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Life with Lilly Episode 3 – Road Trip!

This is actually a two-fer, since I just snuck in a second trip this past weekend, but let’s start at the beginning, shall we?

Lilly is now an experienced traveler and she was an absolute trooper during the trip back to Illinois.  We got off to a rocky start, she began whining after about 45 minutes in the car, we weren’t even out of North Carolina yet, so I dutifully pulled off onto an entrance ramp so she could go potty.  We walked around and she sniffed for every bit of 15-20 minutes before I determined it to be a false alarm.  We got back in the car and drove to Beckley, WV for a break.  We stayed for about an hour and she not only didn’t really eat anything, she never did her business.  She did however meet a charming young Jack Russell terrier from Reno, NV. named Tank.  His human drove a tanker truck so…  He was her first doggy bud, and once they each got over the initial shock of meeting another puppy, they were besties.

A couple of hours up the road, in  Middleofnowhere, OH (not its actual name) Lilly started to whine again and this time she meant it.  I found an exit and pulled off on the entrance side and within minutes she had emptied everything she had carried with her to that point.  We made it to our hotel, checked in and hauled our stuff up to the room when I realized I’d forgotten something down in the car.  We headed back down and as we turned the corner in the hallway I saw a woman with two large dogs, a Golden Retriever and another similar sized dog.  I hesitated since Lilly hasn’t got much experience with other dogs (Tank notwithstanding) but thought since the woman didn’t say anything, her dogs must be social.  I was watching Lilly to make sure she was acting appropriately when the Golden got off its collar and charged at Lilly growling.  She cowered back into an alcove and I stepped in between the two kneeing the Golden away and telling it “NO!”.  The lady grabbed her dogs and pulled him away and never once said anything about the incident.  Nothing.  Shame on me for assuming someone could control their dog, I guess.  Had she told me her dog might be a jerk I would’ve picked Lilly up or something until they’d passed.  Oh well.  Lilly forgot about it in seconds and was proudly prancing back down the hall to the elevator.

In addition to her first time experiencing a jerk of a dog, and riding the elevator, this was the first time #LillyNO saw her own image.  The hotel room had a closet with full-length mirrors for doors.  Let’s just say hilarity ensued…

Day two was pretty uneventful.  Another false alarm in Middleofnowhere, IL (also not its real name, but equally fitting) where we sniffed around a bean field for fifteen minutes, but that was it.   We met the Great Vincenzo for coffee in Yorkville and he and Lilly hit it off great.  She also attracted attention from almost every female patron that walked up.  I think he wanted to borrow her for the day after that… just kidding… kinda…

Now, traveling several hundred miles like I do on these trips there are many rivers to cross (shout out to Jimmy Cliff) including… YES! my favorite, the French Broad River!  Of course that didn’t come until my second trip (I’ll get to that in a little bit) but this thought occurred to me while driving through Indiana.  I can’t, it seems, drive through Indiana without thinking about French Lick, Indiana.  No, really, that’s the name of the town.  Who the heck thought that was a good name for a town?  French Lick is the home of NBA legend Larry Bird btw, and I think it’s also got a highly regarded resort there.  But I can’t get past the name, you know?  If you know me IRL, you know where my mind wanders when I think about  the name.  So, exhaustive research (I GTS’d it, natch) produced this.  It’s named after mineral springs in the area.  Kind of a let down, for me anyway.

But back to my travels.  And the reason behind them.  The Little Diamond and the Heir To The Throne each had a birthday, yay!  LD became a threenager (boy did she ever, lol) and HTTP is now *checks math, looks in mirror, sighs* 18. Eightfrickinteen!  How on earth did that happen?  That’s a rhetorical question, btw.  I know how it happened.  I just have a hard time believing I have an 18-year-old grandson.

All in all, I had a great visit home.  I didn’t see a lot of family, though I stayed with the Boy Child and PhojoMama™ and their family which was a delight.  It also produced, quite possibly, one of my favorite pictures.  As you can see here, #LillyNO struck up a quick but strong bond with the grandchild formerly known as Beatle Baby who at one point leaned over and looked the puppy in the eyes and said “Lilly, you’re the best dog EVER!”  Instant heart melt.  And I can assure you, she feels the same way about him.  He read to her, played with her, cuddled with her, and generally enjoyed her company.  If it hadn’t been for the high quotient of chewable things that she shouldn’t be chewing on, I think she would have slept with him while we stayed there.

I was able to meet with a couple different friends for coffee, always a plus and in both cases entirely pleasant.  Lilly also met some of the guys at the firehouse that Sunday when we went in for Sunday brunch.  Chef Bob once again delivered an excellent meal, biscuits and gravy that would pass muster at any of the fine Southern establishments I’ve discovered since I retired.  One of the guys that I used to work with always commented how we should raffle off a chance to dine with us since Sunday brunch at the firehouse is a pretty awesome experience.  I agree, it would be a great revenue stream for the village.  #LillyNo seemed to have an innate understanding of the ideal way to address a Sunday at the firehouse.  She settled into that spot and slept soundly, only picking her head up when the tones dropped and the fellas went out on a run.  She wasn’t quite sure what to make of all the commotion, but then that’s not at all an uncommon response to waking up to the tones.  We stopped back in a couple of days later to drop something off for one of the fellas and, after saying hello to the guys working that day, quickly resumed her favorite pose in her favorite position.  Aaahhh, life at the firehouse can be so taxing.  One must get one’s rest when one can, you know?

The return trip home was uneventful, thankfully.  #LillyNO was again a real trooper, spending most of the trip sleeping in her crate on the floor behind me. Most of her random whining was put to rest by me reaching back and putting my fingers into her crate.  I don’t know if that reassured her or what, but she would quickly settle down and go back to sleep whenever I did that.

I was home for about five days and then, leaving #LillyNO in the care of my neighbor, I headed out to Chattanooga, TN for a music festival.  I met a couple of guys from the firehouse there and we had an amazing time.  A little rain, but there was only one brief delay in the music.  Chattanooga is a pretty cool town I think.  Although when our Uber driver at one point advised us that “We took back downtown” was the root cause behind any resurgence there, it caused us all to wonder when Chattanooga had been occupied, by what invading nation, and why we hadn’t heard about the conflict on the news.

