Tag: Local 3234

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They Came (and are coming) From Afar

First things first…

This past Sunday marked two years since my last day in the firehouse. Where does the time go? I mean, it does, what it does, marches on, but still. Two years have flown by. And, I must say, I’ve enjoyed almost every single minute of it. We’ve had bumps in the road, of course, everyone does, but all in all, I still highly recommend retirement.

So as you’re all well aware, I’m nothing if not a smooth segueist (I think I just invented that word btw) and as I find myself in the midst of a visitor-y part of the year, I must point out here that the first of the visitors came from the aforementioned firehouse. Last week TJ and Bob (or Bob and TJ if you prefer) came out for a visit. We had a great time, I got caught up on most if not all of the shenanigans that tend to take place around a firehouse, introduced the fellas to some excellent examples of southern dining, showed off the highly regarded NC Zoo (more on that in a bit) and in what was maybe the high point of my year so far, was treated to some of Bob’s home-made deep-dish Chicago-style pizza. In fact, I’m not sure what was better; actually eating the pizza or the warm fuzzy feeling I got when, as we were unloading their bags from the car they mentioned that Bob brought along the stuff he needed to make me a pizza. And I’m not even joking about that. It truly was the coolest feeling to know they thought enough of this old retired guy to bring a taste of homemade home out to me. The pizza was, not surprisingly, wonderful. Pizza notwithstanding, Wednesday may well have been our best food day. I took them to Lexington, NC for some authentic western North Carolina BBQ served up with local slaw and hush puppies. We ate way too much. Then that evening I took them to a place here in Asheboro, Magnolia 23, for some down home, southern style soul food. TJ had Chicken Pie and I wish I knew how to describe it to you but it tasted wonderful. Bob and I each had Fried Chicken and it was really top notch. All of the food is prepared from recipes passed down from the owners mothers. We gorged ourselves almost to the point of regret, but it was too good to push back from the table. Speaking of which, we followed that up with a short walk to (lol) The Table, the local bakery/coffeehouse/restaurant for dessert and coffee. My choice of restaurants was very well received, so yay me.

A few days or so before the boys arrived, I got a text from TJ asking if there was a zoo close by me. I said there was and that we could certainly go check it out. Neither of them struck me as “zoo guys” necessarily, but hey, who am I to judge? Besides, I didn’t really have a solid plan in place for entertaining them and the zoo is a good way to spend a day here. A couple days later I got another text telling me they had gotten an AirBnB in town, to which I responded with something along the lines of “You fine gentlemen will do nothing of the sort.” *hint* the real version had a lot more profanity. Long story short I told them they were staying with me and not to waste their money. Based on my interpretation of our conversation (you would think red flags would have started waving in my brain, but, well, me) on Tuesday we walked around the zoo for several hours in 90º heat, sweating profusely. The next evening, as we were chatting in my carport, letting our too large meal digest, the conversation turned to my surprise that there was actually an AirBnB in Asheboro. TJ informed me it was near the zoo. And that was why he had asked about its proximity to me. Insert stupid face >here< but at least it confirmed my hunch that neither of them are particularly “zoo guys”

The final part of my visitor-palooza starts this afternoon when the Quiet Child arrives with the Boy Genius and the Reigning Princess. To say I’m looking forward to seeing them is a gross understatement of epic proportions. I just checked their status (technology is occasionally my friend) and they’re about four hours out, so woohoo! We’re going to check out the Civil Rights Museum in Greensboro and maybe a couple other civil rights sites in the area. There’s a rich history in this part of the state for the many battles waged back in the 60’s to end segregation and Jim Crow laws and I’m happy to share those things. We’ll wrap their visit up with a couple days out at Carolina Beach. With no hurricanes in the forecast, it should be really nice.

So, with that, I’m going to hit the “Publish” button and go run a couple last-minute errands before they get here.

Peace

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High Times

So, as I was driving up to the coffeehouse today, I passed an exit (as I do every time I drive up here) and the names of the two towns at said exit gave me (not literally) pause, as they often do, making me wonder how people choose to name places. In this instance the two towns are Climax and High Point. Now, as far as I’m concerned, climax IS the high point, amirite? But, in addition to these two towns, there are also towns named Apex and Pinnacle out here. I haven’t bothered to look for an Acme, NC or a Zenith, NC or an… well you can probably guess where I’m going with that one. But it wouldn’t surprise me if either existed. Except that last one. I’m pretty sure there’s no town out here named that.

