Flat Stanley saw her life flash before her eyes the last time she spent a few hours as a passenger in a motor vehicle driven by Thing One (eldest son). It was 6 AM. All five feet, two and one-half inches of FS had become one with the reclining seat when the world came to a rumbling, alignment-destroying, 60 mph trip down the unevenly graded median of a four-lane highway. By the time FL managed to sit up enough to see out the front window the view had changed, as the car was sliding sideways at 50 mph down the middle of two lanes. In less time than it takes for a parent to say never-jerk-the-wheel-to-get-back-onto-the-pavement, the back end of the car had swung around so that we could see in full detail what it looks like to have traffic coming at you head on. One breath later the car had traveled to the far edge of the highway. Now all we had to worry about was the rock wall that would stop the car but smash Thing One's head into shapeless pulp.
Thank goodness for big mud puddles. One load "whump" and the windows were covered in mud and the car -- stopped.
FS said, "you ok?"
Thing One: "Uh-huh"
FS: "I'll drive."
Thing One: "Ok."
We got out, walked around the front of the car and switched positions. The cars that had been headed straight at us whizzed by. FS started the car, looked carefully in all directions, turned the car around, and drove away. Fully alert.
That was nine years ago. Thing One is now a more mature driver, but not necessarily a more...reassuring driver. So when 11 pm rolled around and FS's older, tireder body had already put in a full 11 hours of driving, she turned the steering wheel over to Thing One. Who's a night owl. So he should be ok. Which he was. Except for the part where he kept the car in its lane by constantly jerking the wheel. And the part where the brakes are touchy so instead of gradually slowing down, all objects in the car were thrown forward when he tapped the brakes. And the part where he kept the cruise control on regardless of traffic and road conditions. And the part where FS apparently suffers to this day from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder brought on by that earlier experience.
After several near-misses, FS was jolted from her uneasy rest by an especially violent decrease in speed and a loud "Oh! Oh!" from Thing One. The occasion? Gas prices were down to $1.89. FS begged for and was granted a reprieve of uninterrupted rest when Thing One agreed to pull over at a gas station and read. An hour and a half later, we were back on the road.
FS was out. Really, out. Deeply slumbering. Blissfully resting, only vaguely aware that she had placed her very life into the hands of an offspring when. Deja vu. It was happening again. As in, as if for the very first time. Big thumps. Vaguely reminiscent of traveling across a grassy median at 60 mph. Only different this time, because there were. Two. Distinct. Thumps. Followed by an "Oh, No." And then smooth travel. Holy mother-of-all-mothers. FS was so far gone she couldn't even panic. Her first words were "If you turn the cruise control off, the car will be easier to drive."
The next two minutes included several thought fragments along the lines of "My watch says I can't tell lunch in the pasture where the house is bedroom and up there thumb drive in my purse, is it here?" and "I didn't buy supplemental insurance on this rental vehicle."
Thing One had run over a deer. In his defense, he noted that the deer had already been run over by other vehicles. Nonetheless, the thumps were impressive. I am sure that the rental car made a significant contribution to the flattening process.
When daylight came, and after we'd both slept off the all-nighter, we looked for damage to the car. The only evidence was blood on the rims of both rear tires. Front bumper intact, headlights intact, nothing metallic dangling from the undercarriage.
On the return trip, we left early. An hour later our hosts noticed a dead cat on the road near their home. Since I was driving, I am able to say with a clear conscience that it wasn't us. But that PTSD. As if raising Things One, Two and Three to adulthood wasn't trauma enough.
Thursday, November 20, 2008
Thursday, November 06, 2008
The more things change, the more they change
been too busy lately to do much posting, so here's a spin-off from a post from Cunning_Linguist, on his rant to 20-somethings:
hmmph. back in MY day, kiddies, Atari whatever hadn't been invented.
Only rich people had color tv and we had a tiny black and white with rabbit ear antennas. High tech was wire coat hangers and tin foil. Low tech was when you made your little brother stand in just the right place so the rest of yahs could see the last five minutes of National Geographic.
