When I was a kid, I used to love to lie down on the floor under the Christmas tree and look up through the branches and watch all the lights and the reflections in the ornaments, imagining they were all distant stars and planets, each celebrating Christmas. Occasionally, my dog would join me and, although I’m not sure he was thinking of stars and planets, we would both gaze upward, captivated by the whole scene.
One Christmas, when I was probably nine or ten, I got the coolest flashlight. It wasn’t like a regular flashlight - a skinny tube with a light at one end and a switch on the side. No, this one was round, like a cookie about three inches in diameter, and about a quarter of an inch thick - probably just barely enough to get AAA batteries inside. The light was on the side and the on/off button, as I recall, was on the top (or bottom, depending how you looked at it). It had a sci-fi look and feel to it. I loved it.
I would sneak out of my room before anybody was up and prowl around the house, drawn to the living room where the Christmas tree stood in its piney-scented splendor. I’d plug the lights in and once again let my imagination take me away to other worlds with other kids and their other-Christmas celebrations.
That year, though, we stopped getting the newspaper. Missing the house once in a great while was no big deal. My dad would call down to the newspaper and somebody would drop by with a paper, apologizing for the inconvenience. But this happened several days in a row.
Finally, the paperboy came by to collect and asked if we were okay. My dad was puzzled, and the kid said he thought we’d been burglarized and had been too scared to deliver the paper because he thought the burglar saw him and would come after him.
Putting two and two together, my parents figured out that the “burglar” was me, creeping about the dark house with my cool new flashlight. I guess once or twice I must have shined that light out the windows and right into the paperboy’s face.
I guess I wasn’t the only kid with a good imagination that year.
Tuesday, November 13, 2012
Thursday, October 25, 2012
Vlad the Impaler - A Ruthless Chair
I've been in pain for the past week. Excruciating pain at times.
It started when I got home on a Wednesday night. I like to draw, and I have a Bamboo tablet that I use when the creative urge hits me and I feel like digital doodling.
Unfortunately, I've misplaced my stylus and my mouse, ergonomically, isn't very fun after about 15 minutes or so. I was searching in the semi-darkness of the living room for my stylus and the perfect storm of gravity, tile floor, sorted laundry (at least my kids sorted the laundry, although they should have put it in baskets instead of piles on the floor), and a chair conspired to injure me.
The chair in question is one that was formerly a wooden school desk/chair combo with the desk part removed. The post where the desk top attaches sticks up and has two wood screws sticking out should I ever get around to making another desk top.
As fate would have it, I slipped on a pile of laundry and fell right on top of that post which, at the time, felt like it was forcing its way through my ribs into my lungs. I crumpled to the floor, holding the right side of my chest and hoping that I hadn't really punctured anything.
And in the midst of the pain, as my vision seemed to waver, and capable only of short breaths, a strange thought crept into my mind - I got worried that I might have ripped one of my favorite shirts. Broken bones will heal, but a favorite shirt would never look the same.
So there I was, writhing in pain, yet trying not to laugh at the silliness of the thought, and I knew that I'd survive. It was several minutes before I could breath close to normally, and the pain felt like I'd been kicked by a horse (and I have been kicked by a horse before - but not in the chest).
I'm not sure if I broke anything, but I sure as heck bruised some ribs. Also, the force of the near-impalement knocked something out of whack in my back because my right side is still swollen there, too. Unfortunately, the budget this month didn't have anything left for a trip to the ER, or even a doctor's visit the next day, so I've been coping with acetaminophen and naproxen sodium and trying to rest when I can.
It's been just over a week and it still hurts to take deep breaths. Coughing and sneezing are really bad for me because either act feels like I'm getting punched in the still-tender ribcage. Laughing hurts as well, but not as much. That's good, because I love to laugh.
We've named the chair "Vlad the Impaler."
And my shirt? It survived with no rips. Yay!
It started when I got home on a Wednesday night. I like to draw, and I have a Bamboo tablet that I use when the creative urge hits me and I feel like digital doodling.