Speaking of altitude (I crack myself up sometimes) I spent a recent weekend in suburban Denver, CO. The youngest son of The Great Vincenzo, my long-time partner at the firehouse, got married out there and they asked me to perform the ceremony. Long time readers may recall from this post that I got myself an online ordination a while back so that I could be the officiant for my niece/goddaughter’s wedding. Which, of course, sounds better than saying I officiated the wedding since I don’t wear Zebra stripes and a whistle as part of my ensemble. Although that might be something to consider moving forward…

I followed up the wedding weekend five days later with a trip to Lexington, KY where I attended the first ever Railbird Festival. Thirty bands over two days headlined by the Raconteurs, Brandi Carlile, Gary Clark Jr. and St. Paul and the Broken Bones, the weekend did not disappoint musically. I also got the chance to listen to a handful of bands I’d never heard of (or hadn’t paid much attention to) before and decided as they come to my area I’ll definitely check out Ona, Futurebirds, and Drew Holcomb and the Neighbors. I had pretty decent food too, including something called Burgoo which is a kind of stew. I must say it was pretty tasty even though the weather wasn’t exactly what I’d call stew weather. 90º and humid both days is typically not weather I’d eat something like that, as it feels more like a cool weather meal. However, as I think I pointed out here, the fact that I am becoming more repulsed by the thought of waiting in line as I get older, when I saw the Burgoo line was basically nonexistent I stepped right up. And was rewarded with a lovely, reasonably priced meal I might add. As an added bonus I found not one, but two wonderful little locally owned doughnut shops very close to my hotel. I also picked up some sunblock since my newly-shorn dome would be more susceptible to burning. Yes, you read that right, I went back to shaving my head. The novelty had pretty much worn off after letting it go for as long as I have. And the more I thought about it, the more I realized the time was right. I didn’t want Drew and Ang to be showing someone their wedding pictures ten years from now and have that person ask them how in the world they got Doc Brown to marry them. So, yeah, it was time.

Getting back to the weather, I know there are some (you know who you are) that might feel the urge to make a comment about the weather I experienced in Kentucky. I will just say this about that. If I have to lose my derriere, I’d rather sweat it off than freeze it off.

Random side note; as I was leaving Lexington the morning after the festival I noticed a sign in front of a law firm- Somebody, Somebody, Somebody, Mains and I thought, well that’s not something you see every day. Between my self, my siblings, and my cousins, there’s not a lawyer in the lot of us. Just sayin’.

Ok, I started this several days ago, but the 21st being what it is, I decided to push this back a bit so I could pay attention to that particular day and produced this one. As it turns out the titles are similar-ish but thanks, of course, to Colorado, have totally different meanings, if you smell what I’m burnin…

Hey if you can’t make yourself laugh then what the heck good are you, ya know?

So to take this thing to its conclusion, last night I went to (cue the Andy Griffith voiceover) Raleigh to see Judah and The Lion. I’d never heard of them before last year’s road trip to the Moon River Festival in Chattanooga and I really enjoyed their set. They recently went back out on tour to support a new album and yeah, if they’re coming by you, check them out. So, last night’s tour was in an outdoor amphitheater in downtown Raleigh. Nice place. The openers had recurring technical issues, but whatevs. Judah and The Lion came out and just. lit. it. up. for the first five or so songs. And then Mother Nature did the same and the show got cancelled.

Sigh.

Like I said the last time I had an epic fail concert experience– ya pays your money and ya takes your chances. Especially at an outdoor venue. At least this time there was no hotel expense and only a one hour vs a four hour drive each way. My fails are getting less fail-y maybe. Here’s hoping.

Peace

PS. etc, etc. In the time between wrapping up this post and making time to actually, ya know, post it, I got an email from the promoter regarding the above-mentioned concert. It’s been rescheduled to September 4th, so yay me!

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Strange Bedfellows

Ahem.

*Takes careful aim, steps squarely on a sensitive anatomical part*

Sorry for the visual, but you were just taken back a few hours to my morning.  I was getting ready to get in the shower and a couple of streams of thought started coursing through my brain.  Now, the logical thing to do would have been for me to reach approximately 3.4 feet to my right, pick up my phone and write a note to myself, documenting my thoughts, so that when I sat down at the keyboard I could refresh my memory and take off on a really stellar production for you fine people.  I, however, chose not to do that.  So you’re left with whatever post-election detritus is bouncing between synapses.  My bad.

