June parade, and Grinch no more

Last weekend, I volunteered at a happy/sad event. Happy/sad because it was well attended fun meant to raise awareness after tragedy.

[Ollie's Bike Parade] is a charity organization that grew out of the death of 10-year-old Oliver Stratton. Ollie was killed after he was hit, while riding his bicycle, by a woman who was texting while driving. She received the maximum penalty of...drum roll... one year of work release. Talk about salt on a wound.

This was the second annual Ollie's Bike Parade. It was a beautiful day featuring lots of vendors, food trucks, lots of cute kids and their families, and yes, a cute and colorful bike parade around the CSU campus. The organization is about raising awareness and advocating for stiffer penalties for those who choose to text while driving.

And of course, there were somber reminders

Fifty-five ghost bikes representing 55 traffic related deaths of bicyclists in Colorado in 2024. Those children's bikes are the hardest to fathom. Sheesh, there was a tricycle among them!

Another large tent featured stories and mementos of several victims. It included pedestrians and motorcyclists as well. Ollie's ghost bike was in that tent.

Now, I've driven in the area where Ollie was hit. It's a residential area with wide streets, high visibility, and homes of young families. It's almost like one would have to go out of their way to collide with anything, let alone a person.

Yeah, don't text and drive. Please.

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Speaking of advocates, Grandboss is on my A-list now.

In the past, I've whined here about Grandboss. He's the biggest sufferer of Main Character Syndrome I think I've ever known. Woe to anyone who gets caught in one of his super boring stories about himself.

Apparently, I started working for him in June of 2021. I don't work as much in testing as I used to as I've gone more over to the tutoring side of things, but I'm still a "valued employee" of the testing center according to Greatgrandboss - my boss's boss's boss - Grandboss's boss.

Each month Greatgrandboss sends out emails to our organization, recognizing anyone with work anniversaries, so I made the June announcement... kinda.

Yeah, he totally misspelled my name. Both first AND last. He closed with:

"This group of employees brings so much positive energy in our spaces! We appreciate you and we’re glad you are here!"

So all of us in the testing center are having a good laugh at Greatgrandboss's blunder (because really, who makes a big deal about these anniversary emails?) when Grandboss chimes in on our team chat

Fully making fun of Greatgrandboss, but more importantly... he noticed.

Admittedly, my last name is often misread. 

My last name is Barker

Okay, be honest. What did you read?  Did you read Baker? Look again.

I've had this problem my whole married life.

Greatgrandboss went above and beyond, however, by mispelling my first name too! Yet, not only did Grandboss catch the error right away, he quickly informed Greatgrandboss about the mistake, and Greatgrandboss sent me a follow-up email, dripping with apology. 

Afterwards, I felt toward Grandboss like the grinch. You know the scene...

We'll see how many boring stories it takes to shrink my heart back, but I'm not holding my breath.

over the moon

I trace the origin back to second grade. Unlike 3rd grade, 2nd grade was a memorable year. So much coming-of-age in 2nd grade.

One momentous event of that year happened when a classmate, Ken who went by Kenny at that stage, was passing out... I think it was cartons of milk? Anyone else remember having a mid-morning milk-and-graham-crackers break in school? A sort of second breakfast? Or maybe it was phonics workbooks...

Whatever, I do remember it was Kenny, the chosen one, passing out the goods. He was saying each of our first and last names while handing things out. He got to me and mispronounced my last name as "cow". 

Understandable mistake, if it was, in fact a mistake 🤔

My first name starts with "C" (I know, Abby starts with A, but that's not my real name), and my maiden name rhymed with Cow. So there ya go, Kenny purposely or mistakenly amalgamated my first and last names, my last name came out, "cow".

He and I chuckled, and then got back to the business of 2nd grade.

But darned if the name didn't stick? Not right away, but over the years, "Cow" sort of slowly snowballed. By high school, most all my friends called me Cow.  I found a few signages from one of my HS yearbooks:

I suppose if I'd been overweight or noticeably well endowed, I might have disliked the nickname. But I was not overweight, and, if anything, under-endowed. No, Cow was more of a term of endearment. I will note that none of my boyfriends ever called me Cow, that might've been strange.

I recall other nicknames of classmates: Cuckoo (to this day, we still call him that), Onion, Animal, Fish... Cow was just another in the mix, I didn't give it a whole lot of thought.

I do recall one time it worked in my favor. It was during a girls basketball game. I was a point guard bringing the ball down court when my teammate Ingrid cut toward the basket, a half-step ahead of her defender. With her hand up as a target, she exclaimed "Cow!" to bring my attention to the opportunity.

The girls on the opposing team stopped in their tracks, all, "did she say 'Cow!'? WTF?"

Two points for us!

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Linking up this week with Mama Kat for the prompt:

1. Tell us about a nickname you were given.

ain't seen nothing yet until you're downtown

Another week down, let's reflect.