Unfortunately, I've misplaced my stylus and my mouse, ergonomically, isn't very fun after about 15 minutes or so. I was searching in the semi-darkness of the living room for my stylus and the perfect storm of gravity, tile floor, sorted laundry (at least my kids sorted the laundry, although they should have put it in baskets instead of piles on the floor), and a chair conspired to injure me.
The chair in question is one that was formerly a wooden school desk/chair combo with the desk part removed. The post where the desk top attaches sticks up and has two wood screws sticking out should I ever get around to making another desk top.
 |
| Vlad in timeout |
As fate would have it, I slipped on a pile of laundry and fell right on top of that post which, at the time, felt like it was forcing its way through my ribs into my lungs. I crumpled to the floor, holding the right side of my chest and hoping that I hadn't really punctured anything.
And in the midst of the pain, as my vision seemed to waver, and capable only of short breaths, a strange thought crept into my mind - I got worried that I might have ripped one of my favorite shirts. Broken bones will heal, but a favorite shirt would never look the same.
So there I was, writhing in pain, yet trying not to laugh at the silliness of the thought, and I knew that I'd survive. It was several minutes before I could breath close to normally, and the pain felt like I'd been kicked by a horse (and I have been kicked by a horse before - but not in the chest).
I'm not sure if I broke anything, but I sure as heck bruised some ribs. Also, the force of the near-impalement knocked something out of whack in my back because my right side is still swollen there, too. Unfortunately, the budget this month didn't have anything left for a trip to the ER, or even a doctor's visit the next day, so I've been coping with acetaminophen and naproxen sodium and trying to rest when I can.
It's been just over a week and it still hurts to take deep breaths. Coughing and sneezing are really bad for me because either act feels like I'm getting punched in the still-tender ribcage. Laughing hurts as well, but not as much. That's good, because I love to laugh.
We've named the chair "Vlad the Impaler."
And my shirt? It survived with no rips. Yay!
Wednesday, October 17, 2012
Monday, October 15, 2012
Saturday, October 13, 2012
Thursday, September 20, 2012
What a Week...And It's Only Thursday!
Air bag blew on the bus to Tulsa Monday.
Here we were, nearing Sand Springs heading toward downtown Tulsa, when the bus made a weird sound. After that, every time we went over the slightest bump (and around Tulsa there are plenty of slight and not-so-slight bumps) we bounced wildly in our seats. Then when we reached our destination, the door wouldn't open automatically. Our driver had to shove it open so we could disembark. He said something about the bag popping.
That night, coming home, one of the passengers was telling the driver of the homeward-bound bus (OSU has several BOBs (Big Orange Bus) in its fleet) how the air bag had popped, making for an interesting ride. Kinda like an extended fair ride, if you ask me.
I got home shortly before midnight and after grabbing a bite getting ready for bed, I fell asleep about a minute after my head hit the pillow. Now that I think about it, I don't even remember my head hitting the pillow. I slept like a log.
Unfortunately, neither my wife nor daughter slept like logs. Apparently, around 3AM, somebody decided tapping on the bedroom windows was an appropriate thing to do.
Okay, we live near the campus, and there are some people of questionable moral fiber who hang around the apartment complex, so it's not too surprising that somebody might have been in a less than lucid state. But apparently they were persistent. And then they tried to come in through our back door, which was thankfully was locked (but we really need a deadbolt, because the door lock is flimsy). Whoever it was gave up and went away. I think that if it happens again, 911 will be getting a call.
Tuesday morning, not believing buses had air bags, I did a bit of research. Buses do have air bags for their air ride suspension, since shock absorbers aren't up to the task for such heavy vehicles, especially ones that carry passengers.
When I got home Tuesday evening, the Internet was down. Okay, this one was on me. I needed to pay the bill, but two unexpected ER visits last week and an equally unplanned visit to the pharmacy for meds, one of which (the way my luck goes) wasn't covered by my insurance, blew away any hope of getting the cable/phone/internet bill paid before the end of the month. It also has ruled out any trips to the store unless we run out of toilet paper.
