, I admit that most of my prayers are selfish. Sometimes not, though. There are the prayers for panhandlers or politicians: "Lord, bless her. She needs a blessing BADLY." There are prayers for friends and family: "God, take him in Your loving arms and help him through this. Wipe his tears, and strengthen and comfort him." And prayers for my children: "Lord, You know I did the best I could raising him. I love him more than only You can know, and I know You love him too. Now, all I can do is relinquish his care to You. Please hold him in Your arms, like I did for so many years, and keep him safe."
God has seldom told me NO. But He HAS has put me places I didn't want to be. He has kept me from places I DID want to be. He has tested me many times in uncomfortable ways, and He has put people and obstacles in my path that I have stumbled over, and occasionally I have fallen. But He has never left me down there. He has always offered His strong hand to help me pull back up.
Don't misunderstand me here, though... There have been times in my life that I have doubted God. There have been times I have even doubted His very existence. I have been angry at Him. I have yelled at Him, and questioned His decisions and actions. Directly and loudly. I don't know for sure, but I think when I get that way, God probably waits patiently and quietly for me to calm down, settle down, and come back to Him, kinda like a wise and loving Father with a wayward and sassy daughter.
I'm happy to report it has been many, many years since I doubted Him.... not so many since I've been angry. But God is all-knowing and all-powerful, and He lovingly and patiently tolerates my stupid little tantrums. At least I hope He does, since I'm human, and have human emotions.
Today is Christmas. The day we celebrate as the time God gifted us his Son in human flesh and blood. Now, over 2000 years later, we gather our own families and friends around us in love and companionship and happiness. Oh yes, we put up Christmas trees, and we sing Santa songs, and we hang stockings. We give each other gifts. Theoretically gifts symbolize the gifts of the Magi to the baby Jesus, or even symbolize God's gift to us of Jesus. Now, I have no illusions about that. I know there are people celebrate Christmas as merely a opportunity to score toys and stuff. But that's all I have to say about that.
This morning, I was blown away by Mark and Michelle's gift to their friends and family. In fact, I teared up when I opened the little envelope and read the card that said, "A gift to Heifer International in your honor will provide the resources to help smallholder farmers increase their income so that they can feed their families nutritious meals every day, send their children to school, and light their way to a better future." What a thoughtful and meaningful gift! (Last Saturday, they gave a donation to the Birmingham Humane Society in honor of Aaron and Britt.) And then Mark cooked breakfast for us. I can't remember a more warm and wonderful Christmas morning. (I know it's Michelle's influence. Again, I have no illusions LOL). Thank you, God, for bringing Michelle into our lives. She is a blessing - not only to Mark, but to our family.
Aaron and Britt were in Indiana with Bobbie and Steve and the rest of Britt's family. There's another blessing, (Thank you, Lord. You seem to know what we need!) and I had already prayed for traveling mercy for them.
And then, this afternoon, my phone rang. I saw it was Aaron, and answered with a cheerful, "Merry Christmas! Are y'all having a great time?"
"No. I'm not."
"Oh, Aaron! What's wrong? Is everyone all right?"
"Oh, Mom, Coda is dead." and he moaned in despair and pain.
Aaron's words still echo in my head. Their dear, sweet, loving, happy Coda dog had been hit by a car. I can't express in words the grief and anguish I feel for Aaron and Britt. And my own selfish helplessness and distress at the loss of my precious Grandpuppy.
It was a stupid accident... basically an unavoidable accident, unless Coda had been kept in a cage or on a chain. And in his short life, he never knew anything but being hugged and loved by Aaron and Britt. He didn't know desertion or cold or hunger. Coda never heard a loud or unkind word. Even Aaron's reprimands were gentle and loving. "Coda, we don't pee in the house. Understand? That is a no-no." "Coda, Buddy... see that garbage can? We don't pull things out of it. Getting in the garbage is a no-no. Understand? Coda, Look at me. Understand?"
So a perfect morning turned into a tragic afternoon. Coda was truly a part of our family. and sadly, MORE a part of our family than some real family members are.
Dear Lord, I know you have your reasons, but for the life of me, I don't understand this. Maybe I never will. I know Coda's sweet spirit is in doggy heaven, because I can't fathom such a loving spirit being anywhere but playing with squirrels and butterflies over the Rainbow Bridge. So here is my prayer, my sincere desire, my deepest need right now: I need You to be with my dear son and his beautiful wife. Now, more than at any moment in the past, they need peace. They need courage to get through the next few days and weeks, so give them courage. Give them comfort. I believe with your help, they can lean on each other, depend on each other, comfort each other, and help each other work through the unbearable grief and loss they both feel. Only You can perform this miracle, and we need a miracle now.
Amen.
Thursday, December 18, 2014
So, after over 40 years, I returned to the theatre. Well, not really. I WENT to the theatre to see a show. But I saw Carl Stewart, who I haven't seen in 40 years, and with whom I share a history, and it brought back glorious memories!