At last check in, I hadn't lost my car, was reunited with my water bottle, and acquired a free scab calculator. Not a bad week by my standards.

Yesterday, I pulled a volunteer shift at the annual Lego Creation Festival downtown. This new PEO chapter I transferred into had agreed to fill certain volunteer spots, and in return, we'd get a nice donation for our philanthropies. One of the women in my group is married to someone who has something to do with planning and running the festival, so there we were. 

one of the views from my
Lego Fest office

There were still a couple of slots open, so I blindly put my name in one. I pulled duty at the "art tent".

It was quite an easy assignment. There were Lego themed pages to color along with an assortment of markers, crayons, and scissors.

Once we got the little artists set up with their supplies, they were in the zone and not wanting to be bothered. Can't say as I blame them.

It was a very good turnout, lots of families getting their Lego on. Kinda put my faith back into humanity for a while to be around all these nice, well-behaved kids with doting parents. Neglectful, abusive parents and their traumatized kids don't attend Lego Festivals, so my view was skewed toward wholesomeness.

About an hour into our 2-hour shift, dark clouds moved in - nice to cool things down a bit. Then the rain came, another welcome guest. Then lightning, not so welcome. We were all directed to clear out until the storm moved out, and the delay was about 45 minutes. Activities resumed afterward, but the agenda had fallen behind, and my 2-hour shift turned into 3. Quite a long time to be in a Lego Fest art tent, but not horrible.

When my co-volunteer and I returned to the tent after the delay, we found an adult passing through on an e-bike had used the art tent as his shelter from the storm and was happily coloring a Lego man rendition. He eventually was overtaken by little humans and motored off into the sunset. 

single and ready to mingle

Last weekend, I found myself in the midst of a bit of a frenzy.  I put the lovely Ariel, my commuter bicycle, up for sale on Marketplace.  Just about everyone and their grandmother wanted her.

The price I set was no loss leader, quite fair according to bicyclebluebook.com.  But the lovely Ariel does clean up and photograph nicely...

...backdropped by the newly painted house, no less.

The point is, I sold her.  The woman who adopted her paid me full price online, sight unseen, then drove a nearly 5-hour round trip to pick her up and take her home.  I would never do such a thing, but to each her own.

But why would I sell such a lovely?  Well, her talents were being a bit wasted here.  Fort Collins is  a relatively flat city compared to the never ending uphills and downhills of Colorado Springs.  Ariel had 24 gear combinations.  I've used maybe 3 since we moved here.

Enter the delightful Daisy.  I mentioned a couple weeks ago? Daisy?  A new bicycle?

Simplicity at it's finest, Daisy has one gear.  One gear!  Her clan is also known as SS, or "single speed".  Count me in.  No suspension, no derailleurs or shifters.  Only minimalist unpretentiousness.  So lightweight and nimble!

I found her on Marketplace as well.  Her owner said he got her for his daughter, but she decided she wanted more gears after riding Daisy for about two miles.  Daisy was fresh from the womb, her tires still had all their flash.  

So Daisy has settled in while Ariel serendipitously made it back to the hills of Colorado Springs.  Daisy comes to and from work with me.

As of this week, we ride along with the school kids in the mornings on their way to the elementary and middle school along my route.

Wanna race?

they're baaaaaack

I accompanied Meego to get his wisdom teeth removed on Tuesday.  As I left our neighborhood to pick him up, I was met with a mass of high school humanity traffic.  

We live near a large high school, and yep, they're back to school.  What is usually a quick left turn out of the neighborhood instead had me waiting for a slow train of cars and bikes and pedestrians for what seemed like forever.  But eventually I got a break in the action and we made it to the wisdom teeth removal in time.

So that's checked off the to-do list.  Fall semester for the university and the college where I work begins on Monday.  I think I'm looking forward to a frenzy of activity on campus rather than the slow trickle of summer session.  We're all wearing masks, but in-person classes are in order.

My job, by the way, has to do with a variety of proctored testing for professional licenses, certifications, and such.  We also accommodate college students trying to test into certain academic programs or test out of course prerequisites as well as take make-up exams.

I realized after telling a few people that I work at a "testing center", the term isn't clear - especially nowadays.  Several people assumed I performed COVID testing.  Funny/ tragic how our thoughts turn immediately to COVID for various terms.

Like last summer, when I was still at the old folks home, when tents showed up in a parking area.  Any other time, we would assume they were for a party, but we all automatically assumed they were for COVID testing.  (Actually, they were to increase the area for visiting, since visits had to be outside).

So young kids are back in school, big kids are back in town for college, and away we go.  As I was leaving Meego's house last week, I drove by another college rental.  Several dudes were sitting out front.  As I drove past, I happened to notice one of them pointing at a cardboard-and-sharpie sign.  I only made out the beginning:  "YOU HONK...", and kept on a-driving.  I heard a collective sigh from the dudes and realized the sign said "YOU HONK... WE DRINK".  