One other thing that made me chuckle was on Sunday morning, as we were walking back in to the festival.  There was a man and a woman standing on a street corner by the entrance, each holding a sign advising us we should repent our sins or some similar message.,, The man, using a bullhorn, was calling out festival goers, telling them to change the error of their ways.  Now, don’t get me wrong, I think organized religion is a fine thing and I know many people who have deep, spiritual roots and find great comfort in their faith.  And I’m absolutely fine with that.  But I had to laugh when, an hour or so later the skies opened up and poured rain, chasing the proselytizers down the street for cover, while the fest patrons stood enjoying the music.  I guess Jesus didn’t approve of their message…

I also saw what may well be a copyright infringement of me.  This shirt – worn by a fellow music lover made me do a double take and prompted the picture.  My only regret is not posing with the guy for the sake of comparison.  I guess I should point out here that, the Boy Child, the fruit of my loins for Chrissakes, refers to me as “Doc Brown”.  That, of course, is the Christopher Lloyd character from the “Back To The Future” movies.  I asked the guy where he got the shirt and he said some random t-shirt shop in Florida.  I found that part odd, since it says “Myrtle Beach, SC” on it, but whatevs, right?  It’s still a classic and if I can find one, I will purchase it.  Doc Brown, my ass…

I guess that just about covers my travels for the last few weeks.  Quick Hurricane Florence update while I’ve got you… We got a little over four inches of rain yesterday.  I think up to that point we were at about an inch and a half, so yesterday was pretty wet.  No flooding near me to report, as hurricanes go, this was a good one to get my, ummm, feet wet on…  #seewhatIdidthere #sorrynotsorry.  This one turned a little more wordy than usual, but I had a lot to say so, ya know, stuff happens.

And, as Rod Stewart says “Every picture tells a story, donut”

Peace

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ICRTD Hurricane Edition

You know, I was part way through a post about my recent travels and with the way my phone has blown up the last couple days, I figured it might be prudent to address the weather.  I’m not sure if you’re aware, but as it turns out A HURRICANE IS COMING AND IT’S GOING TO MAKE LANDFALL IN NORTH CAROLINA!!!!!!

First off, let me just express gratitude for all the family and friends that have called/texted/DM’d/Messaged me the last few days to make sure I’m safe.  It kinda shocked me, but then I realized it’s because I’ve got the coolest friends on the planet and I appreciate each and every one of you, whether you reached out to me or gave me a few moments thought out of your day.  So thanks, I’m humbled, truly.

Now, to The Storm (capitalization mine) that approaches…

Among the reasons I chose central North Carolina were the consideration that any hurricanes that might come this way would, in theory at least, weaken significantly by the time it came in this far.  Believe me, I have no desire to “tough it out” when it comes to 100+ mile per hour winds and 25+ inches of rain all at the same time.  I have what I consider a healthy respect for Mother Nature.  Being a native Midwesterner I experienced several tornadoes over the course of my life, some closer than others, but I knew enough about them to know that it was foolhardy to try and stare one down.  Tornadoes, of course, are fairly short-lived phenomena.  Hurricanes, as I’m sure you are aware, last for days.  If the experts recommend I should evacuate, I’m gone.

Now, please don’t take this the wrong way, I don’t mean to suggest any of the concerned calls or offers of a place to stay were out of line, rather I know they were placed out of genuine concern for my safety.  And again, I appreciate you.

The initial storm track after landfall was actually fairly close to me, within fifty miles or so.  But even at that the storm that was expected to pack winds around 125 mph and dump 25″-30″ of rain on the coast was only expected to bring 30 mph winds and 3″-6″ of rain to this part of the state.  Granted that’s larger than a typical storm, but perfectly manageable, at least to me.  As long as the storm doesn’t produce six weeks of sub zero temperatures (you know, like January in northern Illinois) I think I’ll be fine.  Further, as of about 45 minutes ago the National Weather Service Hurricane Center now predicts the storm will move south and west after landfall, crossing through South Carolina instead of North Carolina.  I haven’t seen the local updates yet, but I feel safe in assuming that will lessen the impact of the storm on this area even more.  Of course, I’ll continue to monitor the updates and I promise not to do anything (too) stupid once the storm finally gets here.

I mean, after all, who wants to be on Florence’s list?  Amirite?

Peace

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Twelve and Three

I debated with myself whether to do this today or not.  And I won.  And, I guess since it was with myself, I lost too.  It remains to be seen if you think I made the right choice or not.  Here goes…

Twelve years ago was very likely the worst day of my life.  The day Diane died.  Now, astute readers may recall me mentioning that that happened back in June.  That’s because occasionally, I’m an idiot.  The date in June was actually our wedding anniversary, not the anniversary of her death.  That faux pas would have cost me big time (rightly so) had I screwed up an anniversary while she was alive.

Three years ago was among the best days of my life as we welcomed the youngest of my five grandkids, the Little Diamond, into the world.  I wrote about this a couple years ago, in the aftermath of LD’s first birthday, the emotional turmoil I felt, albeit briefly.  We just FaceTimed (a wonderful bit of technology) so I could see her on her actual birthday and I’m heading home for a week, leaving in a few days, but I wanted to see her on her special day.  I know Diane would be thrilled with our grandkids.  And she would spoil them unrelentingly, and support them unhesitatingly, as any grandma should.  But it wasn’t meant to be.

While I have things to say, I chose instead to leave it at this and finish it with an excerpt from what I’ve been working on, this time from Diane’s stay in the hospital.  I may close it with pictures, I haven’t decided yet.

I went into Diane’s room, for what felt like the hundredth time since I tried to get some sleep.  She had almost constant nursing care due to the fragility of her condition.  I don’t remember who was there on the overnight shift.  I remember Dani, Manny, Laura, and Missy, but I know there were so many more.  The perfusionists too, Paul is the name that sticks in my mind.  These people were with her around the clock, working their butts off for all of their patients.  I don’t think I could ever express my thanks to them enough.  

There wasn’t much I could do except hold her hand and talk softly to her.  I know there have been studies done that relate how comatose patients can hear even though they can’t respond.  I was banking on that.  Talking to Diane about everything I could think of.  Telling her how much fun we were going to have with Elliott and our new grandson, just born in April, Damian. 