But before the show, I was sitting in the lobby enjoying a glass of wine and I happened to meet Greg. He is about my age, or maybe a few years younger. He is a veteran, having served in the Coast Guard. He has cancer. Having been jerked around by both the V.A. and the civilian medical system for several years, he now has cancer in almost every organ in his body. I won't go into all that, but he hopes that with the new medicine he's on, he might have as much as a year to live.
Even in high school, Greg was a phenomenal sculptor. He has won many art awards over the years, and according to my friend who introduced him, Greg could have competed with the finest artists in the world.
Now, though, Greg no longer sculpts. Why not? "I don't know." He is agile, in spite of the boot on his right foot (immobilizing his bones and muscles from which tumors were removed 3 weeks ago), and has a great smile, in spite of the barely scabbed over wound on the bridge of his nose, from which a tumor was removed this morning, due to it burrowing perilously close to his brain.
Greg has no family, and is renting a room from a friend of Aaron, who is also sorta caring for him. I asked what his plans are. "To get some things straight, so I don't leave a mess."
Talking to Greg made me think again about my own mortality, as us old folks occasionally do anyway. I hope I have a year left on this earth. Hell, I hope I have 30 years more! But what if I knew I had only a year at most? What then? I have no "bucket list". There really aren't many things I want to do that I haven't done. I have no burning desire to see Paris or the pyramids. While travel would be fun, deep own, I really would rather go fishing or read a book.
Once I had a list of 3 things I wanted to do before I die. I've learned to whistle (thank you, Mary). I still haven't learned to yodel, and I haven't ridden in a blimp, but in the broad scope of things, I think I will have few regrets if I go before I do either of those things.
So, what would I do? What is REALLY, REALLY important enough to spend time doing, if you KNOW your time is limited, and every minute counts? It is important to Greg to "not leave a mess". I'm not sure I care if I leave a mess. My children are used to mess. They can handle it. And I have no real regrets. Oh sure, there are some things I might would do a bit differently, but when I look at the ripples of my decisions over the years, I wouldn't change anything significantly.
There is one I loved (and still do), and might have spent my life with, had things been different, had I been different... (sigh)...but we all have one of those, probably. I love my life NOW too much to have any regrets about that either. But I digress.
So what would I do if I knew I had one year to live? Write my memoirs? Oh that might be a big mistake. Read all the books I want to read and haven't read yet? Probably not. My grandmother died in the middle of "General Hospital", and I'm pretty sure there were no significant ripples. Would I plant a garden this Spring? Maybe, but probably not. Would I get these dents in my car fixed? No. New tires? Nope. Finish cleaning out the basement? Don't think so. Lose these 10 extra pounds, so my casket is lighter? Get real!
After all is said and done, I think I would do exactly the same things I do now. If I knew I had one year to live, I think I would do the same things, but would enjoy them even more. I would pay more REAL attention to the people I am around every day. I would be sure they know I love them and care about them. I don't do "goodbyes", so there would be none of that, but just in case today is the last time, I would say, "I love you" more often, give more hugs, and write more letters.
None of us know. Today could always be the last one. So let me say this to you right now, so there is no wondering later: I love you. HUGS!
But before the show, I was sitting in the lobby enjoying a glass of wine and I happened to meet Greg. He is about my age, or maybe a few years younger. He is a veteran, having served in the Coast Guard. He has cancer. Having been jerked around by both the V.A. and the civilian medical system for several years, he now has cancer in almost every organ in his body. I won't go into all that, but he hopes that with the new medicine he's on, he might have as much as a year to live.
Even in high school, Greg was a phenomenal sculptor. He has won many art awards over the years, and according to my friend who introduced him, Greg could have competed with the finest artists in the world.
Now, though, Greg no longer sculpts. Why not? "I don't know." He is agile, in spite of the boot on his right foot (immobilizing his bones and muscles from which tumors were removed 3 weeks ago), and has a great smile, in spite of the barely scabbed over wound on the bridge of his nose, from which a tumor was removed this morning, due to it burrowing perilously close to his brain.
Greg has no family, and is renting a room from a friend of Aaron, who is also sorta caring for him. I asked what his plans are. "To get some things straight, so I don't leave a mess."
Talking to Greg made me think again about my own mortality, as us old folks occasionally do anyway. I hope I have a year left on this earth. Hell, I hope I have 30 years more! But what if I knew I had only a year at most? What then? I have no "bucket list". There really aren't many things I want to do that I haven't done. I have no burning desire to see Paris or the pyramids. While travel would be fun, deep own, I really would rather go fishing or read a book.
Once I had a list of 3 things I wanted to do before I die. I've learned to whistle (thank you, Mary). I still haven't learned to yodel, and I haven't ridden in a blimp, but in the broad scope of things, I think I will have few regrets if I go before I do either of those things.
So, what would I do? What is REALLY, REALLY important enough to spend time doing, if you KNOW your time is limited, and every minute counts? It is important to Greg to "not leave a mess". I'm not sure I care if I leave a mess. My children are used to mess. They can handle it. And I have no real regrets. Oh sure, there are some things I might would do a bit differently, but when I look at the ripples of my decisions over the years, I wouldn't change anything significantly.
