It's Raining, It's Pouring

Saturated Daffodil by hachmom

See this daffodil? She emerged saturated but still standing  after a recent monsoon  April shower here. We really understand each other because we have had a deluge of life's little crises the last few weeks.

Why is things always give out or give up around the house in pairs (at least)? I  know when it rains it pours, but April was rough. About 2 weeks ago the car suddenly started emitting clouds of smoke. The radiator, it turns out, has developed a large hole, well beyond patching, it needs replacing. The car doctor quotes a scary figure. There is another car, but structurally it is in worse shape than the first. Currently it starts when the key is turned, although the driver must ignore the shuddering sounds it makes while in motion.

This is not the month for major repairs, or any other emergency expenses.  May brings college decision day on the 1st (complete with non refundable deposit), prom, multiple orchestra, choir and dance engagements, a high school graduation (and graduation party) and a middle school graduation. We really needed the mechanical world to co-operate. Instead the Boys computer took another dive. This time it is not repairable, although they are able to salvage the hard drive data.

After a while you just want to throw up your hands and say "Really, Universe?"

Tuesday i went to put clothes in the dryer. I turned the knob but the expected tumbling motion did not occur. As a matter of fact nothing occurred. Motor fried. Not worth fixing in a 7 yr old dryer. At least its spring I thought. We can hang clothes on the line. Which is what I did this morning before I left for work for four hours of overtime. You guessed it about 9 am the heavens opened and down came the rain to wash the spiders out and give the clothes an extra rinse cycle.

It cost a dollar more than usual at the Laundromat to dry the thoroughly saturated clothes.

I know in the great scheme of things this is minor stuff.  Most of the things we spend our lives fretting over are.  I know all about chilling out and taking the long view. The wheel of Fortune will turn our way at some point.  I know we should be grateful that on the whole all is well.  But sometimes we just need a good cry over all life's little curve balls. 

So as I said before,  this daffodil and I understand each other. We have faith all these April showers will bring May flowers, but we hope it will be this May.

Right now it feels more like its time to build an ark.



This post is part of the I don't like Mondays Blog Hop at Mod Mom Beyond Indiedom. Click on the button to check out more wonderful blogs.

Baby Momma Drama

Here at Meg on the Go, we are all about the little things, especially the totally annoying little things.  I have ranted in the past about everything from 911 abuse to misuse of the word "decimate."  Today I want to talk about how we address our current and former intimate partners, especially when there are children in common.

I was totally put off recently to learn that Kanye West announced Kim Kardashian's pregnancy by introducing her at a concert as his "Baby's Mama" Now frankly I don't care at all about Ms Kardashian or Mr West (except to observe to Ms Kim that if you don't want the "unfortunate circumstance" (as she said on the Today Show) of being pregnant by one guy while married to another, you should, I don't know, not have sex with one guy while married to another) but I am sick of hearing the terms "Baby's Mama" and "Baby's Daddy" thrown around all the time.Call it an occupational hazard of life on the 911 line, but I hear those expressions way too much.

Its not uncommon during a domestic dispute call to hear a conversation that goes something like this:

Calltaker:What is your emergency?
Citizen: I want this dude out of my house!
Calltaker: Who is this person? Do you know him?
Citizen: (gives name)
Calltaker: (attempting to determine if this is a domestic dispute, a higher  priority that just 2 people arguing)  But who is he to you?
Citizen: He's just my kid's dad or  ( as one caller put it) He ain't nothing to me, he's just my baby's daddy,

Guys do the same thing:  My baby's momma trashed the house while I was at work.

We hear this so often at work that one of my co-workers refers to himself as a  "Baby's Momma Drama Wrangler".

I find myself perturbed when I hear this. The intention of course is to demean the other party. But I think the speaker demeans themselves even more.  The complainant is suggesting that the other half served no purpose to them except for their contribution to conception, which seems more appropriate to the Middle Ages or hereditary monarchies. It suggests that they do not care that they either misused, or were misused by another, in this way.  Moreover, with this mindset what are the children being taught about relationships, or about  being parents themselves someday?