Yep, the college kids are back.  Sorry guys.  But I'm sure they managed plenty of drinking without my help.

out of the clear blur

In other news of getting-caught-up-on-the-health-checks, I went in for my eye exam this morning.  Remember I was whining about dealing with my transition lenses while using computer screens at work?  Thought I might get separate prescriptions for work and "play"?

Well, bottom line, I'm going with the one-size-fits-all once more.  But first, here's the cute bike rack at the eyecare place:

See it?  Eyeglass frames? *snort*.  It's actually not the greatest design for a bike rack, but it gets cutesy points.  Plus, since I was the only one needing to use it at the time, no worries.  

I really didn't want to pay for have  two different pairs of glasses, and the eye doc did note that my distance vision has actually improved since last time, so my current glasses are too strong, hence my woes.  My new glasses will have adjusted "lines of transition" to give me more area for screen viewing.  So they say.

While the optometrist was calculating my inflated eyeglass costs, he asked if I had to go to work after my appointment today.  I told him I had today off and my exciting plans included taking my car in for some maintenance.

"Oh, you're adulting!", he congratulated me.  

Yeah, okay, adulting it was.  After dropping the car off at the shop, I snapped a few pics of my adulting:

I took a ride with the lovely Violet and stopped for some much needed shade time at the University trial gardens.  

As always, a few people were also enjoying an afternoon among the flowers.  Less than a mile away, police were investigating a fatal shooting at a McDonalds, but I strove to push that to the back of my brain for the time being.

There was a small group of kids, I'd say they were 10 or 11 years old, playing off to the side of the flower pots.  From their matching t-shirts, I deduced they were part of a day camp of some sort.  They had water wands and began spraying each other.  But soon, the boys broke off and began using the wands like swords or light sabers while the girls ignored them and sat in the shade chatting with the older 20-something girls who seemed to be in charge.  

When I was that age, I hung out mostly with boys as that was all my neighborhood consisted of - other than myself.  I'm sure I would've stayed in the water fight.

Now I'm just the geeky "kid" off by herself doodlin'.

to vax or not to vax

It was nineteen seventy-nevermind.  I was in second grade.  During one week, about half the class was out sick.  The next week, they were back, but the other half was out sick.  I remember thinking how funny it was to be in such a nearly empty classroom during that time.  It didn't occur to me then that I didn't take a turn.

Around that same time, some neighbor friends of ours couldn't come out to play because they were sick, but my brother and I were more than welcome to play at their house.  We hardly ever played in our friends' houses, we mainly all ran around the neighborhood outside.

Later, in hindsight, I realized.  Friends' mom maybe talked to our mom.  Said something like, "Mutt and Jeff have chickenpox, send your kids over to get it while it's hot!", because that's how kids became inoculated against chickenpox when I was a kid. Get it, and get it over with.

However, despite the best efforts of my second grade epidemic and friends' house quarantine exposure, I never got chickenpox, nor did my brothers.  Both brothers ended up getting chickenpox as adults, and according to them, it was horrible.  When the varicella vaccine came out about 25 years ago, they both told me to "be all over that!"

So I was.  My doctor's office at the time wasn't even sure what to do.  They treated adults and didn't keep chickenpox shots around.  They had to special order the vaccine, have it shipped all temperature-controlled blah blah.  Twice.

"How did you not have chickenpox as a kid?", my doctor asked, maybe thinking I'd grown up in some sort of reclusive cult or something.  I told her about the second grade epidemic, about the neighbor friends' house quarantine.  Nothing happened, I don't know why.  I never got any of those "childhood diseases".

When I was in college, I vaguely remember an alert going out about measles cases on campus, encouraging students to stop by the health center for a measles shot.  Apparently, measles is even worse on adults than chickenpox is, and my brothers' "be all over that!" echoed in my brain.

How did we even get alerts like that back then??  This was in the late 80's before the internet and email.  Geez, I'm old.  Whatever, I heard about measles on campus, so I went in for a vaccine.

I think.

See, I remember the alert.  I remember thinking I didn't want measles.  I remember going to the university health center for other services [A-gynecologist-CHOO].  But did I get that measles shot?  I never thought to keep a shot record for myself, and apparently my brain isn't such a good storage device.

I asked Magnum if he thought we should get measles boosters.  He said he had the measles as a kid.  PFFFT, lucky him.




Me, I'd rather not be a Marcia.








Have you had the measles?  Chickenpox?  Been vaccinated?  Any advice for a former reclusive cult child?

I miss lunch, not much else

Frank:  So how many days a week do you work as a sub?

Alice:  Oh, I dunno.  I could probably work every day if I wanted to

Frank:  I'm thinking I might be a sub as my "retirement job"

Alice:  Well... some would call teaching a "retirement job"

I don't think Frank was amused.  This was a conversation I witnessed in the teacher's lounge last year when I had that ultra boring job at the nice high school.  Lunch was the best part of the day, always a good conversation in the teacher's lounge. 