Yes, ideally I should be able to plan for unexpected emergencies, but these things keep happening faster than I can earn enough money to create a buffer of any kind. And since I dumped my credit cards several years ago, it's even tougher because I have nothing to fall back on (but I don't miss paying those ridiculous interest rates!).
Wednesday (yesterday) started off okay. I managed to find a parking place relatively close to the bus terminal, or the MTT as they like to call it. Sure, I arrived two hours early, but this year parking at OSU has gone from ridiculous to whatever is beyond ridiculous. The good thing is, I could log in at the MTT and get some work done, which I couldn't do at home because of no service.
When I got to OSU-Tulsa, things were pretty good for the first half hour in my tiny shared office, but then the Internet started going up and down on me. At first I thought it was my laptop, which is over three years old now, had finally started showing its age. But the desktop in the office did the same thing. And when I got to class, my students said they had been having trouble all day and that the IT folks were going nuts because they couldn't (yet) find and fix the problem.
Class last night was shortened because it's hard to teach and demo databases when you can't connect to a database. You can only use PowerPoint slides for so long and say, "...And then...magic happens!" and show what would have happened had we been able to actually do it.
And now it's Thursday, and here I sit at the MTT. I don't have a bus to catch today. I just wanted to get online, because I needed to send a message to my youngest's music teacher that we might could pay part of a fee this week and the rest after payday. I'm sure she'll be okay with that. He has a really good singing voice and, even though his voice deepened over the summer, he doesn't have a squeaky come-and-go voice that boys get between 12 and 16.
It's been a good day so far.
Here we were, nearing Sand Springs heading toward downtown Tulsa, when the bus made a weird sound. After that, every time we went over the slightest bump (and around Tulsa there are plenty of slight and not-so-slight bumps) we bounced wildly in our seats. Then when we reached our destination, the door wouldn't open automatically. Our driver had to shove it open so we could disembark. He said something about the bag popping.
That night, coming home, one of the passengers was telling the driver of the homeward-bound bus (OSU has several BOBs (Big Orange Bus) in its fleet) how the air bag had popped, making for an interesting ride. Kinda like an extended fair ride, if you ask me.
I got home shortly before midnight and after grabbing a bite getting ready for bed, I fell asleep about a minute after my head hit the pillow. Now that I think about it, I don't even remember my head hitting the pillow. I slept like a log.
Unfortunately, neither my wife nor daughter slept like logs. Apparently, around 3AM, somebody decided tapping on the bedroom windows was an appropriate thing to do.
Okay, we live near the campus, and there are some people of questionable moral fiber who hang around the apartment complex, so it's not too surprising that somebody might have been in a less than lucid state. But apparently they were persistent. And then they tried to come in through our back door, which was thankfully was locked (but we really need a deadbolt, because the door lock is flimsy). Whoever it was gave up and went away. I think that if it happens again, 911 will be getting a call.
Tuesday morning, not believing buses had air bags, I did a bit of research. Buses do have air bags for their air ride suspension, since shock absorbers aren't up to the task for such heavy vehicles, especially ones that carry passengers.
When I got home Tuesday evening, the Internet was down. Okay, this one was on me. I needed to pay the bill, but two unexpected ER visits last week and an equally unplanned visit to the pharmacy for meds, one of which (the way my luck goes) wasn't covered by my insurance, blew away any hope of getting the cable/phone/internet bill paid before the end of the month. It also has ruled out any trips to the store unless we run out of toilet paper.
Yes, ideally I should be able to plan for unexpected emergencies, but these things keep happening faster than I can earn enough money to create a buffer of any kind. And since I dumped my credit cards several years ago, it's even tougher because I have nothing to fall back on (but I don't miss paying those ridiculous interest rates!).