Eight tracks were cool, and only pot-smoking city kids knew what FM radio was. Rock and Roll was what you could pick up on AM radio, 62 WHEN, when the signal wasn't blocked by a mountain or clouds.
Library. Right. That big room at school where you did your research because the nearest library was a half-hour drive on good days. Conveniently located in town, next to the school.
You think a Dot-matrix printer was tough? Try writing a perfect 10-page report, in ink, by hand, on college-ruled paper. The word-count part is especially fun. Typewriter? Go to the library, chump. What, your mother works and doesn't get home in time to drive you back to town? Well, I'm sure you'll figure out a way to get it done.
Telephones: Party lines—listen for the ring. If it's not yours, it's your neighbor's, so pick up the telephone very quietly (so maybe they won't notice the click) and listen in. Sort of like conference calling, only you don't get to pick the participants.
Microwaves: There was a rumor when I first went into the service that someday you'd be able to have one in your own house. At the time, "microwave" referred to a large antenna-looking dish that conventional wisdom said could fry you.
First microwave oven I ever saw was a cast-off a neighbor gave to my dad. Being of a scientific bent, the first thing we did with it was try to cook a sugar ant that happened to come with the microwave. We turned the dial (yes! DIAL!) and set it for five minutes. We jostled for position in front. We watched. We waited. The ant crawled. We waited. We watched. The ant continued crawling. We were discussing the merits of stopping the microwave to position the ant closer to the center of the cooking area when the glass plate on the bottom of the microwave split wide open with a loud CR-AACKKK!!! My dad and I jumped out of our skin, looked at each other, started laughing and turned off the microwave. We opened the door and turned the ant loose, apparently unharmed. Who the heck knows what that microwave was doing to us while it was busy not cooking that ant.
Cars. Ah, yes, we did have those. But shiny and sporty weren't high on the priority list, so when our white Datsun got too rusty our mother went to the store and came home with a case of Candy Apple Red. It's not as easy as it looks, folks. The car was Candy Apple Red when every can had been emptied, but the concept of "full, even coverage" did not apply.
Running water: You run a mile to where the local tourist spot keeps two toilets and a shower stall in an unlit, unlocked basement. Luckily, you're so far out in the sticks that the only bad guy you worry about is the boogeyman.
Hair dryers: Hair dries or freezes on the walk home. Depends on the weather.
Electronic Entertainment: The sky is clear, you have a fresh C battery, and the transistor radio you got for Christmas still works.
So, offsprings, please quit asking me for another subscription to World of Warcraft; go log in to your state library accounts to research your papers; and submit it on time via BlackBoard.
Text your buddies to arrange a ride to the game, remember to download your favorite music to your Cells, and someone please order more ink for the laser jet and have it delivered overnight at no charge.
Meanwhile, I'll load the dishwasher, move the laundry to the dryer, check to see if the dry cleaning's been delivered, and set the coffee pot for 7:30. Put my cell phone on vibrate and check my email while listening to voice mail. Then I'll log in to work, and while I'm at it, pull up my favorite Internet radio station and check the news while I work on that report. Dang, I can never seem to get enough done!
hmmph. back in MY day, kiddies, Atari whatever hadn't been invented.
Only rich people had color tv and we had a tiny black and white with rabbit ear antennas. High tech was wire coat hangers and tin foil. Low tech was when you made your little brother stand in just the right place so the rest of yahs could see the last five minutes of National Geographic.
Eight tracks were cool, and only pot-smoking city kids knew what FM radio was. Rock and Roll was what you could pick up on AM radio, 62 WHEN, when the signal wasn't blocked by a mountain or clouds.
Library. Right. That big room at school where you did your research because the nearest library was a half-hour drive on good days. Conveniently located in town, next to the school.