Frank was one of the regulars in the teacher's lounge.  He taught English.  Alice was a sub who was also often in the teacher's lounge.  In fact, it was usually English teachers, the piano accompanist, the substitutes, and us study hallers.  I heard the math department had really nice digs, so they never hung out in the teacher's lounge.

I've hashed my tale of woe of how I took a job at the high school last year as a gateway into being a licensed teacher.  It was actually  a good thing because I learned quite quickly that I had no desire to work in a public high school - even a nice one- without spending a bunch of money on getting a license the old fashioned way:  college.

Teaching would not be my retirement job.

Thing is, I liked the kids.  Maybe that's one of the main reasons I realized I didn't want to teach there.  I don't know if the kids had no freedoms because they abused the privileges they did have, or if they abused the privileges they did have because they had no freedoms. 

Anyway, I won't whine, and I really am grateful I came to the I-don't-wanna-be-a-schoolteacher epiphany in a relatively painless way. 

But it makes me think about those who do teach.  Year in and year out.  I guess we're just cut from different cloth, march to different drummers, etc.  There are the good ones, who make lasting impressions.

I also know some teachers who, I honestly think, became teachers because they don't like kids.  They like the dominance of it.   They relish in being the oppressors.  They just made me want to abet in the kids getting away with stuff, which was not actually in my job description.

So if I had to be a schoolteacher, what subject would I teach and why?  Ugh.

Maybe community college math?  Less oppressive the K-12, plus the students are paying to be there rather than forced?  But with less pressure (and requirements) than a university?  This is my retirement job, after all.

But really because I wonder if math teachers really have a better lounge. 

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Linking up with Mama Kat for the prompt:

5. If you had to be a school teacher, what age and/or subject would you choose to teach and why?

day 1

Overheard yesterday at College Town Walfarts:

EMPLOYEE:  Today was going pretty good until about 10 o'clock...

Yup.  Yesterday was move-in day at the university for Meego and a squizillion other dorm rats.  We managed to fit all of Meego's worldly possessions plus our three selves into one vehicle to make the haul.  That was partially aided by the fact that he, unsurprisingly, forgot a few things, but all-in-all, the day went smoothly.

The university is a couple of hours up the road, and as we made the trek, I was noticing other similarly loaded vehicles, complete with young people.  I was mainly taking stock of the bicycles I saw.  Some nicer than Meego's, others not.  That was good.  You don't want to have the best bike in the bike rack, but you don't want a piece o' crap either.

At the bike registration tent

It was a good day.  Classes begin on Monday, so he should be settled in time to hit the books.  His roommate seems like a nice guy, and the two of them have things in common.  They met through a university app that's "kind of like Tinder" to pair up roommates.

A friend of mine posted pics on fb of her daughter's move-in at the same university.  Her daughter's room looks like something out of Good Housekeeping magazine.  Meego's room does... not.

I've heard that, as far as dorm housing typically goes, guys are slobs and girls create much drama.  The guys should have the slob part down anyways.

After we got him settled and made two separate runs to the aforementioned Walfarts, we met up with Wolfgang who, coincidentally, lives and works in College Town.  So we got in a nice visit with him and met his new roommate

That's okay, I didn't want to use the sink anyway...

So, our house seems strangely huge and quiet today.  My first order of business is to tidy up and see what's left in the wake of yesterday's move out / in.  Then I'll figure out what to do with the extra time in my life now.  This showed up in my instagram today:

Okay.  I'm on it.  😬

final daze

Aaaaah, the last day of school.  Remember?  Going to school in shorts, shades, and flip flops because... who cares?  No tests, no assignments.  Really, just a day to clean out the lockers and then get it on to summer break.  Even the teachers... or maybe especially the teachers... are all relaxed and smiley and all, "Have a great summer! *smartasses*"

Admittedly, when I was a school kid, I didn't really stop to think about... The Lunch Ladies.

But this past semester, I did a part-time stint as exactly that - a lunch lady.  Specifically, I took a job with the company that contracts food service to various local school districts, hospitals, and retirement communities.  I worked in a middle school kitchen, and middle schoolers really cover a wide range of adolescence!  Anywhere from looking and acting like they're about 10 years old to resembling college frat boys and sorority girls.  I got quite a kick out of the contrasts.

And to go along with that hormonal smorgasbord, school lunch is not anything like what I remember.  The school where I worked had seven different lines to choose from, and four of those lines included three options within, making for a total of - go on, do the math - 15 selections for lunch!  Sixteen if you count the "nothing" option.

In the end however, school food service is a business.  There are regulations to follow and costs to control.  As the end of the school year approached, we were hyper aware of our inventory.  It was a fun challenge to manage the various items so that we would have enough to serve on that last day, but with near to nothing left to store or throw out.