So, let’s start with this.  I was kinda watching the election results, both here, back home, and nationally.  I don’t know if “both” is being used correctly there, btw.  It feels to me like it should only be used for two items and not more than that.  But I’m sticking with it, so obvs I’m not that bothered by it.  Anyway, I was glad to see most of the results back home.  A little disappointed the State Rep that covers a large portion of DG lost.  True, he’s a Republican (pro-tip, I’m not) but he has proven himself in a very short time to be a huge supporter of ours (the fire service) and I know the guys from Local 3234 were out working on his behalf.  Yes, I’m a Democrat and I typically want Dems to win, but David had our backs and I’m sorry to see him go.  That is a regular post-election occurrence though, for the politically active.  New contacts must be made, newfound respect must be earned, and groundwork must be laid for the future of the working relationship.  I know the guys from 3234 are up to that task, they recognize the value in it.  Continuing the theme, many of the races from my old home county went south for my side.  I think the Dems picked up a couple of seats on the County Board, which is huge, but I was sorry to see a friend of mine, a guy I met through the party up there, and one I have mad respect for, was narrowly beaten out.  Keep fighting the good fight Carlos.  Also, another friend lost on her State Senate race.  Same thing for you Mary, I have crazy respect for what you do, please don’t stop fighting.

Meanwhile, here in central North Carolina, the Blue Wave crashed headlong into a Red brick wall.  I haven’t seen the results from the county races yet, but based on the state and national races, as well as some referenda, things don’t even look purple, you know?  Ok, I just GTS’d and confirmed my hunch, my county continues to be hard Red.  That’s ok, no regerts (not a typo, just a subtle attempt at humor) here.  Besides, I knew pretty much what I was getting into when I chose this area.  Following the old axiom “Be the change you want to see” may well be me moving forward.

In other news; the Heir To The Throne voted for the first time ever, and on his first eligible election no less!  So, yeah, I’m pretty proud of him for that.  He’s doing better than I did.  I missed voting for Jimmy Carter by less than a week.  Well, probably more like a month since Illinois didn’t have Election Day registration back then, but still.  I don’t remember my first ballot, but I vividly recall voting against St. Ronnie of Reagan in 1980, and everything he stood for.  I also remember sitting at the bar, in what is no longer a bar but actually a really nice restaurant, drowning my sorrows that night watching the results pour in.  (Ha!  No pun intended…)  My friend Jim and I were, of course, the only two “godless liberals” in the joint, don’t think that wasn’t annoying.  Not annoying enough, of course, to stir my inner activist to life.  That part didn’t come along for many years, more than it should have.

To avoid turning this into a totally political screed, here’s a completely random side note; do any of you out there know anything about opening up/running a bookstore?  I found myself in one in Chapel Hill a couple of weeks back, the first time I’d been in a real bookstore since I’d frequented the one back home in Woodstock.  It was such a cool vibe.  If it wasn’t an hour plus from here I’m pretty sure I’d be spending a regular amount of time there.  No such place exists here.  Tbh, I’m not sure this town could support it, what with the population (and, frankly, the populace) but that seems like it might be a pretty sweet retirement gig, you know?

Alright, one last thing.  I want to take a couple of minutes here to encourage you to subscribe to this fine piece of literariousity (not a real word) by clicking on the “SUBSCRIBE” button on either the mobile app or your desktop display.  I was chatting with the Great Vincenzo the other day, whining to him about how few readers I seem to be getting lately.  I don’t blame any of you, but rather the analytics that social media uses.  I’ve been finding my sanity to be much easier to maintain by not spending as much time on FB, IG, and the Twitterz.  On the flip side, my lack of random posting also drives down anything I do post, which pretty much consists of links to this place.

So, here’s a couple of photos, with really bad graphics inserted by yours truly, pointing out where to subscribe.  This first one shows the “SUBSCRIBE” button if you read me on your laptop/desktop.  It’s really pretty easy to find, as it’s directly to the right of the post as you read it.  Literally the second item down on the right hand side of the page.

This next one is if you read this on your mobile device.  It’s a little harder to find as you need to scroll down past the end of the post to find it, unless I can figure out how to get back in to the display settings for mobile readers, in which case I’ll relocate it so it’s easier to find.  At any rate, scroll down until you see the section I have highlighted and click on the button.  It’s pretty simple.  Just for clarity’s sake, if you subscribe you’ll get an email notification whenever I post something.  Currently I’ve got 15 subscribers, for whom I’m eternally grateful.  Btw, if any of you subscribers want to pop in to the comment section and sing the praises of your subscription, I’m totally cool with that too.  Not tryna put undue stress on anyone, but hey, help a brother out, ya know?