As Saturday morning turned into afternoon, the CCU waiting area started to fill with friends and family.  And again, the staff there was incredible.  They brought us food, made sure the coffee machine was full, in short just went out of their way (it seemed to me) to make sure we were as comfortable as we could be given the circumstances.  And I went back into “shuttle” mode just as I had when Caitlin was in the hospital.  I knew I could go in and be with Diane pretty much whenever I wanted, day or night, so I thought I should defer to friends and family that came to visit.  And this way Cassi could spend as much time at her Mom’s bedside as she wanted.  I shuttled people back-and-forth from the waiting room to Diane’s room.  By this time I’d already gotten to be on a first name basis with the nurses caring for her and they did a great job of keeping us informed of her progress.  

Or lack of progress.  By Saturday evening one of the nurses told me they thought Diane’s kidneys had shut down.  She had stopped producing urine.  The cardiac surgeon stopped in late Saturday night and we talked, for a while.  I told him about our family, about what happened to Caitlin and tried to explain to him how important the relationship between Diane and her daughters was.  He told me, in no uncertain terms, the seriousness of Diane’s condition.  He said in addition to her kidneys shutting down, her brain didn’t appear to be functioning.  

I understood.  Whether I had been conscious of it or not, whether I was willing to admit it or not, I could see her deteriorating.  I’m sure I wasn’t completely prepared to accept that she wasn’t improving.  And yet, I distinctly remember telling her; when we were alone, after I spoke to the doctor, that I got it.  That I knew she loved all of us.  And that I knew, more than anything, that she missed Caitlin.

So, yeah, I understood.  But I needed the doctor to understand too.  And I told him, how important it was to me that Cassi knew we did everything possible for Diane.  She’d already lost her only sister.  I needed her to know that everything that could possibly be done for her Mother was going to be done.  And he agreed.  He scheduled a consultation with a neurologist for the morning.  

The kids were waiting for me in the family waiting room that we had commandeered.  They knew I was speaking with the surgeon.  So I told them what the plan was.  The neurologist was coming in at 9:00 in the morning to examine Diane.  

We all settled in for the night.  I went back out to the main waiting area, ironically enough for privacy.  Actually, since it was well after hours I had it all to myself.  I settled in to my lounge chair and started reading “Marley and Me” again.  I was getting close to the end, I knew I wouldn’t be sleeping much tonight so I figured I could finish the book by morning.  I really enjoyed it to this point.  As I said, there were many similarities between Marley and our pup Sophie.  But the more I read, the closer to the end of the book I got, the more obvious it was to me how it was going to end.  I had to put the book down.  I just felt like I was certain Marley was getting to a point where I didn’t think he wasn’t going to be around at the end of the book.  And I had to stop reading.  I was getting too emotional to finish it.  Too many parallels between the book and what we were going through with Diane.  I put the book down and haven’t picked it up since.  It’s at home, somewhere.  Maybe on the shelf in her closet, I’m not sure.  I still haven’t seen the movie either.  And I won’t.  I mean, I heard it was well done; I just don’t have any desire to re-live that night.  I’m afraid that movie will do just that.

So I paced.  And I went in to sit with Diane.  I talked to her.  I talked to God.  I cried.  A lot.  It was my time for it.  The kids weren’t there; I didn’t have to put up a front of being strong, so I could let my emotions go where they would.  I knew there were huge differences in Diane’s condition.  In addition to what the doctor and I talked about, I could see the physical changes in her appearance. 

 And I noticed that instead of two nurses, like she’d had Friday overnight, there was only one.  

I was up before the sun again on Sunday morning; actually it was well before the sun.  I know I slept a little, but Saturday night into Sunday morning was a repeat of the previous night.  I finally got up for good, rolled up the blanket I had used, went into the back and got a cup of coffee.  Ryan joined me outside the entrance to the CCU a little after 6:00 AM.  As we sat there, making idle chit-chat, Dr. V, Diane’s cardiac surgeon, came in to do his rounds.  He was carrying a couple boxes of doughnuts for the staff.  I made a joke about him drumming up business.  He laughed and said he liked to do little things like this for the nursing staff since they all worked so hard to make the doctors look good.  I thought it was a pretty stand up move for someone that didn’t need to do it.  

Around 9:00 AM the neurologist came in for a consult.  We left Diane’s room so she could be examined.  A little while later the neurologist came out to talk to me.  She said she didn’t see any evidence of brain activity.  She said she couldn’t say Diane was “brain-dead” (a phrase I’ve grown to despise as you might imagine) because she had to do two distinct tests, separated by time.  

The rest of Sunday is kind of a blur.  There were many visitors; family members, and friends, trying their best to keep our spirits up.  I think we probably put up a good front, at least I’d like to think we did, but I’m not sure we pulled it off entirely.  I remember being in shuttle mode again several times over the course of the day.  I also remember thinking how noticeable the changes were now in Diane’s appearance.  Her face was starting to retain fluid, she looked puffy.  

When I had some time alone with her, I leaned in close and whispered to her, “It’s ok honey, I understand.  I love you and I’ll miss you forever, but I know you need to be with Caitlin again.  It’s ok.”  I had that “conversation” with her several times over the next 18 hours or so.  

It’s funny, as I’d looked at the weather forecast for the weekend; I thought Sunday afternoon would’ve been a good time to bring Sophie to visit Diane.  We could’ve sat in the outdoor courtyard right outside the Cardiac Care Unit and Diane could’ve showed off Sophie to everyone and anyone that showed an interest.  She was really pleased with what she accomplished with Sophie through their training.  She loved socializing Sophie around as many people as she could.  And Sophie ate up the attention.  But now, with the way things had turned, bringing the dog over was the last thing on my mind. 

As Sunday at the Cardiac Care Center progressed, we saw many people from across all of our various phases of life.  Family, both hers and mine, coworkers from jobs both current and past, and so many friends.  Once again, I was in shuttle mode between Diane’s bedside and one or the other of the waiting rooms.  And, once again, the staff was doing their best to make things as pleasant for us as they possibly could.  But as the day wore on, Diane’s condition spiraled down.  The kids did their best to take host pressures off of me, and it helped.  But we were all in the middle of the juggling act of keeping our best appearances up for the visitors while trying to get our heads wrapped around what was happening before our eyes.