Additionally, there is that thrill of knowing a long break is coming, to which lunch ladies are most certainly not immune.  So a mentality of "get rid of everything!" combined with "We're outta here!" seems like a lunch recipe for:

Pinterest

Luckily,  there were no such lunch ladies in our kitchen.  Some could be rough around the edges at times, but in the end, there was pride in the final product.

Our supervisor, Gayle, probably had the roughest edges of the bunch.  She's a self-proclaimed "Italian rebel from Chicago" who's trained in culinary arts and somewhat underutilized as a school lunch lady.  But hey, you can't beat the hours.

In the final week of school, as we were tasked to "get rid of the inventory", Gayle tunneled into the cooler and later emerged with various bags, cans, bottles, etc.  determined to create something that would sell and never be seen again.

With her Pvt-Vasquez-From-Aliens poise, she went to work

After several minutes, I heard, "Well?  Whaddya think?"

I turned to see these precious little desserts. THAT from the hodgepodge mess of ingredients sitting lonely about the cooler?

And I said, "Wait!  Lemme take a photo!"

And it's a good thing I did get a photo of this batch, because there is no other evidence that these things ever existed.

They literally nearly started a lunch room riot because there weren't enough for everyone who wanted one.

Better luck next year.

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Linking up with Mama Kat this week for the prompt:

3. Share your last day of school plans/recap.

not in MY mom tent

Today marks the culmination of another of Meego's Marching Band Camp (this one time...?)

Overall, they had a good and productive two weeks as demonstrated in a little show they put on for us parents today.  A good start to the season.




As often happens, I volunteered a bit here and there during camp.  Yesterday, I had duty in the first aid tent, which is really just a canopy for shade and small cooler of supplies.


No real skill is required, they just like to have a volunteer there to help out in case someone gets a minor injury and to make sure everyone's getting enough water and putting on their sun screen, etc.


I did a first aid shift at last year's camp and had to deal with two or three asthma attacks that probably freaked me out more than they did the asthmatics.








So I arrived and went through the supplies and just did a general check over of things.  There was one kid already sitting in the shade of the canopy, with no discernible "injury".  After a few minutes, I realized that he just wanted to be in the shade instead of out marching.  Okay.

A small handful of other kids wandered in and out, seemingly just for some extra shade and downtime.  They are given regular breaks throughout the day.  So I just made sure they weren't visiting the "ER" for any kind of serious problem and didn't bother them otherwise.  But in my head...

Get off yer lazy asses
When I was in HS marching band?
It woulda been downright SHAMEFUL to be sitting here in the mom tent while everyone else was out on the field
Heck, we didn't even HAVE a mom tent!
Ever heard of, "Suck it up"??

Okay, maybe sympathy isn't a strong trait of mine.

I'd gotten there on bicycle Alice.  She felt the same as I did, see?

"What's with these princesses??"

As I look now at the photo of my duty station, I recall I brought a notebook to do some tutor stuff while there.  Maybe I should've had those kids in the mom tent do some math problems while hanging out in the shade.

"March or math!! Pick!"

But overall, the large majority of the kids put in the work and effort.  It's nice to see them dealing with the long days and repetition, repetition, repetition that is marching band.

"Do it AGAIN!  It's okay, I've got NOWHERE else to be at all today!" -- the words of my flag coach still etched in my brain.  Back in the days of no mom tent.

Meego and the rest of the bangers

Meego is center snare in the battery drumline.  They're a fun bunch of kids, and you can bet none of them came to bunk out in the mom tent.  Although one kid was not wearing his drum today during the performance, just marching and going through the motions.  Hmmm....

He'd better have a good reason.  😈

 

where are they now?

I was sitting on the floor, and he came up and gave me this spontaneous bear hug.  I guess he was just caught up in the moment, having a good time, and he just HAD to hug.

It was a sweet hug, but a bittersweet hug.  It was our last day together, and he didn't know it.  But I knew it.

After I retired from the corporate world and got on the mommy track, I ran a little home daycare.  It was a great arrangement getting paid to have cute kids come over and play with Chaco and Wolfgang.   Sure, I was required to do some stuff, but I was already doing that stuff for Chaco and Wolfgang anyways.  Meego wasn't quite in the picture at the time.

Conner was our first and most frequent customer.  I first met him when he was just 3 months old.  The sitter I'd had when I'd been working referred his parents to me to help get my little daycare going.

Over the course of two years, we watched him go from a little 3-month-old to a cute, rough and tumble toddler.  And I think he saw me and Chaco and Wolfgang as his extended family, which I guess we sort of were.  There were other kids at the daycare too, but they were part-timers.  Conner was a full-timer, blessing us with his presence nearly every Monday thru Friday.

L-R: Conner, Wolfgang, Chaco
and that wagon.  I searched all over creation for that
awesome wagon

Conner and his parents made for a cute little family.  Mom and Dad were both just in their 20s, but with good jobs and with family around town.  It was clear that they doted on Conner, and he was a happy kid who knew he was loved.