So, I lied about the one last thing part, there’s also this before I go…  If you voted yesterday (or if you early voted like I did) thank you!

If you didn’t vote, really?  wtf?

Peace

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Retired Guy Post Number 2

While I was out-of-town, the fall edition of the biannual, official, Illinois retired fire guy magazine (pro tip- not its real name) came in the mail.  That being said, I’m taking this opportunity to share what I wrote back then here with you today.  Like I said when I started doing the regular column for the magazine; A.) I was (still am) thrilled to be asked to submit something and B.) going to share them here after a new article gets published.

So, here goes…

I recently had to travel back to the frozen tundra of northern Illinois.  My Local, DGPFFA #3234, had our Recognition Dinner.  We do this event every year to honor retirees from the previous year, and since I qualified, I came back for the festivities.  Since I’m now on a fixed income, I’d typically drive but due to time constraints, this time I flew.

For the trip home I chose casual attire, which included my union logo’d jacket.  I’m proud of my Union; Local 3234, the AFFI, and the IAFF and I don’t mind representing when I’m out in public.  

Brief side-track…

A few years ago, maybe 2013 or 14, I was helping the fellas collect for MDA.  I was positioned on one of the busiest intersections in town; west bound Butterfield Road at Finley Road.  At one point as I was strolling among the cars stopped at the light, I saw a woman, sitting in the front passenger seat, reach in to her purse.  Of course I stopped at her window.  An older woman along with her husband (I assume) driving a fairly recent model, full-size, Cadillac.  Big money, right?  I leaned over as she rolled down her window and as soon as the window opened the hubby leaned over and asked what we were collecting for.  I politely told him we were collecting for MDA, “you know, Jerry’s kids.”  Even though Jerry Lewis no longer did the telethon I still used that line, especially with folks my age or older.  As the wife deposited a dollar in change (I wish I was making that part up) the husband said, and I quote, “Oh, good.  I thought this was some union thing” Before they pulled away I said “Oh don’t worry sir, it is a union thing, thanks!” and laughed to myself as they drove off.

Back to the matter at hand.

So, while sitting at the gate at O’Hare, waiting for the return trip to North Carolina, a gentleman came over and sat down a couple seats away from me.  He looked at my jacket and asked if I was a firefighter.  I told him I was, that I was actually a recently retired firefighter.  Then he said, with complete sincerity “Thank you for your service.”  I thanked him for his kind words, but assured him the pleasure was all mine.  I meant it too.  I loved being “on-the-job” as much as anything I’ve done and all the good times that came along with it too.  But when someone from the general public drops a “TYFYS” on me, I get a little twitchy.  Don’t get me wrong, I like a compliment as well as the next person.  Still, something about it just doesn’t feel right.  I mean, after all, we’re just doing what we get paid to do, right?  And I may be wrong, but I think most of us got into this business for many things other than accolades.

So, my retired brethren and sisteren, (that may not be a word by the way) I’m looking for a little help here.  Do I just need to get over this or is there a better way to handle unsolicited yet genuine thanks for doing something I loved doing?  Any suggestions are welcome. And, uh, TYFYS…

There you have it.  I actually liked the first one better than this one, but I guess they can’t all be Pulitzer worthy…

That still holds true btw, I still don’t know how to respond when somebody tosses out a sincere “TYFYS” to me.  I mean, on occasion another fire guy will hand one out, but it’s totally different, kind of snarky when given to one another, so it’s easy to laugh off.  Oh well, I guess I just continue to smile and say “It was my pleasure” because, truly, it was.

One last thing before I head off to my next errand.  I’m not sure if I’ll get anything out between now and Election Day (caps mine) and I just want to take a few seconds to remind you of the importance.  I don’t care what your political beliefs are, (ok, that’s a lie, I do, but it’s still your right to vote.  Even when you’re voting for the wrong person…) to me, the single most American thing you can do is get. out. and. vote.  So please, get up off your couch and go do it.  This midterm is a very important election.  They all are, but this one more than most.  So instead of my usual sign off, I think I’ll leave you with this instead…

Vote.