There is one I loved (and still do), and might have spent my life with, had things been different, had I been different... (sigh)...but we all have one of those, probably. I love my life NOW too much to have any regrets about that either. But I digress.
So what would I do if I knew I had one year to live? Write my memoirs? Oh that might be a big mistake. Read all the books I want to read and haven't read yet? Probably not. My grandmother died in the middle of "General Hospital", and I'm pretty sure there were no significant ripples. Would I plant a garden this Spring? Maybe, but probably not. Would I get these dents in my car fixed? No. New tires? Nope. Finish cleaning out the basement? Don't think so. Lose these 10 extra pounds, so my casket is lighter? Get real!
After all is said and done, I think I would do exactly the same things I do now. If I knew I had one year to live, I think I would do the same things, but would enjoy them even more. I would pay more REAL attention to the people I am around every day. I would be sure they know I love them and care about them. I don't do "goodbyes", so there would be none of that, but just in case today is the last time, I would say, "I love you" more often, give more hugs, and write more letters.
None of us know. Today could always be the last one. So let me say this to you right now, so there is no wondering later: I love you. HUGS!
Friday, November 21, 2014
Identifying Community Needs
We in Middle Class America know what the problems in the "less fortunate" communities are, and we are here to solve them. OK... maybe that's not fair. Let's talk about what I REALLY know about. So let me start over. We in Middle Class Birmingham know what the problems are over in West End, or Woodlawn, or Elyton, and we are here to solve them.
Siimple enough. OK, what are the problems in West End and Elyton? Well, obviously one of the main problems is hunger. Just look at all the people begging for money for food. Many of them "Will work for food"... until someone offers to let him mow their yard, or clean their house, in exchange for lunch or supper. OK... bad example. Everyone was on to that. The signs have changed. Now it's "Disabled Vet. Need help." Except when you ask them what branch they were in or what their MOS was. They get a blank look and say, "I don't remember." Or try to give them a list of V. A. agencies who provide everything to veterans from food to shelter to healthcare to wheelchair vans, they hand it back and ask, "Can you spare a few bucks?" Another bad example... How about those pitiful panhandlers in the church parking lot telling the little old ladies they're hungry, but get really agitated when the ladies invite them inside the church for sandwiches and coffee? Or those in the grocery store parking lot asking for food money until they can "get back home" but refuse to come into the store and let you buy them groceries?
A homeless man I talked with in Avondale Park said, "If anyone in Birmingham is hungry, it's their own fault. There are at least a hundred places that hand out free food or meals every day."
While I'm sure a hundred is an exaggeration, there are 4 places/churches within 2 miles of Avondale Park that daily prepare hot noon meals for the homeless. Two of those also prepare evening meals, and two churches in the area hand out bags of groceries every week.
One resident of a veterans' home in the area told me that they get more food donated than they can eat, only mostly it's fruit, cookies and bread. He said they don't get many donations of meat and vegetables. He said when he gets his check he heads for a local diner for "meatloaf and beans. Don't get that donated." Then he heads to Piggly Wiggly for tuna and "vi-eeners".
Well, if it's not hunger, must be healthcare. We all watch the news, and know that the underpriviledged don't have access to healthcare. Lots of people agree on that, because last October there were 3 huge health fairs in the Avondale community within 2 weeks of each other. All three were sparcely attended. Why? Well two of the health fair sponsors said it was due to "poor communication". If people had known, they would have come in droves. But one of these advertised on the radio, on TV, and had posters all over Avondale. Another did the poster thing, but also advertised heavily to their Brown Bag Grocery recipients for a month beforehand. (Further proof of healthcare needs is the two free health clinics in Avondale and Woodlawn.)
So where were the people who need healthcare? Several people told me "I get a free flu shot at my doctor. He also takes my blood pressure. Didn't need a health fair." WHAT?? How do you afford the doctor? "Medicaid pays." If you don't have Medicaid or Medicare, you can go to one of the free clinics, or if you just need your blood pressure taken, stop by the fire department. The homeless in Avondale Park mostly go to M-Power's free clinic, because they also get free medication there, as do the homeless in Woodlawn.
Well, I guess the homeless need shelter? Back to the park. Asking the people who live in the pavillion and sleep on the picnic tables if they would like a ride to the Firehouse Shelter, or to the J.H. or another mission that houses and feeds people. "No thanks, Ms. Ginger." But... but... but... why not? "Can't drink at the mission, and have to pray every day. Have to clean your room and be in by ten at the Firehouse. Have to look for a job too. I don't need all that hassle."
So how do we identify what the needs are? We could ask the charities, run by the middle class, who serve the population. I suspect If we asked CSM, they would say the biggest need is food. It's what they do. If we ask M-Power, they would say healthcare. It's what they do. (M-Power also has some awesome job training programs, which they have identified as a need in the community). If we ask the Jimmy Hale Mission, they would tell us it's shelter and alcohol rehab. It's what they do.