But, we moved.  We left the state which meant leaving the little daycare biz.  Chaco started school, Meego came along, Wolfgang started school, and I got busy with Meego and volunteering and my daycare days were done.

In all that busyness, I didn't miss running a daycare.  But I did miss the kids.  Most of all, I missed Conner. I hadn't kept in touch with his parents, this was the days before facebook and all.

I'm not sure what got me thinking about those days recently, but I found myself wondering where those daycare kids are now.  I did a little searching online and found this kid with Conner's name, but if not for his parents, I wouldn't have recognized him.

That's not surprising because he's 20 years old now.

Tall, athletic. Graduated from the high school near our old house, now going to college. He has a little brother, same age as Meego.

And he has a stepmom.

Mom and Dad are divorced and Dad's got a different wife.  That saddened me.  I just remember them as the happy cute little family.

But 18 years have gone by.  A lot can happen in 18 years.

If I passed him on the street, I wouldn't have recognized him.  But seeing those few photos, knowing it was him, I could see his little toddler self behind the tall young man he is now.  A little teen angst and attitude showing, but it's him.  I see it in his eyes.

I'm sure he doesn't remember me, but I remember him.  And I remember that last hug.

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Linking up with Mama Kat again this week for the prompt:
1. Throwback Thursday: Share an old photo and let it inspire your blog post.

plastered

It's a cutthroat, violent, aggressive sport.  It's a wonder it's not been banned.  Why were young formative children allowed to - EXPECTED to - participate?!

I knew nothing of its tragic effects until I got that phone call, THAT call.  It was a crisp February morning:

"Hello?"

"Hi Mrs. Abby.  It's the elementary school.  Your son Chaco was hurt in P.E. this morning.  He's in with the school nurse..."

I raced to the school (after I finished my coffee and combed my hair a little bit and stuff...)

Sure enough, there was Chaco, holding his right arm, the nurse at his side saying, "Yeah, he should probably get that checked".

As we were leaving, the P.E. teacher, Mr. Steve, appeared, all anxious.

"How's he doing?!  I don't know what happened!  This has never happened before!  *No one's ever broken a bone in my class!"

I glared at him with a mother's scorn.  By then, I'd heard what had happened.  Those sweet little 5th graders were hauled down to the gym from the comfort of their warm, loving classroom and thrown upon a brutal battlefield.  No tolerance for the meek, and no security for the aggressive.





Pillow Polo.  It was freaking pillow polo.

Bloody carnage waiting to happen.  Look away.









Is it any wonder Chaco broke his wrist?!  Especially considering that just a couple of days prior, he "fell up" the back yard stairs and noted lasting tenderness in his wrist, which probably warranted my writing a note to excuse him from P.E.??

But then if I'd done that, Chaco wouldn't have gotten that cool cast, and Mr. Steve couldn't have anxiously and temporarily taken credit for it.


*I've since learned that that was not true, but Mr. Steve didn't know me that well yet then, and was probably worried I would sue and drag him though the mud*

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Linking up with Mama Kat again this week for the prompt:

5. Throwback Thursday: Choose a photo from a previous February and write a poem or a blog post.

so... what happened there?

It was summertime, I was 16 years old.  The biggest challenges in my life were making it to my busgirl job on time, remembering my flag girl routines, having someone ask me to prom, and maintaining my tan (much to my dad's disapproval).

We didn't have an automatic dishwasher at home, so there I was, washing the dishes by hand.  I remember it was early evening and still light out.  I was gazing out the kitchen window, probably daydreaming about boys, while washing a large drinking glass.  As I wiped around the lip of the glass, the glass cracked and sliced into the middle finger of my right hand.

I stood there for what seemed like a long time, just looking at my finger, looking at the broken glass, watching the blood drain into the dishwater.  I don't remember it hurting, it was such a clean slice.  I remember thinking that it should've hurt with all that blood.

When I regained composure, I cleaned it up to see that the cut was tiny in length but rather deep.  I wrapped it tightly with a band-aid and commenced to feeling sorry for myself.  There's still a baby scar there today that probably only I can see.

It was my right hand.  How would I doodle?  My hands were always in water at work, I'd always be changing that darn band-aid.  Oh.  The Hardships.

Obviously, I survived.

Why did that mishap come to mind now, after all these years?  I was just trying to remember what it was like to be 16.

Earlier this week, I was out grocery shopping in the evening when I saw a rare sight. It was a 16-year-old boy with half an arm.

This is a military town, and unfortunately, amputees are not altogether rare.  But 16-year-old amputees are, thankfully, rare.  How do I know his age?  Because he was all over the news since a couple of weeks ago after a shark bit his arm off while he was vacationing with family in North Carolina.