This is an easy picture to post, from one of our best days after Caitlin was killed.  The Quiet Child’s wedding reception held in our back yard.

Obviously we had no clue what the future would bring, but this day, in particular, helped remind us that life still provided us with some good days.  And that, among those good days, you sometimes get visited by butterflies…

Peace

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Life With Lilly Episode 2

Not surprisingly, #LillyNO is still trending around here.  Although I must say, she’s not at all a bad puppy.  She is without doubt a puppy though, and prone to doing the things puppies are wont to do.  But I think, of the two of us, I’m the one more in need of training.  That, however, has been put on hold.

Two weeks ago I noticed she was limping, favoring her front left leg.  It wasn’t too bad so I thought just keeping an eye on it was the best course of action.  The next morning the limp was more pronounced so I scheduled an appointment at the Vet for later that day.  X-ray’s were negative, but the Vet suggested, and I agreed, a consult with an orthopedic specialist was prudent.  Quick side note; in her first week here she went from fifteen lbs. to twenty lbs.  Inside wide-eyed emoji anywhere you like…  So, earlier this week we drove up to Greensboro for our appointment.  Now, about four days after the limp started, it stopped.  Just as quickly too, it wasn’t a gradual thing, more like flipping a switch.  That the limp resolved (three days) before the ortho appointment had no effect on my decision to take her there.  I wanted to know if it was a thing or just a random puppy mishap.  And I tended to think it was a thing.  The whole time she limped, she wanted nothing to do with play.  She’d go outside to do her business and then go right back to the door so she could go back inside and lay down.  Or is it lie down?  Either way, getting horizontal was her only goal.  But once the limping stopped, she was back to full on puppiness; bouncing off walls, chasing toys, her tail, shadows, air, you name it and she chased it.  Interspersed, of course, with totally vegging out, often mid-chase.

The ortho Vet examined her, and the X-ray from our regular Vet, and said she thought it was a soft-tissue injury eg. sprain/strain.  She did say, however, that due to potential mechanism of injury, there was a possibility of damage to the growth plate in her left “wrist” and that it needed to be monitored.  She recommended a restriction of activity (uh-huh) for another two weeks and a followup exam and X-ray in one month to see if there were any differences in her growth plate.

So there’s that.

We’ve tried to take daily walks around the downtown area, for socialization with strangers more so than for the exercise, and she seems genuinely disappointed when people choose to ignore her.  I’m more surprised than disappointed.  I mean, I know not everyone loves dogs, but look at this face?  How can you look at that and not want to give her a good ear scratch or belly rub?  Or both?  But she carries on, undaunted by the refusals of crabby people, seeking the next friendly human to shower her with attention, because, god knows, she doesn’t get any around here…

That picture, while adorable, also points to one of her puppy bad habits that we’re working on.  Namely inappropriate chewing.  The leash she is very sweetly holding in the photo, is now in two pieces.  Yup.  One night while we were sitting in the carport, watching a storm.  Lilly was laying (or is it lying?) sweetly on the door mat.  Or so I thought.  She was, of course, on her leash.  I held the other end in my hand so she wouldn’t wander off.  At one point, she got up and walked over to a rug about three feet away.  And I thought to myself “huh.  The leash never moved…”  Looking down, I saw why.  She had chewed through it.  I was not pleased.  The leash had been Sophie’s, so there was that aspect of it.  But more that I had let my guard down.  Puppy gonna puppy, ya know?  It’s on me to prevent stuff from happening and not her.  So I lost a teachable moment.

And a memento of a great dog.

Don’t get me wrong, Lilly is a great puppy in her own right.  I have to admit though, it’s hard not to try to make comparisons between Lilly and Sophie.  They share many similar traits, yet are also completely different.  And both have a firm grasp on my heart.    I’ll never understand how some people can abuse animals.  This puppy unconditionally loves anyone that showers the slightest bit of attention upon her.  The thought of someone consciously turning their back on such a devoted creature and crushing it’s very soul sickens me.

Well, that took a turn…

This post has taken a lot longer to write than the last one.  A certain puppy keeps “yelling” at me until I get on the floor and play with her.  So we play.  She’s currently terrorizing one of her squeaky toys.  And, intermittently attempting to assault my Crocs…

Ahhh puppies.

Peace

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Life With Lilly Episode 1

This may take a while to produce.  If you haven’t kept up with the latest news on the dog front (and, really?  Why not?) let me explain… no, there is too much… let me sum up…

I got a puppy last week, Lilly, a four month-old Lab mix.

***Cuteness alert***

So, as it turns out, while I knew puppies required a lot of patience, since it’s been thirteen years between puppies I had forgotten just HOW MUCH patience.  In one short week  I’m afraid Lilly now believes her name to be LillyNO.  And I’m not even joking…

Well, maybe a little.  But I think I’m still going to turn that into a hashtag.  #LillyNo has a nice ring to it, right?

And don’t get me wrong, she’s worth it, I mean look at that face for chrissakes.  She is absolutely adorable.  And pretty smart too.  We’re doing really well with potty training; she’s had three accidents in the house to date, all due to my inattentiveness rather than her inability to learn.  We work on “sit” while on our walks and I’ve reached out to a local training facility for regular, real lessons.  But there’s still much for both of us to learn.

For example, I’d really like her to learn that the metal patio chairs in the carport are not, in fact, edible.  She seems to belive they are.  When I correct her, she immediately switches from gnawing on the chair leg to licking it, something I believe to be the canine equivalent to a young child saying “I’m not touching you” while holding an outstretched finger millimeters from it’s intended sibling target.

She’s becoming quite good at verbalizing when I fail to pay ample attention to her as well.  Just this morning I got barked at two different times while trying to read the morning news online.  One bark, followed by a whine in my general direction, and a playful pose, and she’s got me on the floor with her while she chews whatever she can reach, whether appropriate or not.

We’re doing pretty well at socializing too.  She loves meeting people on our walks and prances up to them full of glee.  She’s not quite sure (tbh I’m not either) what to make of people who aren’t thrilled to meet her, but they do exist. Who doesn’t love an adorable puppy?  I don’t think I want to know the adult that doesn’t speak some kind of treacly gibberish when they meet a puppy though, so I guess it’s a good way to weed out those sociopaths.