You think a Dot-matrix printer was tough? Try writing a perfect 10-page report, in ink, by hand, on college-ruled paper. The word-count part is especially fun. Typewriter? Go to the library, chump. What, your mother works and doesn't get home in time to drive you back to town? Well, I'm sure you'll figure out a way to get it done.
Telephones: Party lines—listen for the ring. If it's not yours, it's your neighbor's, so pick up the telephone very quietly (so maybe they won't notice the click) and listen in. Sort of like conference calling, only you don't get to pick the participants.
Microwaves: There was a rumor when I first went into the service that someday you'd be able to have one in your own house. At the time, "microwave" referred to a large antenna-looking dish that conventional wisdom said could fry you.
First microwave oven I ever saw was a cast-off a neighbor gave to my dad. Being of a scientific bent, the first thing we did with it was try to cook a sugar ant that happened to come with the microwave. We turned the dial (yes! DIAL!) and set it for five minutes. We jostled for position in front. We watched. We waited. The ant crawled. We waited. We watched. The ant continued crawling. We were discussing the merits of stopping the microwave to position the ant closer to the center of the cooking area when the glass plate on the bottom of the microwave split wide open with a loud CR-AACKKK!!! My dad and I jumped out of our skin, looked at each other, started laughing and turned off the microwave. We opened the door and turned the ant loose, apparently unharmed. Who the heck knows what that microwave was doing to us while it was busy not cooking that ant.
Cars. Ah, yes, we did have those. But shiny and sporty weren't high on the priority list, so when our white Datsun got too rusty our mother went to the store and came home with a case of Candy Apple Red. It's not as easy as it looks, folks. The car was Candy Apple Red when every can had been emptied, but the concept of "full, even coverage" did not apply.
Running water: You run a mile to where the local tourist spot keeps two toilets and a shower stall in an unlit, unlocked basement. Luckily, you're so far out in the sticks that the only bad guy you worry about is the boogeyman.
Hair dryers: Hair dries or freezes on the walk home. Depends on the weather.
Electronic Entertainment: The sky is clear, you have a fresh C battery, and the transistor radio you got for Christmas still works.
So, offsprings, please quit asking me for another subscription to World of Warcraft; go log in to your state library accounts to research your papers; and submit it on time via BlackBoard.
Text your buddies to arrange a ride to the game, remember to download your favorite music to your Cells, and someone please order more ink for the laser jet and have it delivered overnight at no charge.
Meanwhile, I'll load the dishwasher, move the laundry to the dryer, check to see if the dry cleaning's been delivered, and set the coffee pot for 7:30. Put my cell phone on vibrate and check my email while listening to voice mail. Then I'll log in to work, and while I'm at it, pull up my favorite Internet radio station and check the news while I work on that report. Dang, I can never seem to get enough done!
Sunday, November 02, 2008
Good Care
Thing Three's surgery went well; he is mending nicely.
For a doctor's eye-view of overweight patients, consider the following comments from surgeon's team about patient #2 (Thing Three was third in line that day.) Note that Thing Three was called to the hospital at 12:30 and that surgery didn't happen until 9 PM that evening. Those guys did three gastro-intestinal surgeries that day, beginning at zero-dark-thirty ("call us at 6 AM," said the hospital staff) and ending at the stroke of midnight.
The Anesthesiologist: "Oh good. He's [Thing Three] is healthy. The last guy was three times this size. At least."
The Nurse Anesthesiologist: "Oh good. He's not like the last guy. Nice and thin."
The Surgeon, after the surgery: "I don't mean to be insensitive, but your son was almost recreational. So nice to work with good muscle tone. That last person. So heavy. So difficult."
The message we took away was "If you want your surgeon to like you, take care of yourself."
Kudos to the University of Pittsburgh Medical Center (Montefiore and Presbyterian). This organization has been outstanding. Every staff member has been friendly, caring, and competent. The doctors have been warm and interested and we have seen very little (none?) Dr.-Knows-Best attitude. The staff has, without exception, been very helpful to long-distance parents and taken a common-sense approach to privacy and HIPPA, helping us navigate their systems while maintaining a sense of respect for the individual.