So I recognized him right away.  The friendly bespectacled face and the obvious injury.  In news reports, he seems very poised and mature for his age.  He looks ahead with a positive attitude, something he's become known for in the news:

"I've lost my arm obviously, so I have two options: I can try to live my life the way I was and make an effort to do that even though I don't have an arm, or I can just let this be completely debilitating and bring my life down and ruin it," he says. "Out of those two, there's really only one that I would actually choose and that's to try to fight and live a normal life with the cards I've been dealt."

So when I spotted him at the grocery store, I was tempted to tell him how I admired his attitude.  But I thought I'd just leave him alone.  He just wants to be a normal kid.  Out shopping for snacks with his mom, who says:

"He did it without complaining,"... "He doesn't complain about anything. He doesn't complain about the food in the hospital, the hospital bed. He's not complaining about taking the cap off the toothpaste with one hand. He always weathers trauma very well. What an honor for me to be his mom. I can learn something from him."

Can't we all.

I betcha he's not going to have ANY problems getting a date for prom.

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Hooking up with Mama Kat again this week
2. Write a blog post inspired by the word: challenge.


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MegaMeego moving on

Wolfgang had his last day at EduKit yesterday.  His internship job starts on Monday.  EduKit was a good place for him to work.  They employ mostly high school and college students, and it works out nicely because they work full-time during the summers, then they're off the rest of the year, but keep their seniority.  Conveniently, he was there long enough to help Meego get hired on, and I won't say I haven't appreciated the loads of school supply loot he's brought home at the end of each season.  Let's hope Meego carries on that tradition!

So I was asking Meego how he likes working there.  He likes it, and he noted that, at first, others began referring to him as "MiniWolfgang".  But once he got up and running, he reclaimed "Meego", and instead, Wolfgang became "MegaMeego".

Nice ring to it?

Anyway, the engineering firm for Wolfgang's internship isn't far from our house and, in fact, it's right near the bike path.  I ride past there nearly every day, and I've often gone by these clumps of walkers at mid-day that very much resemble "engineers walkin'".

Back when I was a working girl, we used to take daily walks during our lunch breaks.  The number of walkers varied depending on the weather, but there were at least three of us that were pretty consistent.  Anyway, from that, I think I can spot "engineers walkin'" when I see them.  I'm thinking those clumps are probably some of MegaMeego's soon-to-be coworkers.

Since Wolfgang doesn't have true possession of a car, I'm lobbying for him to bicycle commute.  He's got Good Time Louie, after all!  And his work is right off the bike path.  Plus, life is just better on a bike than in a car.  This photo showed up this week from one of my bicycle commuter friends:

https://www.facebook.com/

He loves his Fatbike, even in summer.  Looks like too much work to me.  The caption he gave the photo says it all, though...

"Another lovely morning commute in Colorado.  Also, there's a car in the river"

Who's got the better transportation now?

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Silver Liningness Sunday

Greetings Sunday friends,  I hope your respective silver linings are thick!

We had another fine week here.  As I adjusted to being finished with another semester, it was a productive week in getting non-school tasks out of the way.  Some of that involved making way for Chaco and Wolfgang and all of their dorm crap.  Somehow, it has all been squeezed into the house.

In the midst of the college boy flux, Meego turned 15 on Thursday!  My Mother's Day bambino is not so little anymore.

Despite the moving and shaking going on, we all managed to celebrate with him on Thursday with cake and presents.  Then yesterday, we all went out for some Famous Dave's and saw The Avengers.





So now Meego has to continue schlepping to school for two more weeks while his brothers are on break and rubbing it in his face.  Chaco and Wolfgang are both set for summer employment, though, and that's certainly a good thing.  Chaco has an internship here in town and Wolfgang is continuing with Edukit.

I got China in for her early summer grooming this week.  She seems quite happy to be free of her long winter coat, and I'm certainly not complaining about the decreased amount of house hairiness.

We've managed to dry out somewhat from our week of drenching.  I've got an appointment to get the Echo fixed after getting a few estimates.  So far, I like the chosen shop and hopefully, that opinion will remain after the repair. *fingers crossed*





On a side note, the waiting area of the chosen shop has a nice, healthy looking fish tank with large  impressive fish.  It served as a reminder of the fresh heck that is my own aquarium.  I'm starting to think those monsters will never die.


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another day at the front lines

Meego and the troops had another rousing winter percussion battle today.  Magnum and I have not yet been band banned, so we headed on out to lend our support.

The trip was quite the contrast to the last competition we attended where there was deep snow everywhere.  Today was sunny and warm, like a day at the beach.  The only thing missing was... well... the beach.

much warmer warm-up than last time

Once again, the kids did a nice job.  They compete against the same groups each time, and it's interesting to see how each program has evolved from the earlier competitions.  It's a good thing I'm not a judge, I'd just want to give everyone top prize.

Along with Red, there were a few other baldies from the Bald 4 Bucks effort, even a few brave girls.
I tried to get some decent shots of the show, but my phone camera - she's-a not so good with the slightest movement.  Let's just pretend I was going for artistic flair rather than clarity:

BANGIN'!