So guys, call her your girlfriend, call her your fiancee, caller her your significant other.  Go ahead and add "The mother of our child".  Or if things didn't work out, she's you ex wife, ex girlfriend.  Or hey, just used their names. Ladies, same goes for you.

But no more "Baby's momma" or Baby's Daddy",  Because the person you make look bad is yourself.

Another Night on the Boston Common

The communications center I work at looks out over a middle school and the university beyond, and just across the street from the window I like to sit by is a gigantic flag pole. When America observes that most respectful gesture of mourning, lowering the flag to half-mast, this is the view I see.

Its been a sadly familiar sight in recent times, but this cuts even deeper than other recent events, because I have special feelings for the city of Boston.  It is in fact my favorite city in the whole world, at least among those I have actually travelled to.

When I was a young college student in that dreadful December of 1980 I saw a picture of John Lennon fans at a candlelight vigil for thr Beatle on the Boston Common. Something about that particular photo really stuck with me, and several years later when I created  an angst ridden where has our generation gone  play about Lennon's death I called it A Night on the Boston Common. (Unfortunately Lawrence Kasaden had the same sort of idea at the same time, and called it the Big Chill. But I digress.)

At the time I had never been to Boston and wouldn't get their for nearly 10 years. But I found the city fascinating. A couple years later, I  was researching a play on the great actor, Edwin Booth, who spent large parts of his life in Boston and was buried there, and again I was drawn. Then there were those Concord writers Alcott and Emerson and Thoreau. And then there were the Red Sox. I was born to be a Red Sox fan, because I get futility, and curses, and Babe Ruth, and coming so close only to fall just short--the Red Sox are like the story of my life,

When I finally got there, in the early 90's I was smitten. To one who loves history as I do, Boston is living breathing history. You find yourself standing at the site of the Boston Massacre or the Old North Church or on the deck of the US Constitution and you feel the presence of those who went before. I made it to the Boston Common as well--had social media existed back then I surely would have posted a "Made it at last" photo to my
Facebook feed.  The public transit is excellent (a major consideration for someone who doesn't drive.) I had several good friends in the area, and then in the mid 90's my brother lived in the area for a few years, and I made a number of trips up there with my young son. He, in fact, saw his first few big league ball games in Fenway Park

. We walked the Freedom Trail from Bunker Hill to the Boston Public Garden, riding on the swan boats, marching with the statues of Mrs Mallards Ducklings, paying our respects to the 54th Mass memorial. 

The city is also very famously, the home of many people who drew from America,s immigrant tradition. Some of my Irish ancestors passed through their back in the 1880's.

Boston became my favorite big city.

Although we haven't been back recently, I always hoped to get another chance. And although I had never seen a marathon run, I hoped to some day. I was taken to Cambridge one time during the running of the Charles, and the good natured atmosphere, like the world was being invited to a private party, was delightful.


Monday I was sitting at work when my twitter account started blowing my phone up.  The initial reports sounded like possible accidents: "Explosions heard near the finish line of the marathon" they said. But as usual in this these sorts of things, the news just kept getting worse.

This hurts so much on so many levels. The sorrow and hurt to so many families, the hurt done to a favorite city, the interplay of sports, it all hurts so much. The scene of the tragedy is but a few blocks from  the Commons, the site that had first drawn me to Boston so many years ago.

We are always appalled when these events occur. We can picture ourselves in the shoes of the people who were there. When it is in a location that we have seen, we identify even more.

We can see ourselves in that place and time.

Marathons in many ways are the most democratic of sporting events. Winning, except for the most elite runners takes a back seat simply finishing, to doing ones best. You don't have to pay admission to attend a marathon either, just find a vacant spot on the street to stand and cheer.

Last night there was another memorial on the Boston Common, another grieving. People going through their daily lives had them interrupted violently. Humanity at its worst. But other people, despite their trauma, found the courage to come out into the open and mourn together. Humanity at its best. Just as the firemen and doctors and nurses and others who ran towards the carnage on Monday are the best of humanity.