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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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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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Leadership. And Lack Of Same. Oh Yeah, Bonus Weather Update Too…

The good news is; the ground is too warm and it’s melting as soon as it hits.  The bad news is; it’s snowing again in central North Carolina.  I know some will take joy at those last two sentences, you know who you are, (wtf indeed) but I figure since I have, on occasion, weather shamed here, I’ve got to own up to the shite weather too so…

This one has percolated far too long so I’m just gonna move on and let it go where it may cause I need to post something for chrissakes.  Bear in mind the timeline is a wee bit off, but still.

Before I get to the titular topic, I’m gonna drop some, well I wouldn’t exactly call it filler, but rather, the events of my last few days.

As I mentioned at the end of my last post, I’m (*timeline alert*) currently traveling via Amtrak back to North Carolina from Washington D.C. where several hundred union firefighters met with our elected officials to promote legislation to try to improve working conditions, health, and safety or firefighters across the country.  It’s an annual pilgrimage where, in addition to fighting the “good fight” we also get the chance to catch up with our brothers and sisters from across the country.

Let me amend something from the previous paragraph… Due to track work, we’re currently crawling through Richmond, VA on the way back to NC.  Grand scheme of things it’s not that big of a deal, it’s not like I have any plans this evening so it really doesn’t matter if I get back later than I planned.  Just an inconvenience.  Over all, I’ve really enjoyed this trip to and from D.C. and I’ll definitely look for more trips to take by rail in the future.

As with air travel, you cross paths with a unique cross-section of America when you use mass transit.  For instance –

I witnessed one of the more unique drink combinations ever on that same leg of the trip.  The woman sitting next to me for a couple of hours ordered, and I swear to you I’m taking no literary license with this; a hot tea with 2 creamers, 2 honey packets, 4 Splenda, and 2 sugars.  Again, I’m not even joking.  Talk about diversification of your sugar portfolio (h/t to Kent for that line btw)

Also, I continue to be amazed at the attire some people choose for their travels.  Again, no throwing of stones intended, and I get it that you choose comfort over almost anything else, but what part of your brain says it’s ok to wear, essentially, pajamas on public mass transportation?  And if you’re that committed to comfort, why not go all the way and leave the gym shoes at home?  Slippers would be the perfect match to your jammies, no?

Now that I’ve got that out-of-the-way, let’s talk about Leaders.

Leaders lead.  It’s what they do, which makes for an easy way to title them.  Leaders, when they no longer lead, are, imho, no longer leaders.  I can point, with relative ease, to an example that hits close to home for me and also for many of my regular readers.  My union.  Not at the local level and not at the state level.  Those two groups are both blessed with dedicated, hard-working, responsive, and responsible leadership.

Not so much at the national level.

Throughout the entirety of my career in the fire service, I was taught that leaders lead.  They decide things.  Sometimes they are faced with two or more awful options and must choose the most palatable.  Or the least offensive.  And they need to prepare, both themselves and those for whom they’re charged with advocating, for whatever outcome their decision elicits.  That’s what leaders do.  They don’t “sit one out” they choose.  If they get pushback from the rank and file, they explain their rationale.

I may have mentioned this here at some point over the last couple years, but I feel strongly enough about this that, frankly, I don’t care and I’ll gladly repeat myself.  Without getting too much into my personal politics (and if you spend any time here, you probably know what way I lean) in the build up to the 2016 election, my union chose not to endorse anyone.  Neither candidate.  In my time in this great union, I have been told, countless times – “we support those that support us, regardless of whether their name has a ‘D’ or ‘R’ after it.” and I have taken that very phrase back to my local as well as at numerous meetings across the state of Illinois as a member of our Labor History committee.  And I believed those words.  They were important to me.  I know a lot of guys on-the-job that are far more conservative than I am.  And that’s fine.  I respect your right to an opposing opinion on many topics.  But, to me, the opinion that outweighs them all is this one.  Does a candidate or an incumbent politician support my position as a member of Organized Labor?  That’s the one that gets my vote.

You know what?  I can’t even finish on this leadership (or lack of same) rant.  It’s frickin’ SNOWING here.  In North Carolina.  On March 21st.  The day after the Vernal Equinox.  Sure it’ll get “up” into the mid 40’s today but come on.

Sigh.

Peace.