But I don't mean to direct this rant to the homeless. There are multitudes of ramshackle houses in all those areas, in which families live ... well, reside. While my house is small and needs work, it is in a neighborhood that has never seen a drive-by shooting. There has never been a robbery at our 7-11. Children safely ride their bikes all around the block. I don't personally know all my neighbors, but I know most of them, and all of them by sight, or by their cars.
I do know that not one of them is chronically hungry. None of them is homeless, and none of them lives in a drafty house in Avondale with iffy heat or drafty fire-hazard fireplaces, no a.c., with roaches running rampant. None them prays nightly that somehow God will provide their child a coat for the winter, or help them find a way to pay the power bill this month. Not one of us in my middle class neighborhood is homebound because we can't drive, or can't afford a car, or because our children and other relatives have died or forsaken us, or moved to California, so we see nobody except whoever appears on our TV screen - IF we have a TV.
As for you: I would bet not a single one of you actually goes a day, much less a week or a month, without your phone ringing. SOMEBODY thinks about you every day, and SOMEBODY calls to tell you.
When you look at "those people's" situation, it's easy to identify the problems from a middle-class viewpoint. "Good grief! You can't pay your power bill. How do you think you can feed that DOG??" "If he abuses you, leave him." "If you're sick, go to the doctor. "If you would spend your money on food instead of beer, maybe you wouldn't be hungry." "Clean up this mess. Get rid of that cat. You can't even afford kitty litter!"
So it sounds like the main problem is just that "those people" make bad choices. Maybe they do.
But maybe, just MAYBE, the problem is loneliness. Maybe people need companionship more than they need food, or shelter, or healthcare, or even their dignity. And maybe, for some people, the only friend that never deserts, is there every day, and comforts the most, lives in a bottle.
Siimple enough. OK, what are the problems in West End and Elyton? Well, obviously one of the main problems is hunger. Just look at all the people begging for money for food. Many of them "Will work for food"... until someone offers to let him mow their yard, or clean their house, in exchange for lunch or supper. OK... bad example. Everyone was on to that. The signs have changed. Now it's "Disabled Vet. Need help." Except when you ask them what branch they were in or what their MOS was. They get a blank look and say, "I don't remember." Or try to give them a list of V. A. agencies who provide everything to veterans from food to shelter to healthcare to wheelchair vans, they hand it back and ask, "Can you spare a few bucks?" Another bad example... How about those pitiful panhandlers in the church parking lot telling the little old ladies they're hungry, but get really agitated when the ladies invite them inside the church for sandwiches and coffee? Or those in the grocery store parking lot asking for food money until they can "get back home" but refuse to come into the store and let you buy them groceries?
A homeless man I talked with in Avondale Park said, "If anyone in Birmingham is hungry, it's their own fault. There are at least a hundred places that hand out free food or meals every day."
While I'm sure a hundred is an exaggeration, there are 4 places/churches within 2 miles of Avondale Park that daily prepare hot noon meals for the homeless. Two of those also prepare evening meals, and two churches in the area hand out bags of groceries every week.
One resident of a veterans' home in the area told me that they get more food donated than they can eat, only mostly it's fruit, cookies and bread. He said they don't get many donations of meat and vegetables. He said when he gets his check he heads for a local diner for "meatloaf and beans. Don't get that donated." Then he heads to Piggly Wiggly for tuna and "vi-eeners".
Well, if it's not hunger, must be healthcare. We all watch the news, and know that the underpriviledged don't have access to healthcare. Lots of people agree on that, because last October there were 3 huge health fairs in the Avondale community within 2 weeks of each other. All three were sparcely attended. Why? Well two of the health fair sponsors said it was due to "poor communication". If people had known, they would have come in droves. But one of these advertised on the radio, on TV, and had posters all over Avondale. Another did the poster thing, but also advertised heavily to their Brown Bag Grocery recipients for a month beforehand. (Further proof of healthcare needs is the two free health clinics in Avondale and Woodlawn.)
So where were the people who need healthcare? Several people told me "I get a free flu shot at my doctor. He also takes my blood pressure. Didn't need a health fair." WHAT?? How do you afford the doctor? "Medicaid pays." If you don't have Medicaid or Medicare, you can go to one of the free clinics, or if you just need your blood pressure taken, stop by the fire department. The homeless in Avondale Park mostly go to M-Power's free clinic, because they also get free medication there, as do the homeless in Woodlawn.
Well, I guess the homeless need shelter? Back to the park. Asking the people who live in the pavillion and sleep on the picnic tables if they would like a ride to the Firehouse Shelter, or to the J.H. or another mission that houses and feeds people. "No thanks, Ms. Ginger." But... but... but... why not? "Can't drink at the mission, and have to pray every day. Have to clean your room and be in by ten at the Firehouse. Have to look for a job too. I don't need all that hassle."