Also?  Treacly Gibberish sounds like a great name for a British boy band, don’t you think?

Oh, here’s a side benefit.  Lilly loves to eat bugs.  This is huge around here.  Apparently the climate that brought me to this area is also popular with the insect population.  I’ve seen bugs down here that I’ve never seen before.  I’m not even joking about that either.  Most have been harmless; except for mosquitoes, of course, and the occasional ill-tempered yellow jacket.  The bugs and I have an arrangement.  Stay out of my personal space and I might not squish you.  It should be noted however, my personal space is roughly 75 yards in any direction when bugs are concerned.  Also, every time I step on one (with great alacrity I might add), I look around, half-expecting to see Edgar from Men in Black glaring at me.

“Oh.  Was that your auntie?  Then this must be your uncle.”  *Crunch*

Sorry, I got distracted there by my bug obsession.  Fwiw, I’m bringing in professional help.  With the bugs, not me.  Some ships have sailed, you know what I mean?  I’ve tried the peppermint oil treatment (courtesy of PhojoMama™) but it’s time to go nuclear on their little creepy-crawly asses.  It’s not sadistic if we’re talking about bugs, right?

Btw, this has gone much smoother than I anticipated, “someone” chose this time to nap and, timing being everything, I’ve been able to work on this uninterrupted.  In all reality, there’s probably not a significant difference in quality, but it’s a little easier to stay in the flow without having to walk away from the keyboard every couple of minutes to check on the whereabouts of a certain inquisitive puppy.  Of course the trade-off is that she’s likely building up energy reserves for a full-on assault of my sanity this afternoon.  We may have a trip to Petsmart in our future.  Just sayin’  Especially if the rain that’s forecast comes in.  Fortunately Miss Lilly loves car rides.  I bought a smaller crate for her use on road trips and she’s taken to it readily.  She can’t quite jump up and in on her own yet, although she’s getting close.  But she lays (lies?) right down on her car bed and curls up without a peep.  She’ll be making the birthday road trip home with me next month so we’ll see how she does.  I’m already planning on making it a two-day trip both ways.  So far she’s handled up to two hours with no issue, but I don’t want to press my luck with a marathon car trip for her, at least not at this age.

She’s still passed out, so I think I’m going to wrap this up and try to accomplish some kind of domestic task that I’ve put off.  Pretty sure there’s laundry in the dryer waiting for someone to fold and I’m just the guy to do it.

Peace

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Meet Lilly

Well, here we are.  I’ve been away from my keyboard for a ridiculously long time.  I’m not sure why, it’s not like I haven’t had ample fodder for a post here.  Some of them have been bouncing around my head, some have even made it to draft form, but no posts.  Today, however, I’ve got something for you.

I’ve got something for me too.

If you’ve been reading along for the last year or so (You HAVE been reading longer, right?) you may remember I had to put Sophie down last fall (pour one out to a great dog) and if you’ve ever had a pet, you know how traumatic that can be.  I told myself I’d get a puppy after I came out to central NC, it would give me something to do while I got acclimated to my new environs.  I started searching PetFinder.com daily, looking for a Lab or a Lab mix.  I found several that I liked, even went to see a couple, but, when the time came to do something, the something I chose to do was… nothing.  I just couldn’t finalize the puppy situation.  I made rationalizations all over the place; too much travel, haven’t puppy-proofed the house, that one’s too small, that one’s too, well, you get the picture.  I had a hundred reasons why.

But then I realized, and may have even mentioned it here; it wasn’t that I missed having a dog.  I missed Sophie.  And I knew it would be a disservice to any puppy I might bring in until I got that through my system.   I continued checking the website (I knew I wanted a rescue versus buying from a breeder, so…) and I pondered life without a dog.  I have to say, parts of that life are kinda nice.  No pet hair to vacuum, no cutting plans short to feed, let out, whatever, the dog, no wondering who to watch the dog for out-of-town stuff, etc.

Something just occured to me, I’ve been building to this “moment” as I’m writing and, since when I post these links to social media it always includes an image from the post and, well, the title is kind of a give-away so…  about a week ago I saw this face-

And I knew I was smitten.  I mean how cute is that? I watched her and her sister daily, wondering each morning if I’d flip to the page and see that she was off the list.  I mean, it would have been good for her, she would have found her new family, but not so much for me.  Although I really did carry an “if it’s meant to be, it will be” attitude throughout.  Further research found that this particular shelter holds events every Saturday at their local Tractor Supply store.  The fact that it was two hours away wasn’t a deterrent as far as I was concerned.

Saturday morning I found myself wrestling with my decision; do I go?  Do I pass?

I went.  It was time.

She was very shy, in a kennel with three other dogs, including her brother.  Mom is a Chocolate Lab and Dad is apparently a Hound.  In more ways than one…  Her name was “Pumpernickel” because it seems when shelters get litters in, it’s easier to name them from a theme of sorts and this litters theme was bread.  I don’t know why.  However, despite an adorable audio clip of an almost three year-old Little Diamond saying “Pumpernickel” I had decided last fall that my next dog would be named “Lilly” and so that was that.  I filled out the form and was told she’d be put on hold until they could check a reference on me with my vet in Illinois on Monday.

I passed.

So, last night I drove two hours each way to bring Lilly to her new home.  She did great last night, only one accident in the house and that was my fault.  she was sniffing around and since she had just gone out a little before that, I asssumed she was just sniffing for the sake of sniffing.  LOL.  As I write this, she’s on the floor at my feet, chewing away on one of the toys I bought for her.

She slept through the night last night without incident (don’t ask where…)(but her $50 crate with the $30 bed were not involved) and ate her breakfast like a champ.  I probably need to boost the portion a little bit, but I’m being overly cautious with that since Sophie had a bit of a weight problem and I’d like to avoid that with Lilly.  I’ve got an appointment with a local vet for her tomorrow for a checkup and whatever else she needs.  Including any puppy classes they can recommend.  I’ll be out and about socializing her as much as I can, I believe that’s important for puppies (people too) so I’d like to work on that every day with her in various situations.  She’s a very sweet, very playful pup and she’s starting to take to her new name, I think.  That will take some time, as I expect will potty training too.  Such is life with a little one.