Last comment: Thank you very much for paying your taxes. I know that some people think that too many people abuse no-cost health care—but there are a whole lot of people who simply cannot afford health care.
Most people want to be well enough to work. Some will never be well enough to work...but well enough to live and love, that's important, too. We and Thing Three are excited that, with continued access to no-cost (but very costly) medication, he will be well enough next year to go to college. Graduate. Get a job. Work. Pay taxes. Maybe even have an insurance plan that provides the medication he needs to stay well.
Looking to donate? Charity Navigator rates this organization well: American Autoimmune Related Diseases Association
For a doctor's eye-view of overweight patients, consider the following comments from surgeon's team about patient #2 (Thing Three was third in line that day.) Note that Thing Three was called to the hospital at 12:30 and that surgery didn't happen until 9 PM that evening. Those guys did three gastro-intestinal surgeries that day, beginning at zero-dark-thirty ("call us at 6 AM," said the hospital staff) and ending at the stroke of midnight.
The Anesthesiologist: "Oh good. He's [Thing Three] is healthy. The last guy was three times this size. At least."
The Nurse Anesthesiologist: "Oh good. He's not like the last guy. Nice and thin."
The Surgeon, after the surgery: "I don't mean to be insensitive, but your son was almost recreational. So nice to work with good muscle tone. That last person. So heavy. So difficult."
The message we took away was "If you want your surgeon to like you, take care of yourself."
Kudos to the University of Pittsburgh Medical Center (Montefiore and Presbyterian). This organization has been outstanding. Every staff member has been friendly, caring, and competent. The doctors have been warm and interested and we have seen very little (none?) Dr.-Knows-Best attitude. The staff has, without exception, been very helpful to long-distance parents and taken a common-sense approach to privacy and HIPPA, helping us navigate their systems while maintaining a sense of respect for the individual.
Last comment: Thank you very much for paying your taxes. I know that some people think that too many people abuse no-cost health care—but there are a whole lot of people who simply cannot afford health care.
Most people want to be well enough to work. Some will never be well enough to work...but well enough to live and love, that's important, too. We and Thing Three are excited that, with continued access to no-cost (but very costly) medication, he will be well enough next year to go to college. Graduate. Get a job. Work. Pay taxes. Maybe even have an insurance plan that provides the medication he needs to stay well.
Looking to donate? Charity Navigator rates this organization well: American Autoimmune Related Diseases Association
Two jokes
Two jokes culled from email:
Fifty-one years ago, Herman James, a North Carolina mountain man, was drafted by the Army.
On his first day in basic training, the Army issued him a comb. That afternoon the Army barber sheared off all his hair.
On his second day, the Army issued Herman a toothbrush. That afternoon the Army dentist yanked seven of his teeth.
On the third day, the Army issued him a jock strap.
The Army has been looking for Herman for 51 years.
______________________________________________________________
A Polish immigrant went to the DMV to apply for a driver's license. First, of course, he had to take a vision test. The optician showed him a card with the letters C Z W I X N O S T A C Z.
The optician asked, "Can you read this?"
"Read it?" the Polish guy replied. "I know the guy."
Fifty-one years ago, Herman James, a North Carolina mountain man, was drafted by the Army.
On his first day in basic training, the Army issued him a comb. That afternoon the Army barber sheared off all his hair.
On his second day, the Army issued Herman a toothbrush. That afternoon the Army dentist yanked seven of his teeth.
On the third day, the Army issued him a jock strap.
The Army has been looking for Herman for 51 years.
______________________________________________________________
A Polish immigrant went to the DMV to apply for a driver's license. First, of course, he had to take a vision test. The optician showed him a card with the letters C Z W I X N O S T A C Z.
The optician asked, "Can you read this?"
"Read it?" the Polish guy replied. "I know the guy."
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