PS – As I wrote here I was asked to contribute a regular column at the official retired guy magazine for the Illinois Association of Retired Firefighters.  I was, of course, thrilled at the offer.  I also felt like they should get some kind of exclusivity so I declined to post that column here.  However, since the newest edition is currently going to press (sounds so official doesn’t it?) I figure it’s probably ok to share my pearls of wisdom *snark* here now.  So that’ll be coming up in a couple days…

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Now Is The Winter Of My Content

I know I said in an earlier post I wanted to avoid weather shaming, but Geez Louise, I was sitting out here in the carport this morning in shorts and a t-shirt being serenaded by neighborhood birds, so it’s kinda tough not to.  Weather shame, that is.  Besides, I needed fodder for a post so, you know, low hanging fruit, right?

Winter apparently ends in February here.  Buds are starting to appear on various plants already and while working at clearing away the last vestiges of fallen leaves yesterday (in jeans and a t-shirt) I was sweating my butt off.  Figuratively, that is.  I still have a butt, so…

I was actually back in Illinois last weekend, a whirlwind tour if you will, coming back in for Local 3234’s annual Recognition Dinner.  A wonderful evening celebrating the guys that retired last year, myself included.  I had a wonderful evening catching up with people I’ve spent a great deal of time with over the last 25 years or so.  Many laughs were shared, a tall tale or two were told, and a bunch of hugs were distributed throughout the room.  I even got a promise for some of Bob’s homemade, deep dish pizza when I come back in May for an extended visit.  At least I think it was a promise.  If it wasn’t, well Bob, you’re on the spot now, so I guess you’ve gotta come through.

Speaking of amazing food… among the high points (there were many) was a special delivery from one of my bonus kids, Courtney.  Yes, you guessed it, RVCB’S!  Amazing as always, I just popped the last one this morning.  And like the old Folger’s coffee ad, they were good to the last drop.  Since it took a Pony Express type delivery I especially liked the threatening tag on the package, something to the effect of “If your name isn’t Joel keep your hands off the goods” which made me literally lol when it was pointed out to me.

In true Illinois fashion the weather was not great.  Several inches of snow in the days leading up to the dinner and daily high temperatures in the teens for the duration of my brief visit.  The coldest I saw was 8º with a wind chill of -3º and I have to say, it was ok.

That last statement gave me pause, because if you know me IRL, you know how much I like to bitch about cold weather.  *Hint- the correct answer is “a lot” *  After giving the matter a little more thought, I came to the conclusion that it’s kind of like hitting your thumb with a hammer.  It hurts.  But if you only do it once, the pain passes relatively quickly.  I was only in town for a couple of days and so was only briefly exposed to Illinois winter.  Unlike my entire life prior to this winter, when my thumb was hit roughly 27 times a day for each and every one of the approximately six month-long Illinois winters I ever experienced.

Several hours were also spent with the kids and the littles on Sunday.  Almost everyone knew I was coming in, so we all figured it would be a good way to see each other and arrangements were made to meet up at the home of the Boy Child and PhojoMama™.  I say “almost” everyone because the Quiet Child decided to leave my arrival as a surprise for the Reigning Princess.  When they arrived, RP stood in the hallway for five or ten seconds staring at me before she broke into a full on sprint, launching herself at me for an enormous hug.  It was awesome.  Another awesome part of the weekend was having the Little Diamond spend probably more time on my lap Sunday than she had cumulatively for her entire life to that point.  It was just a really nice way to wrap up a great weekend.

Speaking of wrapping up (smooth, huh?) it’s about time for me to head over to the “Y” because, you know, fitness is my middle name.

Peace

PS- because, well, you know…  Happy birthday baby!  I hope you two are doing everything you love.  Much like every other day if it’s like we’ve always been told it’s like.  And I won’t mention any numbers because my Mom didn’t raise any dummies.

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The Return of Fables From the Firehouse

I make no excuses for the way my brain works (or doesn’t, depending on your perspective) and this is a fine example of the maelstrom in my head bouncing from thought to thought to thought…

I was listening to a playlist the other morning, and a song came up that always takes me back to when the Oldest One was about six or seven years old.  The song “I Know What Boys Like” by The Waitresses has always made me chuckle and I still remember the first time I heard her singing along to the chorus.  The mixed emotions of her carrying the tune pretty faithfully (Hey!  Maybe she’ll grow up to be a singer and make millions!) blending against my precious little daughter singing “I know what boys like, I know what guys want.”

Insert wide-eyed emoji >here<

That got me thinking about other things from “back in the day” and how things have changed, for the better, around the firehouse.  No, not by my leaving, smartass, I’m talking about the difference in how we protected ourselves then versus now.