So how do we identify what the needs are? We could ask the charities, run by the middle class, who serve the population. I suspect If we asked CSM, they would say the biggest need is food. It's what they do. If we ask M-Power, they would say healthcare. It's what they do. (M-Power also has some awesome job training programs, which they have identified as a need in the community). If we ask the Jimmy Hale Mission, they would tell us it's shelter and alcohol rehab. It's what they do.
But I don't mean to direct this rant to the homeless. There are multitudes of ramshackle houses in all those areas, in which families live ... well, reside. While my house is small and needs work, it is in a neighborhood that has never seen a drive-by shooting. There has never been a robbery at our 7-11. Children safely ride their bikes all around the block. I don't personally know all my neighbors, but I know most of them, and all of them by sight, or by their cars.
I do know that not one of them is chronically hungry. None of them is homeless, and none of them lives in a drafty house in Avondale with iffy heat or drafty fire-hazard fireplaces, no a.c., with roaches running rampant. None them prays nightly that somehow God will provide their child a coat for the winter, or help them find a way to pay the power bill this month. Not one of us in my middle class neighborhood is homebound because we can't drive, or can't afford a car, or because our children and other relatives have died or forsaken us, or moved to California, so we see nobody except whoever appears on our TV screen - IF we have a TV.
As for you: I would bet not a single one of you actually goes a day, much less a week or a month, without your phone ringing. SOMEBODY thinks about you every day, and SOMEBODY calls to tell you.
When you look at "those people's" situation, it's easy to identify the problems from a middle-class viewpoint. "Good grief! You can't pay your power bill. How do you think you can feed that DOG??" "If he abuses you, leave him." "If you're sick, go to the doctor. "If you would spend your money on food instead of beer, maybe you wouldn't be hungry." "Clean up this mess. Get rid of that cat. You can't even afford kitty litter!"
So it sounds like the main problem is just that "those people" make bad choices. Maybe they do.
But maybe, just MAYBE, the problem is loneliness. Maybe people need companionship more than they need food, or shelter, or healthcare, or even their dignity. And maybe, for some people, the only friend that never deserts, is there every day, and comforts the most, lives in a bottle.
Tuesday, November 11, 2014
Lonely Banquet
National Veterans Day Awards Dinner, 2014, did so many things RIGHT!
To begin with, the "reception" before the event was open to everyone. The hors d'oeuvres were simple, but elegant and plentiful. There was a cash bar for everyone, and the VIPs got a "one free drink" card. That made everyone feel special and welcome. There was a band playing cocktail music, and people were mingling, talking and laughing in the huge lobby of the ballroom. Perfect start to the evening!
At 1845, the ballroom doors opened, and people started making their way into the banquet. VSOs sell blocks of banquet tickets to their members. That is because the members of your American Legion Post want to sit together. I am a member of several organizations, so this year I chose to sit with BSSFI. There are 8 people to a table, so I knew we would have several tables. Well, it turned out "we" had one table. Eight members were assigned to that table. The other 10 or so of us were scattered throughout the room. I was at a table with seven people I didn't know. What are the odds of that?? I probably knew about 150 of the attendees, and not a single one of them was even within hollering range of my table.
In the meantime, members of the other VSOs to which I belong were saying, "Why are you over here by yourself?" I had no answer. I did meet four delightful young ladies at my table (who left just after the second hour was finished). I will say that they had a new ticket person this year, but one would think that he would have placed blocks of people from the same organization near each other, not spread out all over the room.
But that was ok. We weren't there to talk anyway.
The program started appropriately with the presentation of the colors, followed by the National Anthem and the Pledge of Allegiance. Then everyone sat, and there was a welcoming speech, then some words of wisdom from Mayor Bell, and then a short speech from someone from a local business that contributed money to the celebration. All that took about 20 minutes. THEN an Army Chaplain came up to pray the invocation, so we could eat. Well, another seven minutes later... (probably the longest "invocation" I've ever sat through) we dug into the now-wilting salad.
So about 30 minutes have passed, and we're just now beginning dinner. Not too bad, because we are about one-third through the program.
The first thing on the real agenda was introducing the head table. There were, I would estimate, about 40 of them - three rows that spanned the entire end of the room. OK. NOW we have "Opening Remarks"... I'm quoting the program here. This is over halfway down the program. Well, this is the first dude since the preacher that loves to hear himself talk. I think he was a from the National Veterans Administration, because he gave us MANY statistics about the Veterans' Hospitals in this country, of which this guy has visited 26 or 27. He can't remember. But he did have a LOT of statistics about how many more patients are served today than a year ago, and the percentages of people that get appointments within a month, and on and on. It was after 8:00 by now, and people were beginning to leave. I thought they were going to the restroom, but they didn't return, so I deduced they had left. Well... 15 or 20 minutes of "opening remarks" that consisted of lists of statistics probably was putting them to sleep. I needed another glass of wine.
He FINALLY shut up and sat down, and the "SPEAKER" was introduced. THIS dude was awesome. The keynote speaker was well spoken, clear, had a great Morgan Freeman voice, and spoke about eight minutes and sat down. (Doing better!)