Even as we recoil from the darkness, we are drawn back to the light by our essential goodness  to each other.

How to dial 911

This week's Theme Thursday asks us to give instructions for something.  I figured its easiest to give instructions when you are well acquainted with "How not to do it" so I will put my dispatcher hat on and give instructions for calling 911. (I will point out that the rules in some jurisdictions may vary, but generally speaking these are the rules.)

 First determine if you should call 911 at all.
911, as the rule book says, is for "Life threatening emergencies only."  Life threatening emergencies means life threatening emergencies for people. It doesn't mean animals unless they are in some way threatening said people.  You may think this is obvious, but a few years ago in our town a woman was charged with misuse of 911 after she called repeatedly reference her dog being in labor.  And if I had a nickel for every person who called 911 about loose dogs on the freeway or cats up in trees, I wouldn't have to wait for my minimum retirement date. Non emergencies also include: 10 year olds talking back to their parents, keys locked in cars, fender bender car accidents, and disputes over shared driveways. (Never share a driveway. With anyone. But that's a story for another day.) Mind you many of these calls require police.  But they do not require 911.

Dispatchers understand that our perspective is not yours and you may think something is an emergency that law enforcement does not. Usually we will try to inform you as politely as possible what the correct number is to call. Call the number you are given.  Write it down.  Better yet learn the non emergency number ahead of time and write it down by the phone.   Don't keep calling 911 looking for a different answer. Misuse of 911 is a criminal offense in most jurisdictions. But if someone is really hurt, if there is a serious car accident, if there's a fight, if there are weapons, if someone is missing (FYI the 24 hour "rule" on missing persons is a myth. If someone is missing make a report.) call 911.


So you have a real emergency. Now what?

Well first, a small yet important point--the number is 9-1-1 not 9-11. You would be amazed how may people think 9-11 and look for the 11 button on the phone.

Also, make sure everyone in the house knows how to use every phone in your house. Especially make sure younger kids know how to use rotary phones. This is one of the things we always teach little kids when we do public ed classes. Lots of times little kids will need to call for grandparents or great grandparents, and have no idea how they work. Cell phones require you to punch in numbers first, then hit the send button. Most cordless phones are exactly the opposite. So make sure everyone knows how the phones work.

Next point: know where you are. This is especially important if you are calling from a cell phone, or if you use one of those systems that work through your computer. Unlike a land line phone, these do not give your specific address. Its true a general fix can sometime be made on a cell phone location, but they are not always accurate. Even when they are accurate it is only to the width of 3 football fields. That's a lot of houses on a residential street. So know where you are.

Know whats wrong. This may seem obvious, but try to find out what's wrong.  If they say they are "sick" try to find out symptoms.  If someone knocks on the door and asks you to call the police, try to find out what is wrong.

So you know where you are, and know what the problem is,  so you dial 9-1-1. And the phone rings. Sometimes it may ring several times. Now here's the next hint:  don't hang up and call again. If the call takers are busy you have just dropped yourself to the bottom of the queue. Not only that, your hang up call will still be in the system and have to called back. We will then get a busy signal because you are calling in again. So stay on the line and wait to be waited on.

When your call is answered you will probably be asked for your location and the nature of the problem. Answer questions as fully as you can. Most call centers are computerized, so your info is being entered even as the call taker speaks to you. (And we are great multitaskers.) 

And here is something else that a lot of callers do not realize: unless you live in a very tiny town, you aren't talking to the person who is coming. The person talking to you is either typing to another person, who talks to the police and fire personnel, or they are typing to a computer in the cruiser or fire vehicle. Usually they are working from a set of questions or protocol that they are required to follow. If they give you medical advice it's on the screen in front of them. Try to give them all the info you can and follow their directions till your assistance arrives.  That especially applies to fire and medical calls. If they say get out of the house then go.  If they say start CPR then do it (don't worry they will talk you through it). If they say, don nothing till help arrives, listen to them.  Don't hang up until you are told its OK to do so.  Sometimes the dispatcher wants to speak to the responder.