*Salt Alert*  When I started in the fire service, the soot on your gear was viewed as almost a badge of honor.  The nastier it looked, the more you had seen/done/accomplished.  And it was the same way to some extent with air packs (SCBA’s) in that we never wore them at, for example, car fires.  Why would we need one for a car fire, we’re outside for crying out loud.  And there was no small amount of new guy shaming to try to impress upon them just how much machismo we had because of these beliefs and how they needed to be “just as manly” as we were.

I vividly (well, as vividly as my memory will allow) recall a garage fire from late summer or early fall of 2002.  I know it was the summer of 2002 because we had a “new guy” with us and I checked with him to see when he started.  The call came in late in the evening; a garage on fire about two blocks from the firehouse.  Vin and I on the ambulance, John, Andy and Zig on the engine.  We got there and sure enough, the garage was on fire.  It hadn’t gotten through the roof or the overhead door yet, but I think it had taken out a window before we got there and was blowing pretty good.  Not too much, mind you , but what you would call a nice little fire.  If it’s not your stuff that’s burning.  Andy got the water supply squared away, John checked on the hazards, and Vin and I took the handline, and Zig, to the garage to put out the fire.  As they got the line and themselves ready to go in at the side door, I walked around to the back to see what all we had.  I found a second, smaller overhead door on the back wall and tried it to see if it was locked.  It wasn’t, and since I figured the line was on the verge of going in, I opened it to lift the smoke for Vin and Zig.  I stuck my head in and could see the fire towards the front of the garage but didn’t see those two inside yet.  I came around to the side and saw them kneeling at the door, Zig trying to get his mask right and Vinnie berating him for not being ready to go.  Berating may be too strong a word, but he was definitely giving him shit for it.  I, of course, joined right in.  Because, new guy, you know?  I don’t remember the exact words but it was something to the effect of “you don’t even need your mask, it’s only a garage fire and the smoke lifted when I opened the door, Nancy.”  Or maybe Sally.  I don’t remember which, but I’m pretty sure I used a woman’s name when I yelled at him for not being in yet.  To his credit, Zig held his ground and went “on air” before he went inside.  I wanted to make sure and put that in there, cause I know his Mom reads this from time-to-time.  Despite our “best efforts” your oldest made sure he was protected.  We made quick work of the fire, quicker than I realized, because as we were walking back up the driveway toward the fire engine we were met by the guys from the ladder truck bemoaning the fact that we put the fire out before they got there.  That’s always the goal btw, for engine guys at least, so we were pretty pleased with ourselves.  Still, looking back, it was pretty dumb on our part to go into a fire without the safety of the air packs on our backs.  That was kind of the culture back then though.  You’d come out of a fire, blow the accumulated crap out of your nose, and if the fire was out, light up a cigarette, because why not?

Fortunately, times change.  And I have to tip my hat to the DGFD and the progressive way they got back-up gear for everyone on the department along with extractors so we could wash our gear when we got back from a fire instead of wearing that shit for weeks after.  I’m not sure, but I think we were one of the first departments in our area to have those.  And I have to believe they made a difference.  Without getting all scientific on you, studies have found that a number of different bad things (medical term) leach into our skin through the gear that protects us and the sooner you get those bad things (medical term) off the gear and off your skin, the better off you’ll be.  I know a lot of places are now carrying softcloth wipes to clean your skin as soon as you get back to the engine, to further reduce the risk of down-the-road cancer.  Whatever it takes.  I’m all in favor of these guys making the workplace safer for themselves and their loved ones.  Without going too far off on a tangent, I think about things like this when I hear someone talk about how much “better” it was before, well, fill in the blank, you know?  The reality is, we’re almost always better off now.

As I said, almost.  This photo just came in courtesy of Dan T. showing a new guy and his attempt at chopping an onion.  And maybe his finger.  Also, note the onion skin still in place on said onion

Sigh.  New guys.  At least they’re entertaining.

 

Peace.

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Mailing Chickens

There’s an old saying – “an army marches on its stomach” and a quick GTS tells me it either comes from Napoleon (Bonaparte, not Dynamite) or Frederick the Great.  So either way, it’s been around a long time.  I guess it isn’t exactly applicable to me, since I usually eat on the fly or load the front passenger seat with easy to grab munchie type foods when I travel, but I’ll get to it’s applicability in a little bit.  Probably.

