OK blogdomites, bring your 'A' game! It's football season, and my local paper had the *ahem* balls to print this picture in their (super-dramatic, exciting music inserted here)
Living in West Michigan we get some weather benefits, and one that can't be overlooked is the buffering effect that Lake Michigan can have on some nasty weather. Moisture laden thunderstorms churning across the Midwest are often drained of energy as they coast over Big Blue's cooler waters. While it's not perfect by any means (hello- "Lake Effect", anyone?) it does spare us- sometimes- from nature's fury. And today I am thankful, not only for that but other blessings as well.
I've been out of touch with the media for a few days and was only remotely aware of some of the tragic loss of life that has taken place in the deep south. I say "out of touch", but don't get me wrong; I was cognizant of the power expected from Katrina, the risks New Orleans faced from a full-on landfall, etc., but I am not a media addict. I work hard and don't often leave my desk for lunch, so as Monday progressed I missed out on the events of the day surrounding the hurricane. Especially because I spent Monday afternoon driving to Detroit with friends to watch the Lions' first MNF appearance in who knows HOW long (to you Catholics out there, I did 3 hours of purgatory. What's that leave me with?)
The result of all this windage was that I was basically in a media blackout until I got to the office this morning. As fate would have it, I have a relative whose youngest is entering their first year at Tulane this fall. While I'm driving back in the literal and figurative darkness last night, I start to recall that Tulane is in New Orleans, of all places. Ohhhhh, shit.
I can't imagine the frightening circumstances anyone down there faced as the hurricane went through. Terrible, just woefully terrible is what it must have been like to huddle for hours, hoping to stay safe. To those of you who scoff and say "They were warned! It's their own damn fault!" you know you're wrong about the sick, the suffering, the indigent members of society who haven't either the strength or the means to get gone good. But here's a twist for you: what about those who traveled to New Orleans by plane, DIDN'T rent a car because of the prevalence of courtesy shuttles and taxis, and then are unsuccessful in trying to get a flight out? I give you any family delivering a co-ed to Tulane.
I finally was able to connect tonight and found out all are OK. It was quite an ordeal, though, so sit for a spell.
Saturday morning was move-in and by 9:30am they had finished unloading and locked the dorm room. When they got back downstairs the word was that an evacuation was being ordered. (This is where time would stand still for me.) Tulane has a hurricane plan whereby the students are bussed to Jackson, Mississippi, so their child was being ushered in that direction while they quickly called the airlines. The agent told them they got the last 2 tickets on the flight out that afternoon.
They made their way back to their hotel and as they entered the lobby the looks on many of the faces put a chill through their spine. All they could see was fear in other's eyes. Mom went up to get the bags while Dad tracked down a reliable doorman he's gotten to know through all his numerous visits; he's always stayed at this hotel. Dad explained the situation: they've got tickets on a flight that afternoon, but need to get to the airport. This gracious doorman, he immediately set to blowing his doorman's whistle (whatever you call that thing that makes taxis come running,) but was unsuccessful at getting a taxi to stop until he literally ran into the street to stop one. What normally is a ride of 30 minutes or less took two and a half hours.
Can you imagine the pandemonium? This was Saturday afternoon, I think he said it was still sunny and beautiful at that time. How frantic it must have been Sunday and Monday in the hours before it hit. Thankfully, they made it back to Michigan Saturday night. The amazing thing is they were gone less than 24 hours.
Now, Tulane's plan to ship the co-eds to Jackson, MS is normally sufficient; it's 150 miles to the north. As the hours passed Saturday there were growing concerns that it wouldn't be far enough, but what could they do now? Some time Saturday, Dad's cell phone rings. On the line is the father of another student from the same dorm. After move-in, once they had reached the ground floor they had met this gentleman, shook hands, exchanged cell phone numbers, wished each other good luck with another child in college, blah, blah, blah. Luckily, this guy had kept his cell phone number because he was taking matters into his own hands, 'retrieving' his child from the Jackson, MS site and driving back to the east coast. Would they like him to get their son, too?
OMG! How cool is THAT? Hells yeah!
So today they drove down near Cleveland to get their son and were all back home by dinner time.