I hope you never have to use this information. But if you do, I hope it will go more smoothly if you keep what I have told you in mind. And your dispatch personnel will appreciate your courtesy and consideration.

This post is part of the Theme Thursday blog hop hosted by Jenn at Something Clever 2.0. To read more posts, or to link up, click on the button below.

Daffodil Promises

The first fall after we moved into our house we planted daffodil buds all along the fence that faces the street. Every year the lovely yellow flowers brighten our yard. Ohio winters being what they are we eagerly look forward to their blooming each year, as they signal (we hope) the coming of spring at last.

I have come to admire the way these flowers push themselves up through all the leftover fallen  leaves of the previous year.

 

Some years they must poke through late snow. Each year seems like a small miracle. Some years the miracle takes on greater meaning.

A few years back, March was a hideous month.  We marked the 20th anniversary of the death of a dear friend.  The mother of one of my daughter's friends died suddenly in her late 20's. A week later one of my closest friends learned her son had leukemia.   That particular Midwestern winter seemed particularly dreary,  March just dragged on and on. But on the 30th (really a week or two early) I found this in the yard and posted it to my Facebook page:

And somehow things felt better.

So for the last few years I have paid even more attention than before to the sprouting and blooming of our daffodils.  The little green spikes push their way up first, then the tips become yellow.

 At this point  I tend to become impatient, willing them to finally open.

Monday morning when I left for work, I checked the daffodils as usual, but none had opened yet.  I found this inexpressibly depressing. It was Monday, and I was headed to work, and still there were no daffodils.  It was beautiful day too, which meant I stared out the window at the sunshine between calls at work. (Call volume in a 911 center goes way up when the weather gets nicer.) I have seldom been happier to get on a bus at the end of the day. As I made the turn around the corner to our fence I saw this:

 

 Its such a little thing really, but ever since that miserable March a few years ago, this ritual watch for the yellow flowers has become surprisingly important to me.  In the deadest, most depressing time of the year,when it really doesn't seem to be warm enough yet for flowers, a little bit of green and yellow pushes its way through last year's dead leaves and whatever remains of the snow. And part of me feels challenged to do the same.

 Hope returns when the daffodils bloom.

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Thank You, Mr Ebert

I was in high school when I first started watching Roger Ebert and Gene Siskel on my local PBS station.  I was already crazy about movies, and had read movies critics before this, but these guys were on TV critiquing the films as we looked at them. Moreover they came off just like myself and my friends sitting around taking a movie apart.

Back in the day when I could walk into the bookstore and buy books as they came out I purchased a number of Roger’s film annuals and other books.  I learned so much about movies, and about writing about movies.

From Roger I learned that you could write lovingly of a film you were none the less critical of, and be critical of a film you loved.  Even when I didn’t agree with what he said about a film, I understood where he was coming from; and when we both liked, or hated, a film it often seemed to come from the same place.

Often he made observations about films that caused me to think about films I liked in new ways.  For example, he once observed that Silence of the Lambs works because Hannibal Lector is basically a good person victimized by uncontrollable urges. Another time he spent considerable time exploring Tom Hanks’ acting choices on a single line from Forest Gump: “I may not be smart, but I know what love is.” It caused me to view the film, and the actor in a completely different way, and every time I watch the film I notice how Hanks plays that moment.  Because of Roger Ebert.

And nobody could rip a bad movie like Roger Ebert.  One of my favorite Ebert books is I Hated, Hated, Hated that Movie. (He also wrote a sequel, Your Movie Sucks) It’s a collection of the films Roger lovingly skewered over the years.  A favorite example, from his review of Halloween H2O :“I happen to know that Jamie Lee Curtis is one of the smartest women in Hollywood.  I cannot wait to read the chapter on Horror films in her autobiography. "

Here are some other classics:

Going to see Godzilla at the Palais of the Cannes Film Festival is like attending a satanic ritual in St. Peter's Basilica."