Be prepared for an onslaught of cute puppy pics… I know, I know; low hanging fruit, right?  She is, as the kids say, adorbs and I’m fairly certain will be more than a little spoiled (see sleeping arrangements above).

I’d write more, but right now there’s a belly that’s calling out to be rubbed.  And who am I to say no?  Well, to belly rubs, at least.  I have a feeling that there is going to be a lot of “No” being heard around here for a while.  #PuppyLife #WeAreBothLearning #HereGoesNothing #WishMeLuck

Peace

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For An Amazing Young Woman

Today, we should have celebrated Caitlin’s 33rd birthday.  I often wonder, as the Kenny Chesney (that’s right, I like both kinds of music, Country and Western) song says “Who You’d Be Today”.  As I wrote last year on the old site, our family looks to commit Random Acts of Kindness to honor her memory.  That helps with the day, it truly does.  And, of course, it’s always a good idea to be kind, but it just feels like the right way to honor such an amazing young woman, taken from us too soon.

The anger from that time, I think it is safe to say, has finally gone.  It took probably longer than it should have, and I don’t know, maybe not speaking about the events of that day (and the weeks, months, and years that followed it) regularly at Victim Impact Panels has finally allowed it to leave me once and for all.  I don’t know if that’s it, but that’s just the first thing that popped in my head as I realized I didn’t feel the rage (probably too strong a word but whatevs) rising in me.

The old saying goes; time heals all wounds.  But the truth, as Rose Kennedy said is more along these lines “It has been said, ‘time heals all wounds.’ I do not agree. The wounds remain. In time, the mind, protecting its sanity, covers them with scar tissue and the pain lessens. But it is never gone.”  As the matriarch of the Kennedy clan, she knew a thing or two about grieving, so I give her words a lot of weight.  She was right.  

Back to the opening paragraph; I wonder how our lives would be different had Caitlin lived.  I think I’ve mentioned here before, I keep in touch with some of her bff’s and now, fifteen years removed from the crash, they all have their own places in the world, many are married and some have children of their own.  

Would Caitlin?  

Even though Diane had an underlying and undiscovered cardiac issue, would she still be alive today?  I’ve always believed the stress from Caitlin’s death was a key contributing factor to her death.  And that without the loss of her youngest child, she would still be with us.  I think, from time-to-time, of how over the moon Diane would be with all of the grandkids.  How excited she would be (and how vocal, lol) at the Heir To The Throne’s baseball games, how fascinated she would be by the Boy Genius’ science and computer projects,  how she would be enthralled by the former Beatle Baby’s knowledge of all things Skylander, and how absolutely giddy she would be organizing a shopping trip for the Reigning Princess and the Little Diamond.  

I have a feeling I would have had to put off my retirement to bankroll those shopping trips, lol.  And there’s a really good chance I wouldn’t be in central North Carolina now.  My feeling is that she would have vetoed being that far away from the littles.  Although she did love summer and summer here is so much more, uhhh, summer-y.  

This week (this month, actually) tends to bring up thoughts such as these.  In addition to it being Caitlin’s birthday today, my Dad’s would have been the 6th, and the Oldest One’s is tomorrow.  And the 12th is the anniversary of Diane and I getting married.  So, yeah, my mind tends to wander in this direction this week more than any other.  And doing something along the lines of a RAoK helps me to keep my emotional shit together.

So, here’s my suggestion.  Actually I guess it’s more of a request.  Go out today and commit a Random Act of Kindness.  If you choose to do it anonymously, that’s cool.  If you choose to explain that you’re doing it in the memory of an amazing young woman, that’s cool too.  But if you do it, please come back here and leave a note, either on the social media that brought you here or in the comments section below, and let everyone know what you did and if you had any interaction with the recipient, what was their response.  i.e. last year, I pre-payed for a bunch of people at the coffeehouse I used to frequent.  One of the regulars, a man I’d often seen but never spoken to, got a free coffee.  The barista told him why and pointed me out, so he came over to thank me and to ask about Caitlin.  It was a pretty cool moment.

Also, if you’re so inclined, please feel free to share this however you like.  The world, imho, can always use a little more kindness, and maybe by spreading the word, more good things will happen.  It’s worth a shot.

Lastly, I leave you with this.  These two happy mugs.  Another example of pre-cellphone camera selfie to put a little smile on your face.  I’ll always remember the joy they shared, and that which they spread.  Like I said last time; love the ones you’re with and live each moment as if it were your last.  Now go be kind to someone, please.

Peace

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Immortality

I just got back yesterday, after a mad dash to Illinois and back.  Diane’s Mom passed away last week and the funeral was Tuesday.  Last minute airfare being what it is *hint- ridiculously expensive* the only choice was to make the drive.  So I left central North Carolina around 5:00 Monday morning and drove to the Greater Elgin area, paid my respects Tuesday to a truly lovely woman, and started making my way back Tuesday afternoon.

I have thoughts and comments about the driving portion of my week thus far, but before I bury the lede and wreak literary havoc upon the drivers sharing the road with me, I need to say a few words about my Mother-In-Law.

If you know any of us either IRL or at least on social media, you’ve probably seen the outpouring of emotions in describing what Laurelle meant to my kids and grandkids.  They all did a wonderful job painting the picture of what she meant to us and I’m not sure I can say anything that hasn’t already been said.  But I’m about to give it a shot.

I used the word “lovely” in the opening paragraph and I meant it.  From the start, Laurelle was exactly that.  She welcomed me, my kids, and grandkids into her family unhesitatingly and I don’t believe the word “step” was in her vocabulary. We were all part of her family and that was that.  And so much more.  She was, quite possibly, the only person that loved poor puns as much as I do and she threw them out with great flair and regularity.  She was not afraid to laugh at her own puns too and that just added to the enjoyment.  She enjoyed teasing, about any number of things, those she cared about and was always gracious on the receiving end when that time came.  She was a large, probably the largest, part of the sense of humor that endeared Diane (and her siblings) to me and even though their eyes weren’t a color match, they shared the same spark of pure joy that was visible from across a crowded room.  I have many fond memories of practical jokes played back and forth between Laurelle and Caitlin.  Like Caitlin hiding in a laundry hamper and jumping out at the last minute to startle her Grandma.  Or a long running gag that involved one of them being called “dumb” and the other being called “stupid”.