To all my blogging friends 'back east': (Mike, for one. Craig, you're guilty too as you're near the hand-off. Dawn, Bob, 'Fidget', 'Slant' [who many fear has suffered a catastrophe already,] hell even JL and Dol, too) Thank you for your warmth and hospitality. I have slighted many things 'East' in my past (Joisey, New Yawk, Bah Habba, Basston, Whooshta. . .) and I owe you a debt of gratitude for rubbing-off just enough humanity on this stranger to take it upon himself with this kind deed. I'm truly blessed and humbled yet again by another reminder of how frail this life is.
After reading Randi's post, I went to go see The Man known as Van's website. He had a post about a time in his past where he got quite a surprise in the bathroom, and it was all caught on film. This got me to thinking about something that happened waayyy back in college (cue the Wayne & Garth wavy flashback video. Duh-duh-duh-do, duh-duh-duh-do, duh-duh-duh-do...)
It was Friday, early March. I was in my second year at a regional college in Michigan. By this time I had learned the importance of scheduling classes only on Monday through Thursday, so Fridays were always free. It was a tough lesson that I learned my very first term when I had scheduled 8am classes on M-W-F. Kids, don't make that mistake. My grades were horrible that term, the worst grades I've ever had. Anywho, back to the news.
So after learning my lesson about Fridays, I was enjoying this crisp, sunny day to the fullest. The ground was still covered with snow, and the light pouring in my apartment window when I finally got out of bed was blinding at first. During this time of year the air is heavy with anticipation; snow is going to melt, the air will warm and you can't help but feel the movement of the seasons as you are brushed by a moist, dense spring breeze.
After taking care of some homework I decided to head out for some lunch. Just as I exited my apartment I bumped into some friends also going for some grub so I hitched a ride to BK with them. On our way back to campus, Benny (who lived with his parents just off campus) mentioned that he had rented Amadeus and Vision Quest, so we all went over to his place and watched movies for about five hours.
Near the end of our little film festival, I remembered that my buddy Paul from back home was coming up to visit that day. In a panic, I called his parents to try to find out where he was. (You have to remember, this was back before cell phones were common except on shows like Dallas or Knight Rider.) In talking with his Dad, he told me that Paul got a late start and don't worry, I would be back at my apartment before Paul would arrive. He even sounded confident, but I didn't want to let my buddy down.
Of course, after scrambling back to my darkened apartment I was sure I would find Paul banging the door down. My roomate had plans, and the other two guys were going to be out of town. There was no way for Paul to get into my apartment. As I turned and entered the hallway to my apartment there was no sign of him. The girls two doors down must have been having a party, at least it sounded like that as I walked by their closed door. I entered my apartment and it was just like I left it: dark , cold and empty. I set about putting my coat and some other things away when after a few moments there was a knock on the door.
It was Kari from the aforementioned apartment two doors down. They were having some friends over and wanted to know if I wanted to join them. I explained that I was waiting for a friend to show up, but Kari was able to convince me that we'd be able to keep an eye out for him and as he'd have to walk by their door to get to my apartment we'd for sure see him. What can I say? I'm easily convinced so I gladly followed Kari over to their door and followed her in. What happened next was unexpected to say the least. I had never been attacked with such speed and vigor, for as soon as the door opened out flowed a h-fn-uge "SURPRISE!"
My mind went blank, what did they just say? I swear I must have grimaced, I had never experienced such a rush before. The place was packed wall to wall, too. Upon looking around, there were many of my friends present, and Paul was there as well. From the ceiling hung a sign that read "Happy Birthday Vik and Jim", it was a joint party for Susies boyfriend as well (which explained the size of the crowd. I didn't have THAT many friends!)
"How'd they do that?" I wondered. To this day I still wonder. I mean it's been almost 20 years since that day so I'm entitled to forget some things, but these guys were good. "How good?" you ask? Get this- the whole day was not under my control from the moment I stepped out of my apartment. Yes, I said THE WHOLE DAY. Benny was in on it and removed my corpse from the scene so the crime could take place. Kari and Susie somehow got my friend Paul involved in advance, and I have no idea how they got his phone number as his parents were unlisted.