On Reality Bites: “the outcome will be a huge surprise to anyone who has never seen a movie before."

 Or how about this: "The only way to save this film would be to trim 86 minutes."

 His lexicon of film term gave names to such film concepts at The Fallacy of the Predictable Tree, which is that the villain will always pause under the tree the hero is hiding in.

Unlike a lot of critics, he always seemed to be on the side of the fans.  He wanted us to know if we would enjoy a movie and why.  He passionately defended letter boxing and condemned colorization of films, both for the same reason: that people watching at home should be seeing the film the director intended them to see.  

When throat cancer took his vocal chords he didn’t allow it to silence his voice. He became an early adopter of social media, a Twitter and later Facebook user, and also author of a web page of reviews and an entertaining and often thoughtful personal blog. He was in fact the first celebrity I ever followed on Twitter.  Because he had no other way to communicate with his readers in real time, he tweeted a lot, not only on movies but on all sorts of things going on in the world.  Whenever he posted a new review or blog entry I read it, and learned a great deal. He often promoted his fans own reviews and blogs.  Once, with great trepidation, I corrected a historical fact in a tweet, and was politely thanked. 

The very last words he wrote professionally were: I'll see you at the movies.

Those of us who love movies and who love reading about movies are forever in his debt.

Ready for Baseball, Ready for Spring

"People ask me what I do in winter when there's no baseball. I'll tell you what I do. I stare out the window and wait for spring.” Rogers Hornsby



"Waiting to take the field" (hachmom)

Sunday afternoon, once Easter dinner was over, the countdown began.  "Three more hours, mom" he announced. "Two more hours." He was counting down to the moment when the first Major League Baseball game of the season would air on TV.   We didn't care who was playing (Texas vs Houston, if there must be an official record). We cared only that it was the first official ballgame we had seen since last October. 

The Boy has been chomping at the bit for some baseball for weeks now.  Once pitchers and catchers reported to spring training, and  his own high school practices started he walked around the house with a baseball in his hand, and took mock swings in the middle of the living room.  He endlessly discoursed on what he would do this season, what the Indians would do this season, and for a change of topic, what the rest of the major league teams would do this season.

I mind this not a bit, because I am ready for baseball too. Also I am ready for spring.  Its been a rather dreary winter here in  Ohio, without even a really good snowstorm to shut things down for a day or two.  The only "snow day" the kids had  was in October, when the outer edge of Hurricane Sandy took out a lot of trees and power lines and closed schools for a day.  So what better sign of impending spring than the resumption of baseball?

Well, in Ohio, the answer is maybe. In 2007 the Indians home opener was memorably snowed out in the 5th inning. At the time their pitcher was throwing a no hitter, partly because the ball could not be seen through the snow.

credit: cleveland.com

But this year we seem to be stumbling upon signs of Spring.  The snow has melted.  The days have been sunny, if unseasonably cool.  The daffodils are trying to come up. And the Boy's team played their first game this Monday night.  They lost, the score being a lot to nothing, but the Boy still felt good when he got home.  He had played some baseball.

This year's season will be especially poignant because the Boy is a senior, and it is probably the last competitive baseball he will get to play. He has been doing this since he was 5.

 photos by hachmom



But for now, at least for the Boy and his mother, baseball has arrived and with it Spring, giving us reason to celebrate, something green to believe in.



"I need to think something lasts forever, and it might as well be that state of being that is a game; it might as well be that, in a green field, in the sun. "
 A. Bartlett Giamatti

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Venting

This day was tiresome and long
Work, buses, all went wrong,
Stress, mess, bills to pay.
Not a thing went right today.
Till I got home and found my chair
Dinner waiting for me there
Nothing else to do you know
Than give tomorrow another go.Tomorrow I shall try again
To do better by my pen
Find some better words to say
Than I managed for today.