See, I traveled to Nashville last weekend, for the wedding of two lovely people, shout out to Steph and EJ.  I wish you both much love and a lifetime of peace and happiness.

Since it was my first time there, I decided to make a weekend out of it.  When I wrote about the trip last week, I solicited suggestions for where to go, what to do, etc.  I mean, Nashville is known for music, obvs, but I wanted ideas from people that I know (and that know me) to get a better feel for what I’d enjoy there.  Got recommendations to visit the Ryman Auditorium (Yes, it was very cool) the Country Music Hall of Fame (also worth the visit, and I’m not a “country” guy) but, without question, my favorite recommendation came in the form of a text from my good friend and internationally renowned podcaster, Seth *skypoint*, minutes before I got on the road.  I’ll paraphrase- “If you get in a bind I’ve got a couple hookups down there for bail money, etc. And whatever else you do, EAT AT MONELL’S!  It’s a f**king mazing.”

The man does not lie.

I mean about the Monell’s part.

I didn’t need bail money but I believe that part to be true too.  But I digress.

Monell’s is, indeed, a f**king mazing.  It’s set in an old house, in an old neighborhood. The food is served family style, meaning, you’re seated at whatever table has room for you and whomever you’re with.  When I say “family style” I mean they cook for a family of roughly 84,326 people, each of whom is ravenously hungry.  Good Lord there was a lot of food and each plate was at least as good as the one that preceded it.   Bite-size cinnamon rolls, biscuits and gravy, corn pudding, cheesy grits, peach preserves, scrambled eggs, fried potatoes, pancakes, sausage, bacon, and country ham.  Oh and before I forget, a ginormous plate-full of fried chicken.  Jesus, my eyes are glazing over just typing this.  It was incredible.  Bob and Melissa joined me on Friday morning for my first visit and when we finished we all kind of looked at each other with a “what the hell just happened” look on our faces.  Seriously, ridiculously, incredible food.  And when I went there yesterday morning for my pre-road meal it was a repeat of wonderful.  I had to step a little bit out of my comfort zone to sit at a table of total strangers, but this food would make you do things like that, it’s so worth it.  And the people I broke biscuits with were all really nice too, so that helped. If you ever go to Nashville YOU MUST EAT HERE.  You have been warned, if you don’t go you have no one to blame but yourself.  Seth, my man, any time you feel like sharing foodie recommendations, fire away.  My stomach now trusts you completely.

Quick road trip related note… I crossed, I think a couple times each way, what may well be my favorite river, by name only at least.  Every time I cross the French Broad River it brings out my inner 15 year-old and I can’t help but giggle.  Out loud.  I picture in my head a bunch of early settlers standing on the bank of this river, wondering what to name it.  And one of them shouts out something about a woman they’d met at a trading post a ways back.

“What was her name?”

“Which one?”

“I don’t know.  That French broad”

Of course that’s not what the name means, but I have to confess a conversation like that will play out in my head every time I cross that river.  And I’ll laugh.  Every time.

Before I hit the road, I had to swing by the Post Office to ship out some of my excess candy from the Halloween that wasn’t.  As I walked in with my packages, I noticed a couple at the counter with several boxes, each box with numerous holes in it.  I assumed they were shipping plants somewhere.  But as I stood there, filling out the address tags for the various destinations, I heard a strange sound.  I couldn’t quite place it at first.  It was very soft, and my brain took a few seconds to register since the noise wasn’t one I’d ever expect to hear at the Post Office, of all places.  But, as I listened more intently, sure enough, I heard…

Clucking.

I looked up at the couple, now having set the first pair of boxes up on the counter, and sure enough, they were mailing live chickens.  And I’m not even joking.  Live.  Chickens.  In the mail.  I don’t know if that’s a thing or not btw.       *door knock* “Who is it?”   “Chickengram”   “Oh!  Great!  I’ll be right there!”  And I wanted to know so much more.  Who gets mail-order chickens?  What’s the survival rate for mail-order chickens?  How many mail-order chickens does it take to make a full load?  What other animals can you get mail-order style?  How many chickens were in each box?  What happens if the chickens don’t care for their traveling companion?  What does a chicken battle royale sound like in transit?  What happens if the chicken lays eggs in between Point A and Point B?  Is there an extra charge, since you got more mail-order chickens than you paid for?

Ok, I’ve got to stop.  The more I sit here, the more I want to know about mail-order chickens.

Peace.