It was an extremely special day, and it is difficult to think of another thing that someone has done for me that could out-rank that party. It was a wonderful surprise, and the party just plain rocked for hours. Of course, I needed no convincing that I was going to have a good time. And that I did. I can't find any pictures from that day, but this is a recent one that duplicates the feeling.
If you get the chance, plan one for someone you know. It may be the experience of a lifetime for them, I know it was for me. Hell, you never know, you might just be planning one for me!
This is sure to start a blogging firestorm. I've considered the word
'meme' to be pronounced "me-me" and to be used more as an expression about
oneself rather than something moving from person to person. While this
definition shown below certainly fits, I'm going to have a hard time using
the pronunciation "meem".
I'm also going to have to re-think the assumption that when I'm tagged
people really want to know about me. I guess it's as Dr. Phil says: "IT'S
NOT ABOUT YEWW!!" (At least that's what I'm led to believe he says by the
fine folks at Bob & Tom's morning show.)
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****************************************************************The Word of the Day for August 18
is:meme \MEEM\ noun
: an idea, behavior, style, or usage that spreads from person to person
within a cultureExample sentence:
"Blogs are an interesting way... of seeing which ideas, memes, trends and
news events are getting the most comment." (Clive Thompson, quoted in the
_Sunday Tribune_, February 6, 2005)Did you know?
In 1976, British scientist Richard Dawkins wrote _The Selfish Gene_, and in
his book he defended his new creation, the word "meme." Having first
considered, then rejected, "mimeme," he wrote: "'Mimeme' comes from a
suitable Greek root, but I want a monosyllable that sounds a bit like
'gene.' I hope my classicist friends will forgive me if I abbreviate
'mimeme' to 'meme.'" The suitable Greek root was "mim-," meaning "mime" or
"mimic." Dawkins's "mimeme" was formed from "mim-" plus "-eme," an English
noun suffix that indicates a distinctive unit of language structure (as in
"grapheme," "lexeme," and "phoneme"). "Meme" itself, like a good meme,
caught on pretty quickly, spreading from person to person as it established
itself in the language.(c) 2005 by Merriam-Webster, Incorporated
Merriam-Webster, Inc.
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Sorry folks. I haven't left town or anything, but I DO have a serious case of writer's cramp. I haven't had any single idea drift before my eyes and grow. I feel as though I've let the good folks of Jim's World down, I know how many of you stop by each and every day.
Thank you-
Wow, that was quick. Eerily quick. Diagnosed in April, died 4 months later. My Aunt was also diagnosed in April and died on August 12th.
I was all set to talk about how I wasn't a fan of his, etc., but that similarity hit me square on the head with a gong-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-g (<<< That's meant to bring to your mind the continuing ringing you hear after banging a really big gong.) He was a fellow human being who suffered an unfortunate sickness and death, and that's too bad.
I'll leave the "kicking them when they're down (or worse)" to Rush. Ten bucks says he loses track of good sense tomorrow and either a) celebrates Peter's demise or b) makes some sort of ill-timed wisecrack. You heard it here first.
R.I.P.
Thanks to Jazzy Jen for this l'il gem. I've always known of my weirdness, but now I'm confused about what to do with this new piece of information.
I feel like the proverbial dog that's chased and caught its tail, and I'm biting hard but don't know what to do with it now. Thanks Jen!
| You Are 40% Weird |
 Normal enough to know that you're weird... But too damn weird to do anything about it! |
We moved into this house almost seven years ago. It was nearly love at first sight, very similar to the chaos-filled homes we each grew up in as we both come from large families. It was and still is a great neighborhood.
We purchased the house from the original owners who built the house as they started their family. When we moved in, much of the neighborhood was still the elder residents who had built these homes. Today there has been many more turned-over to the younger generations to build or raise their own families; it is a vibrant neighborhood full of youthful life and activity.