After that, it began falling apart. There was a "Minuteman Award" given by the ROA president, who apparently hadn't read her speech ahead of time, and stumbled over words, hesitated between words, and ended up giving such a disjointed award that I'm not really sure what the Minuteman Award is. It was presented to some Congresswoman, who gave a loud and long, aggressive political speech about what the Republicans need to do, now that they're in the majority, preceded by introducing all her family and staff, who were in the audience, and telling us what all they've done for her and her office. I didn't time it, because I truly thought she was going to say something like, "This is an honor. Thank you," and sit down. Oh NOOOOOOO...
By now it was about 9:30, and we were still several agenda items from the end of the program. More people left. I was still there with two gentlemen at my table I didn't know, and the tables around me were almost empty.
Then they went off the program and presented the "Soaring Eagle" award to Catherine Roberts, founder of the Quilts of Valor Foundation. She couldn't be there, so some other woman accepted the award for her. There was a very nice bio of Ms. Roberts in the program, and the woman pointed out that this bio didn't tell the "whole story", so she proceeded to read a comprehensive bio and story of how Quilts of Valor came to be, how and why the name was changed several times before the last name was chosen, and ended with some statistics about how many have been awarded and why. Her speech was approximately 20 minutes, I think.
The next item was the "Screaming Eagle" Awards. Mayor Bell's father, a WWII veteran, received one, and Dick Cole got one. THEN Congressman Spencer Bacchus got one. Now, I'm not getting political here. This isn't the venue for that. I admire and respect Congressman Bacchus for all the hard work he has done for veterans. Among other things, he was instrumental in getting the National Cemetery in Montevallo for Alabama. That said, he is probably the worst speaker I've ever heard. He has a squeaky voice, and he can't make a sentence without 3 or 4 "ers" or "uhs" ... almost like listening to a stutterer. On top of that, he is redundant, and drones on for seemingly hours on end. OK.. I exaggerate, but not much. More people left. I would estimate that over half the people had left by now. Most of the middle 30 or so tables were empty.
FINALLY came the National Veteran Award presentation, to Senator Bob Dole. Senator Dole is unable to travel after his stroke, but a couple of people read why he was chosen for the award, and why he couldn't be there to receive it. Last March, a contingent of the Committee had gone to Washington to present it to Sen. Dole, and recorded the event.
On video, Mark Ryan, President of National Veterans Day in Birmingham, was shown, along with Senator Dole (in a wheelchair) and guess who... Congressman Spencer Bacchus.
Mark read the same thing on video he had just read live to us, but explaining that the REAL award was like the Heissman Cup. It has recipients' names engraved on it, and Sen. Dole will be added to the ranks of veterans such as DD Eisenhower, General Bradley, etc. He read about 8 of them. If they had let Sen. Dole say thank you at that point, it would have been perfect. But Congressman Bacchus was there. He started in and in his squeaky, stuttering voice, talked for about ten minutes. His redundancy and repeating things in one-syllable words made it look like he thought Sen. Dole was either 5 years old, or was retarded.
Before Sen Dole could speak, a woman appeared where Bacchus had been, and began reading the same Quilts of Valor bio the lady at the banquet had read. OMG! (At the back of the room, people were streaming out like it was a fire drill or something. The back tables had pretty much emptied.) She then presented Sen. Dole with a beautiful Quilt of Valor, explaining what the pattern was, and taking her cue from Bacchus, asked if she could wrap him in the quilt, and explained that "It's how we do it. It's our tradition to wrap the quilt around the warrior who receives it."
At 10:30, Senator Dole said (basically), "Thank you for this award. Thank you for this blanket. I served under General Eisenhower, and it is an honor to be listed here with him."
Thankfully, someone stopped the tape at that point. More people were leaving and as I looked around at those still at tables, it was mostly the head tables, although a couple of them had also left.
The ending would have been great, because the band was still in the lobby, the cash bar was still open, and Mark invited everyone to go and dance - the band will play until ...
If everyone hadn't turned into a pumpkin by then, it would have been perfect to regather out there, have a drink, dance a bit, and go home happy. As it was, the few people still there were dragging to the parking deck. A man who happened to be in the elevator with me asked, "Did you enjoy the evening?" I said, "Well, up to a point." not knowing who he was, or what connection he might have. But he said, "It could have been a coupla hours shorter and I would have REALLY enjoyed it." All I could say to that was, "Me too."
To begin with, the "reception" before the event was open to everyone. The hors d'oeuvres were simple, but elegant and plentiful. There was a cash bar for everyone, and the VIPs got a "one free drink" card. That made everyone feel special and welcome. There was a band playing cocktail music, and people were mingling, talking and laughing in the huge lobby of the ballroom. Perfect start to the evening!