But Laurelle was so much more than just a comedienne.  She was, without question, the most devout person I’ve ever met.  Granted, I don’t spend a lot of time hanging around people of great faith, but I’d match her devotion to her faith with anyone, anytime, anywhere.  And while I didn’t share her views on everything, I always respected them, keeping my cynicism and skepticism at bay.  Whenever we met in the time I spent with the pirate and in the time since, she would always tell me she prayed for my happiness.  It always meant a lot to me (still does and always will btw) because I recognized the place it was coming from.  Absolute sincerity.  And the fact that, no matter what may have been going on in her life, she found the time to consider me and my emotional well-being in her private moments with her Maker was not something to be taken casually.

The service was much like any other, in the way that it was a chance to see old friends and family members and it’s an opportunity to be cherished even as we mourn the passing.  I saw one of Diane’s besties, Lorraine, for the first time in many years and she and I shared a couple laughs from the past as we caught up.  I also saw a few nieces and nephews that I hadn’t seen in a while and the changes over the years ranged from multiple (adorable) kids, to venturing out on new careers, to facial hair.  Nephews only on the facial hair part.  Just sayin’

One last thing about this week.  I don’t know if any of you share this, but I feel like it’s probably pretty common, so…

They make me flash back on final services for others I’ve either attended or been a part of.  Also, funerals tend to make me look at my own mortality.  And I spent a lot of time thinking about my own shuffle off this mortal coil.  Oftentimes there are things we know we should do, but for one reason or another, procrastination kicks in and we leave them undone.  Wills, for instance.  I know I should have one… but… yeah… you see… it’s like this… I don’t.  But that doesn’t mean I don’t care what happens to me or my stuff after the fact.  So I sat down at the keyboard the other night and emailed a few thoughts to the progeny (which, btw, sounds so much better than “fruit of my loins” don’t you think?) to try to get some stuff right.  For example, I want to donate not just my organs, but my entire body.  I’m sure I’d make for an interesting trip around the cadaver lab at a medical school somewhere.  “Jesus, how did this guy live THIS long?” or something.  I want my memorial service to be light-hearted.  Or, at least as light-hearted as funerals can be, you know?  Tell stories of stupid shit I did and leave people laughing.  If you’re going to shed tears at my passing, I’d much rather they be tears of laughter.  I don’t know what awaits me (see my faith comments above) but I’m comfortable in the belief that whatever or wherever it may be, I’ve lived a great life.  I’ve experienced more love and joy than I was probably entitled to, so I’ll ask no questions when it’s time and gladly take what I’ve been given.

Nothing profound as I close, rather the familiar.  Love the ones you’re with and live each moment as if it was your last.

One day, for each of us, it will be.

Peace

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This one goes to 11

Welp, this has taken me entirely too long to get to.  I was actually a little embarrassed when I checked the site the other day to see when my last posts had been (quite a while back) and I’ve had a busy last month or so.  As a consequence, I have much to write about.  I promise not to get too wordy here though.

Kinda…

I’ve got Tom Petty blaring at me whilst I work on this, it’s a holiday weekend Saturday morning, and life, on the whole, is pretty good.  Let’s get started.

I drove back to Illinois for an extended visit last month.  And I’ve already got to back up a wee bit; my travel weekend started with a trip about three hours southwest of me to Greenville, SC for a concert.  Jason Isbell and The 400 Unit with Richard Thompson as the opener.  Great.  Concert.  My hotel was literally across the street from the venue, which was kinda sweet in and of itself, but the show was just stellar.  I’ve been a Thompson fan for over thirty years and he’s an amazing musician.  If you’re not familiar, I highly recommend checking out his music.

The morning after the concert I headed north, and, as I’d intimated earlier, I split the trip into two days.  Pretty unremarkable journey home.  That’s a good thing, btw.  Especially if you’ve read any of my previous travel foibles.  You have, right?

My time in Illinois was spent with family, splitting my time between the homes of the Oldest One and the Quiet Child, but I spent time with all the kids and littles and it was delightful.  A lot of baseball games and softball games were watched and, by and large, thoroughly enjoyed.  I even got the see the Heir To The Throne hit his first high school home run, which was cool AF.

In addition to hanging with friends and family around home, I went to Springfield with nine other members of Local 3234 (our largest contingent ever!) for the state Legislative Conference.  So I got to hang with firefighter friends/union activists from across Illinois.  Spent a little quality time with some of the elected officials there, including a couple of after-hours gatherings in local watering holes.

Sorry, no stories will come from those escapades…

I got to hang out with the guys in the high-rise district for breakfast one Sunday (one of the best experiences of firehouse life), saw several friends and relatives for coffee (not all at once), I also swung by the cemetery to “chat” with Diane and Caitlin.  To be sure, there were several people (you know who you are) I had intended to get together with, that, for one reason or another was unable to, but there will be other trips home and I’m hopeful scheduling will be a little smoother.

The visit wrapped up with the 11th birthday of the Reigning Princess, which is where this pic was taken.  I can’t believe how big these guys are getting.  Pretty handsome group, no?  Speaking of time flying, when did I turn into an old man?  That’s a rhetorical question, btw, no comments necessary.

Just sayin’

I hit the road before 5:00 AM last Monday to head back to central North Carolina.  I guess karma was in my corner after the whole Memphis excursion, as this was also a really smooth trip.  The only time I used my favorite twelve letter word was to thank a fellow motorist, one with Wyoming plates on his car, for moving out of my way, allowing me to pass him easily.  I threw out the Bruce Willis line from Die Hard, you know the one.  I felt like it was appropriate given where he was from, you know, cowboys and all.   One of the high points was a lunch stop at the Bob (don’t hate, I like it) Evans restaurant in Chillicothe, OH.

Considering the rest of the clientele, I’m guessing the median age to have been 83. #83Nation.  There was also a bonus sighting of what I believe may have been the love child of auto huckster Bob Rohrman and novelist Steven King.  Yikes.  To make my lunchtime people watching even more interesting, I’m fairly certain there was a carny convention or something in town.  Again, Yikes.  But the blueberry pancakes were just the thing to get me to my next stop, one I plan for every trip between IL and NC, Beckley, WV.  I’ve never gone through the town itself, but I think it’s similar to Asheville, NC in that it is filled with artisans and has a kind of hippy vibe to it.  The rest stop/tourist center is filled with all kinds of locally made craft-y type stuff.  Blown glass, pottery, sculptures in both wood and metal and actually really good food.  If you’re ever traveling through West Virgina on either I-64 or I-77 you must stop and check it out.  Trust me.