Wednesday (yesterday) started off okay. I managed to find a parking place relatively close to the bus terminal, or the MTT as they like to call it. Sure, I arrived two hours early, but this year parking at OSU has gone from ridiculous to whatever is beyond ridiculous. The good thing is, I could log in at the MTT and get some work done, which I couldn't do at home because of no service.
When I got to OSU-Tulsa, things were pretty good for the first half hour in my tiny shared office, but then the Internet started going up and down on me. At first I thought it was my laptop, which is over three years old now, had finally started showing its age. But the desktop in the office did the same thing. And when I got to class, my students said they had been having trouble all day and that the IT folks were going nuts because they couldn't (yet) find and fix the problem.
Class last night was shortened because it's hard to teach and demo databases when you can't connect to a database. You can only use PowerPoint slides for so long and say, "...And then...magic happens!" and show what would have happened had we been able to actually do it.
And now it's Thursday, and here I sit at the MTT. I don't have a bus to catch today. I just wanted to get online, because I needed to send a message to my youngest's music teacher that we might could pay part of a fee this week and the rest after payday. I'm sure she'll be okay with that. He has a really good singing voice and, even though his voice deepened over the summer, he doesn't have a squeaky come-and-go voice that boys get between 12 and 16.
It's been a good day so far.
Sunday, September 9, 2012
A Look Back to 9/11
My youngest child just interviewed me for a class project. The topic was about where I was and what I was doing on 9/11/2001. He was 20 months old then and has no recollection of how much America was changed that day.
Normally, my blog posts have some humor. But I think this one will be about my memories of that tragic day.
We were living in Cincinnati at the time, and I was working as a subcontractor to the DOE Superfund site at Fernald, a former uranium processing plant during the Cold War. I worked in the Records Management department, in a warehouse about 20 or so miles from the actual site, and I was part of a team that tracked the active records of the various projects going on at the plant during the cleanup. We also house the historical records from when the plant was in active production. The warehouse had thousands of boxes of documents, and walking through that warehouse with the racks of boxes extending way up overhead, would sometimes remind me of the end of "Raiders of the Lost Ark" where the Ark of the Covenant was being wheeled though a gigantic warehouse to be archived.
Anyway, on September 11, 2001 I was at work, listening to the radio as I entered information into a database regarding documents, what file folder they were in, and what box contained the file folder. The "Bob and Tom Show" was on with their usual comedic takes on what was happening, sprinkled with funny songs and frequent guests to the show. After one break, though, they came on and reported that someone had informed them that a plane had flown into one of the World Trade Center towers in New York City. They seemed skeptical until they saw a TV report with the tower smoking on the upper floors.
I went to one of the managers and told him what I'd just heard and asked if we could get the TV on in the large conference room and see if it was true. He and I went in and we were just tuning in when we saw a plane hit the tower.
"Oh my gosh! Someone caught it on TV," I said. Then I realized there were two towers smoking and we'd just witnessed the second jet live. Unlike the movies, where things like this happen in slow motion, with exciting music and flaming explosions, the jet just flew into one side of the building at (I guess) a couple hundred miles per hour and windows burst on the opposite side as smoke and debris billowed out.
I felt like I'd been punched in the stomach. Dozens of people, at least, had just died probably instantly. And this being the second tower hit, I knew it was not a horrific coincidence. The warehouse did not have good television reception, so everyone with a radio tuned in to whatever was going on.
My wife had chosen to home school the kids that year, and the homeschool group had planned a trip to a bookstore for storytime and other activities, so they had no idea what was going on. I called the bookstore and asked them to tell my family to just watch kid videos when they got home and to not watch TV. At this point reports were coming in of the other planes down, all air traffic being diverted, and descriptions of people jumping out of windows at the World Trade Center.
Since no group had claimed responsibility for what had happened, the uncertainty and anxiety levels were running high. Fernald still had areas with radioactive material and radioactive waste, so the plant was at a higher stage of alert with non-essential personnel being sent home. At the Records Center, even though we were safe from the nasty stuff, we were allowed to leave early as well.