At 1845, the ballroom doors opened, and people started making their way into the banquet. VSOs sell blocks of banquet tickets to their members. That is because the members of your American Legion Post want to sit together. I am a member of several organizations, so this year I chose to sit with BSSFI. There are 8 people to a table, so I knew we would have several tables. Well, it turned out "we" had one table. Eight members were assigned to that table. The other 10 or so of us were scattered throughout the room. I was at a table with seven people I didn't know. What are the odds of that?? I probably knew about 150 of the attendees, and not a single one of them was even within hollering range of my table.
In the meantime, members of the other VSOs to which I belong were saying, "Why are you over here by yourself?" I had no answer. I did meet four delightful young ladies at my table (who left just after the second hour was finished). I will say that they had a new ticket person this year, but one would think that he would have placed blocks of people from the same organization near each other, not spread out all over the room.
But that was ok. We weren't there to talk anyway.
The program started appropriately with the presentation of the colors, followed by the National Anthem and the Pledge of Allegiance. Then everyone sat, and there was a welcoming speech, then some words of wisdom from Mayor Bell, and then a short speech from someone from a local business that contributed money to the celebration. All that took about 20 minutes. THEN an Army Chaplain came up to pray the invocation, so we could eat. Well, another seven minutes later... (probably the longest "invocation" I've ever sat through) we dug into the now-wilting salad.
So about 30 minutes have passed, and we're just now beginning dinner. Not too bad, because we are about one-third through the program.
The first thing on the real agenda was introducing the head table. There were, I would estimate, about 40 of them - three rows that spanned the entire end of the room. OK. NOW we have "Opening Remarks"... I'm quoting the program here. This is over halfway down the program. Well, this is the first dude since the preacher that loves to hear himself talk. I think he was a from the National Veterans Administration, because he gave us MANY statistics about the Veterans' Hospitals in this country, of which this guy has visited 26 or 27. He can't remember. But he did have a LOT of statistics about how many more patients are served today than a year ago, and the percentages of people that get appointments within a month, and on and on. It was after 8:00 by now, and people were beginning to leave. I thought they were going to the restroom, but they didn't return, so I deduced they had left. Well... 15 or 20 minutes of "opening remarks" that consisted of lists of statistics probably was putting them to sleep. I needed another glass of wine.
He FINALLY shut up and sat down, and the "SPEAKER" was introduced. THIS dude was awesome. The keynote speaker was well spoken, clear, had a great Morgan Freeman voice, and spoke about eight minutes and sat down. (Doing better!)
After that, it began falling apart. There was a "Minuteman Award" given by the ROA president, who apparently hadn't read her speech ahead of time, and stumbled over words, hesitated between words, and ended up giving such a disjointed award that I'm not really sure what the Minuteman Award is. It was presented to some Congresswoman, who gave a loud and long, aggressive political speech about what the Republicans need to do, now that they're in the majority, preceded by introducing all her family and staff, who were in the audience, and telling us what all they've done for her and her office. I didn't time it, because I truly thought she was going to say something like, "This is an honor. Thank you," and sit down. Oh NOOOOOOO...
By now it was about 9:30, and we were still several agenda items from the end of the program. More people left. I was still there with two gentlemen at my table I didn't know, and the tables around me were almost empty.
Then they went off the program and presented the "Soaring Eagle" award to Catherine Roberts, founder of the Quilts of Valor Foundation. She couldn't be there, so some other woman accepted the award for her. There was a very nice bio of Ms. Roberts in the program, and the woman pointed out that this bio didn't tell the "whole story", so she proceeded to read a comprehensive bio and story of how Quilts of Valor came to be, how and why the name was changed several times before the last name was chosen, and ended with some statistics about how many have been awarded and why. Her speech was approximately 20 minutes, I think.
The next item was the "Screaming Eagle" Awards. Mayor Bell's father, a WWII veteran, received one, and Dick Cole got one. THEN Congressman Spencer Bacchus got one. Now, I'm not getting political here. This isn't the venue for that. I admire and respect Congressman Bacchus for all the hard work he has done for veterans. Among other things, he was instrumental in getting the National Cemetery in Montevallo for Alabama. That said, he is probably the worst speaker I've ever heard. He has a squeaky voice, and he can't make a sentence without 3 or 4 "ers" or "uhs" ... almost like listening to a stutterer. On top of that, he is redundant, and drones on for seemingly hours on end. OK.. I exaggerate, but not much. More people left. I would estimate that over half the people had left by now. Most of the middle 30 or so tables were empty.
FINALLY came the National Veteran Award presentation, to Senator Bob Dole. Senator Dole is unable to travel after his stroke, but a couple of people read why he was chosen for the award, and why he couldn't be there to receive it. Last March, a contingent of the Committee had gone to Washington to present it to Sen. Dole, and recorded the event.
On video, Mark Ryan, President of National Veterans Day in Birmingham, was shown, along with Senator Dole (in a wheelchair) and guess who... Congressman Spencer Bacchus.
Mark read the same thing on video he had just read live to us, but explaining that the REAL award was like the Heissman Cup. It has recipients' names engraved on it, and Sen. Dole will be added to the ranks of veterans such as DD Eisenhower, General Bradley, etc. He read about 8 of them. If they had let Sen. Dole say thank you at that point, it would have been perfect. But Congressman Bacchus was there. He started in and in his squeaky, stuttering voice, talked for about ten minutes. His redundancy and repeating things in one-syllable words made it look like he thought Sen. Dole was either 5 years old, or was retarded.