After we moved in, we quickly got to know our neighbors. To the north, a second-owner home who had themselves raised their children in their home; a wonderful family of five, very Christian, would do anything for you, and so darn nice my brother refers to them as the Brady Bunch. To the south, a couple nearing eighty who had three sons, one of which they cared for in their home as he was born with cerebral palsy and then at some point suffered a brain injury. The other two had careers and families of their own; one was 6 hours away and the other was 6 minutes away. Their son at home was a gentle giant, about 50 years old when we moved in. The three of them would sit in lawn chairs in their driveway and strike up conversations with anyone walking by, and though his speech was difficult to understand the gentle giant would soon control the conversation. He had a firm handshake, even though it was difficult for him to walk. We often worried about Mom and Dad, for he was so much bigger than they. (They loved our kids as their own, too, so it seems natural to refer to them as Mom and Dad.)
Almost one year ago they finally decided to place him in a care facility. It was more difficult for Mom, she had cared for this man all of his life, knew all the nuances of his speech, how could a stranger care for him like she had? Over time she has accepted it as the best for him. After his first night away they went to have breakfast with him the next morning, his first words were that he did not want to return home! He was happy, had a place of his own, and I think he realized that it was the best for his parents too.
Shortly after finally emptying their nest, the other local son went through a messy divorce and he moved-in with them. Can you believe it? Now 80+ years old, and one returns to the nest. This one was no joy either. Supposedly suffered from debilitating headaches, needed to live in a darkened room kept at a very cool temperature. When he did venture outside he was skin and bones, rudely outspoken, and treated Dad like dirt. Two years later he's still living there, and still treating Dad like dirt. We worry that psychology is to blame for his problems, but Mom would never hear it.
When we returned from our summer vacation this year we noticed that Mom was sitting in a chair in the sun. She always looked tired and worn, but she looked utterly exhausted now. Since we were returning after being away for 10 days we had much to do with unpacking and cleaning and sadly didn't make the time to at least go say "Hi". The next day our neighbor to the north informed us that Mom had been diagnosed with cancer, and the initial prognosis was not optimistic. This was confirmed within the week at a follow-up appointment and there might be six months left for her. Still, they kept to their routine as much as possible, having breakfast with the Gentle one, helping change his clothes, etc. It was enough to make you think that her will alone would carry her through.
Last Friday our neighborhood had a block party. It was a great time, and with more fresh faces in the neighborhood it was good to mingle and meet so many of the new neighbors. The kids all had fun; there was a bicycle parade, goody bags, face painting, and best of all the fire truck. After the crew got a bite to eat, all the kids were given rides in the fire truck complete with lights, sirens, and even blaring horns. As the driver would round the curve to come back up the hill she would apply the engine brake to help slow the rig down, it makes an unmistakable muffled popping sound as the rig slows. It took three or four loads to get all the kids a turn at riding in the truck, so the sound was etched in my mind by the end of the night.
By now Mom has grown much weaker and they were unable to attend the party, so Wifey and another neighbor went to visit and take them some of the wonderful treats from the party. Mom could only worry about her hair, of all things! She hadn't been to the salon in so long, and wanted nothing more than to have her hair curled, so Wifey set an appointment to curl her hair the next day at 11:00 in the morning. Wifey was there promptly at 11, but was back after a few minutes to get a spray bottle. Daughter M wanted to go see "Gramma D" so together they went. She was so grateful, it took almost two hours before Wifey and Daughter made it back home. There was so much to talk about, and Mom loved to see Daughter M.
I heard it again later that day, and at first thought that maybe the firefighters had some responsibility to remove the barricades put in place by the city for the block party. After a few seconds I realized that they had stopped at Mom & Dad's next door. Wifey heard it too and rushed over to offer a hand. I checked on all the kids, who were extremely curious but I was proud of their restraint as they never wandered to the other side of the yard for a better look. Mom was confused, her legs were numb, and she couldn't get warm so they took her to the hospital to try and get her stable.
After a few days she came back home on Tuesday and is now getting daily visits by hospice workers. As I left for the office this morning Dad was returning from breakfast with the Gentle one and tooted the horn as he pulled into their driveway, so I went and said hello. His emotions are getting the better of him with each passing day, but we communicated more in silence than in the words which were spoken. He knows that we'll help in any way we can, but will not ask. Ironically, I'm the same way. I hope that as I walk this Earth I do it with the same grace that these two have.
I hate goodbyes.