Finally, from the “out of the mouths of babes” file, I’d like to quote the grandchild formerly known as Beatle Baby (he’s 6 years old already, I guess I’ve got to come up with a new nom de plume for him) “Grandpa Joe, you live far away.”

Yes, yes I do.  Smooth trip or not, it’s a long day on the road and I was glad to be home.  Let’s see what kind of nonsense comes my way so I can share it with you here.  But in the meantime, I’m going to head out to the shed and see what I can accomplish…

Peace

PS- what with the holiday weekend and all, I want to leave you with a PSA of sorts.  No, not my usual entreaty to not drink and drive, although, obvs.  Instead I’d like to ask you to take a minute to remember why this holiday exists.  Quite literally, thousands have given their lives to allow us the freedoms we take for granted today.  Let’s do our part to honor their memories and, to quote Labor Activist Mother Jones “Pray for the dead and fight like hell for the living.”

Again, Peace

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May 24, 2003

It’s been a terribly long time since I sat down at the keyboard to hammer one of these out.  No reason to it, really, I just haven’t.  But I do have plenty to say and a trip back home to get down here.  I’ve got that swirling around my head, so I do expect to get it up here fairly soon, like, tomorrow-ish.

But first things being what they are and today being what it is, I decided I’d rather do this first.

Fifteen years ago today Caitlin died.

Technically that’s not accurate, since we made the decision to donate her organs, her body remained hooked up to the equipment that kept her blood circulating and oxygenated until the 25th when the “harvest team” came to get whatever organs were viable for transplant.  I’ve always hated that term in this application btw.  Harvest.  I suppose it’s accurate, but so completely dehumanizing to someone who you love.

At any rate, today, I felt like putting up another excerpt from that weekend, now fifteen years later.

When we were finally led in to Caitlin’s room in the NICU, around 3:00 AM Friday morning, we could hardly believe our eyes.  It, almost literally, took our breath away.

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 both 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.  

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.  

She was a beautiful, vibrant, young woman turned into a shattered shell of herself.  Her face was swollen and bruised.  Her body was propped up by pillows everywhere.  Soon we learned what her injuries were; broken bones in both arms and both legs, a fractured pelvis, lacerated liver, and bruises on her heart, lungs, and brain.  She had chest tubes in both lungs.  She was on a ventilator.  And, even though she never regained consciousness since the crash, she was in a medically induced coma.  The Trauma Surgeon told us they were concerned about the swelling on her brain and they felt that by keeping her in a deeper coma, they might reduce the risk of more swelling.  With good reason.  Every time the nurses checked Caitlin’s vital signs, indications were that her Intracranial Pressure (ICP) was rising.  Typically, for an adult at rest, ICP is between 7-15 mm Hg.  By the time doctors inserted a monitor through Caitlin’s forehead to continuously measure her ICP, it was already in the high 20’s, still with no indication it would decrease.  As we watched that monitor over the course of Friday and on into Saturday it continued to climb, dangerously high.  Although at the time, we didn’t understand how dangerously.  

As family started to gather in Caitlin’s hospital room, we started trying to anticipate the changes we would need to make.  She’ll need some time to recuperate, we thought.  We can turn the dining room into a temporary recovery room for her so she doesn’t need to worry about the stairs, we told ourselves.  

Cassi had been in St. Louis with one of her sorority sisters.  She flew in to O’Hare and Diane’s sister-in-law went to the airport to pick her up and bring her to the hospital on Friday morning.  We spent all day Friday in Caitlin’s room or in the waiting room shuttling family back and forth so they could see Caitlin and be with Diane.  I don’t think Diane or Cassi left Caitlin’s side for more than a minute or two the whole weekend.  I did most of the shuttling.

I had called off work at about 6:00 Friday morning, once everyone was awake.  Around 7:30, one of the guys that worked the day before me at the firehouse, Skip, brought by coffee and bagels for Diane and me.  He said he didn’t want to stay, knew we had a lot on our minds; he just wanted to drop off some breakfast for us. The first of I-can’t-tell-you-how-many kind gestures we would receive in the days ahead.

By late morning on into early afternoon, the nurses told us they were concerned that Caitlin’s intracranial pressure was still not decreasing.  Every time they checked her vital signs, the ICP was up a little.  So they ushered us out of Caitlin’s room and the doctor came in.  He took a measuring device, I don’t know what it’s called, and inserted it, through Caitlin’s skull, right in the middle of her forehead.  Through this device, they were able to continuously measure Caitlin’s ICP.  We watched the monitor nonstop.  And prayed the same way.  Prayed for the number to drop.  

It never did.  

OK, it fluctuated a little bit.  

Up ten points; down five.  

Up four points; down six.  

Up two points; up two more.  The end result was that every hour it was a little higher than it had been the hour before.  

I’m a huge football fan.  I love the Chicago Bears and I’ve been a fan since I was a little boy.  Walter Payton, Sweetness, was one of my favorite players, a Hall of Famer, one of the all-time greats.  Diane and I actually had the opportunity to meet Walter before he passed away.  We went to his restaurant in Aurora one night with my brother and sister-in-law and Walter was there greeting people as they came in.  We shook his hand and Diane was joking with him about his handshake, until he started to squeeze her hand.  We all had a good laugh about that.  When I think now about the number 34, I don’t think about Walter Payton’s jersey number.  I think about how 34 was as low as Caitlin’s ICP got that night.  It soared up over 100 and stayed there for prolonged periods of time.  

Diane and I talked about the boys, Ryan and Maun, in Iraq.  We decided it was time to let them know what had happened.  I opened up my wallet and took out the little slip of paper with the 800 number for the Red Cross.  “Just for emergencies” Ryan had told me.  This qualified.  The lady I spoke with offered us her prayers and said she’d do everything she could to get the boys home as quickly as possible.  

Hug the ones you love, often.  Tell the ones you love that you love them, often.  And please, not just this holiday weekend, but every day, don’t drive if you’ve been drinking.

Peace