Before Sen Dole could speak, a woman appeared where Bacchus had been, and began reading the same Quilts of Valor bio the lady at the banquet had read. OMG! (At the back of the room, people were streaming out like it was a fire drill or something. The back tables had pretty much emptied.) She then presented Sen. Dole with a beautiful Quilt of Valor, explaining what the pattern was, and taking her cue from Bacchus, asked if she could wrap him in the quilt, and explained that "It's how we do it. It's our tradition to wrap the quilt around the warrior who receives it."
At 10:30, Senator Dole said (basically), "Thank you for this award. Thank you for this blanket. I served under General Eisenhower, and it is an honor to be listed here with him."
Thankfully, someone stopped the tape at that point. More people were leaving and as I looked around at those still at tables, it was mostly the head tables, although a couple of them had also left.
The ending would have been great, because the band was still in the lobby, the cash bar was still open, and Mark invited everyone to go and dance - the band will play until ...
If everyone hadn't turned into a pumpkin by then, it would have been perfect to regather out there, have a drink, dance a bit, and go home happy. As it was, the few people still there were dragging to the parking deck. A man who happened to be in the elevator with me asked, "Did you enjoy the evening?" I said, "Well, up to a point." not knowing who he was, or what connection he might have. But he said, "It could have been a coupla hours shorter and I would have REALLY enjoyed it." All I could say to that was, "Me too."
Saturday, July 25, 2009
Dude, dont f*** with my children
My roof was leaking. My boss, Libby, gave me the name and number of a handiman who is honest and works hard and is reasonably priced. I called him and hired him for the roof leaks. That was a year ago. Now I call him whenever some other little handiman job comes up and I can find a few bucks to pay him.
Well, one night after he painted a bedroom, we went to Miss Myra's BBQ place down the street for a sandwich. Nothing romantic, I assure you. we went "dutch", but Libby teases me incessantly about it. Just in fun, mind you... but I'm thinking this dude also thinks there may be something more down the road. But that's another story...
Anyway, yesterday he came over and worked a bit on replacing some wood on the eaves. Aaron's friend, Beagle, came over and Dude latched onto him and told him to get on that other ladder and help hold the wood up. After that was finished, he told him to get a rake and start cleaning out around the house where old roofing tile had fallen. Well, Beagle isn't a handiman. He's a drummer, for Pete's sake. It was a humid 103 degrees in the shade. After about 45 minutes, Beagle had to come inside and get a drink of water and cool off. Said he felt faint. (so did I).
Well, after Beagle left, Dude had all these derogatory comments about Beagle (who might as well be one of my children). "He's 30 years old. He oughta be in better shape." "I think he wimped out on me." "He needs to work out. He can't work 5 minutes."
I was very irritated. "He's a drummer, not a yardman," I said. "He is a skilled musician, not a weight lifter," I said.
Dude copped an attitude with me. "Well, at his age he could at least work out. Get in better shape."
"He doesn't need to. He doesn't play the drums on top of a ladder in 100 degree weather. It's NOT WHAT HE DOES!"
I'm not sure I'm having Dude back. I'm not paying him to have him insult my children, especially after he practically forced Beagle to work anyway. Beagle was there to burn a CD.
Is this mother henism?
Well, one night after he painted a bedroom, we went to Miss Myra's BBQ place down the street for a sandwich. Nothing romantic, I assure you. we went "dutch", but Libby teases me incessantly about it. Just in fun, mind you... but I'm thinking this dude also thinks there may be something more down the road. But that's another story...
Anyway, yesterday he came over and worked a bit on replacing some wood on the eaves. Aaron's friend, Beagle, came over and Dude latched onto him and told him to get on that other ladder and help hold the wood up. After that was finished, he told him to get a rake and start cleaning out around the house where old roofing tile had fallen. Well, Beagle isn't a handiman. He's a drummer, for Pete's sake. It was a humid 103 degrees in the shade. After about 45 minutes, Beagle had to come inside and get a drink of water and cool off. Said he felt faint. (so did I).
Well, after Beagle left, Dude had all these derogatory comments about Beagle (who might as well be one of my children). "He's 30 years old. He oughta be in better shape." "I think he wimped out on me." "He needs to work out. He can't work 5 minutes."
I was very irritated. "He's a drummer, not a yardman," I said. "He is a skilled musician, not a weight lifter," I said.
Dude copped an attitude with me. "Well, at his age he could at least work out. Get in better shape."
"He doesn't need to. He doesn't play the drums on top of a ladder in 100 degree weather. It's NOT WHAT HE DOES!"
I'm not sure I'm having Dude back. I'm not paying him to have him insult my children, especially after he practically forced Beagle to work anyway. Beagle was there to burn a CD.
Is this mother henism?
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