That night, with my family close, we watched as many Disney videos as we could until the kids dropped off to sleep. Then we turned on the TV and watched the latest updates on the tragic events. The stars were unusually bright that night because the usual smog above Cincinnati was gone. Not very many people were driving around and there was no air traffic and everything was eerily quiet.
I remember being in various stages of shock for several days, but eventually things got back to as near to normal as they seemed they would get. I applied for and was accepted to grad school, so I moved back to Oklahoma in November 2001 and began classwork at OSU in January 2002.
My youngest child, now 12, has no memory of what was going on on 9/11/2001. I'm glad he asked to interview me for his World Studies project. It brought back some vivid memories, and I thought I'd share them on this blog.
Normally, my blog posts have some humor. But I think this one will be about my memories of that tragic day.
We were living in Cincinnati at the time, and I was working as a subcontractor to the DOE Superfund site at Fernald, a former uranium processing plant during the Cold War. I worked in the Records Management department, in a warehouse about 20 or so miles from the actual site, and I was part of a team that tracked the active records of the various projects going on at the plant during the cleanup. We also house the historical records from when the plant was in active production. The warehouse had thousands of boxes of documents, and walking through that warehouse with the racks of boxes extending way up overhead, would sometimes remind me of the end of "Raiders of the Lost Ark" where the Ark of the Covenant was being wheeled though a gigantic warehouse to be archived.
Anyway, on September 11, 2001 I was at work, listening to the radio as I entered information into a database regarding documents, what file folder they were in, and what box contained the file folder. The "Bob and Tom Show" was on with their usual comedic takes on what was happening, sprinkled with funny songs and frequent guests to the show. After one break, though, they came on and reported that someone had informed them that a plane had flown into one of the World Trade Center towers in New York City. They seemed skeptical until they saw a TV report with the tower smoking on the upper floors.
I went to one of the managers and told him what I'd just heard and asked if we could get the TV on in the large conference room and see if it was true. He and I went in and we were just tuning in when we saw a plane hit the tower.
"Oh my gosh! Someone caught it on TV," I said. Then I realized there were two towers smoking and we'd just witnessed the second jet live. Unlike the movies, where things like this happen in slow motion, with exciting music and flaming explosions, the jet just flew into one side of the building at (I guess) a couple hundred miles per hour and windows burst on the opposite side as smoke and debris billowed out.
I felt like I'd been punched in the stomach. Dozens of people, at least, had just died probably instantly. And this being the second tower hit, I knew it was not a horrific coincidence. The warehouse did not have good television reception, so everyone with a radio tuned in to whatever was going on.
My wife had chosen to home school the kids that year, and the homeschool group had planned a trip to a bookstore for storytime and other activities, so they had no idea what was going on. I called the bookstore and asked them to tell my family to just watch kid videos when they got home and to not watch TV. At this point reports were coming in of the other planes down, all air traffic being diverted, and descriptions of people jumping out of windows at the World Trade Center.
Since no group had claimed responsibility for what had happened, the uncertainty and anxiety levels were running high. Fernald still had areas with radioactive material and radioactive waste, so the plant was at a higher stage of alert with non-essential personnel being sent home. At the Records Center, even though we were safe from the nasty stuff, we were allowed to leave early as well.
That night, with my family close, we watched as many Disney videos as we could until the kids dropped off to sleep. Then we turned on the TV and watched the latest updates on the tragic events. The stars were unusually bright that night because the usual smog above Cincinnati was gone. Not very many people were driving around and there was no air traffic and everything was eerily quiet.
I remember being in various stages of shock for several days, but eventually things got back to as near to normal as they seemed they would get. I applied for and was accepted to grad school, so I moved back to Oklahoma in November 2001 and began classwork at OSU in January 2002.
My youngest child, now 12, has no memory of what was going on on 9/11/2001. I'm glad he asked to interview me for his World Studies project. It brought back some vivid memories, and I thought I'd share them on this blog.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)