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Silver Liningness Sunday

Happy Sunday!  It is currently a balmy 28 degrees, and I'm very grateful for that.  It was SO cold this week, 28 feels like springtime!

But enough about the weather, let's get on with the weekly recap, shall we??

First of all, as most of us know, Tuesday was Veteran's Day here in the U.S.  It's nice to set aside at least one day a year to ponder and be thankful for what our veterans have given us.

Meego had his first band concert for the year.  He's in the group for freshmen and other newbies, and they performed very well.  I will say that the high school demonstrates an excellent music program. Five different groups performed, so we also enjoyed the two groups that played before Meego's.  I was very impressed by the string symphony.  I told Magnum it was like we'd made a wrong turn and ended up at the Julliard School!  And really, it's just nice to see kids performing with such skill and poise.

As I was looking over the program, I saw that Meego was listed as playing a euphonium, and I was all, "What the heck's a euphonium??  I thought Meego plays a baritone?"  Magnum was no help.  Good thing for google:

Fig. 16.1

Figure 16.1 shows a side-by-side comparison of a baritone (right) and a euphonium (the other one).  They sound very similar, but the baritone is a bit smaller.  Gosh, this blog is so darn educational.

Anyways, enjoyable concert it was.

Also, I was able to spend a pleasant coupla hours with brother Guano yesterday as he was passing through to visit my nephew - his eldest who attends school near us.  Really, I think his whole family should just up and move here, but I'll take what I can get.

Fuzzy pic of the Guano I stole while in the coffee-for-Jesus coffee shop he found.

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Silver Liningness Sunday

So how 'bout that extra hour?  Was it good for you?  Frankly, I'm not a fan of changing the clocks in either direction and wish we'd just get rid of the practice, but I won't complain about an extra hour.

Yesterday, I went to P.E.O. where my sisters cheerfully greeted me with warm birthday wishes!  Then I had to delicately inform them that it was not my birthday.  Due to a typo, my birthday was erroneously listed as November 1.  I told them that I intend to fully expend these last few weeks of my 40s.  They were fine with that and sang to me anyway.

Halloween came and went on Friday.  We had just enough candy.  I've noticed the trick-or-treat traffic has dwindled a bit over the last few years.  I'm not sure if it's because the neighborhood is getting older, or trick-or-treating in general is waning.  Maybe both.

Probably the cutest costume I saw was our 12-year-old neighbor girl.  She was with her little sisters and dressed as a baby - wearing footie pajamas with a pacifier clipped to them and carrying a teddy bear.  As I was doling out the treats, I noticed that the teddy bear was smiling and looking around.  It was the girls' little brother, born last May!

He was more of a costume embellishment than an actual trick-or-treater, but he seemed to be thoroughly enjoying himself.  His teddy bearness did include straps for his sister's shoulders, otherwise it might've been a chore to keep that costume intact.

Remember that messy hill photo from last week?  We were hoping to get our stones delivered this week, but a mistake was made that has delayed the delivery.  The girl who calculated and wrote down my order specs seemed quite ditzy, I think the ditziness has been confirmed.  Next week?

For this week's imagery, I'll share this photo that a facebook friend of mine from the hometown posted.  I found it rather synchronous .

Maybe she's not crying anymore.

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crybaby

SOURCE

A woman bore two sons to a man above her in social class.  When he refused to marry her, she drowned her children while in a rage.  But she immediately lamented her actions and began roaming and sobbing for her children.

She continued to cry and search for her dead children by the riverbanks, slowly wasting away until she too eventually drowned.

She is not permitted into the afterlife until she has found every last bone of her children, and she continues to roam the earth searching in vain.  Trapped between the world of the living and the spirit world, she wanders near rivers and lakes, constantly crying.  She is La Llorona, the weeping woman.

The first time I heard the legend of La Llorona (LAH yoh ROH nah), I was just a kid myself.  My hometown was a community of rich hispanic culture, and La Llorona was very well known.

But then I got older and realized the story is just something that parents would tell to keep their kids from wandering off alone.  "Don't, or else La Llorona will come steal/kill you!"

Still, I admit that even into my teen years, we could get freaked out by the stories.  Especially late at night while out in the boonies.  There are a lot of boonies near my scary, superstitious hometown.  It didn't help matters that there is a river that runs through town, and that the river's name is the "Purgatory River".

It is said that if, while in a quiet, dark place, you repeat "La Llorona" three times in a row, you will see her.  So on occasion, in those quiet dark boonies, we'd get to talking about her. Then we'd dare ourselves to do it. Say it three times.

"La Llorona...", we'd begin quietly,  "LA LLORONA...", we'd get a little braver, and finally.... "LA  EDWINA!!"  or anything other than that third La Llorona.  Nope, never happend.

I'm even older now, though.  More intelligent.  More logical.  More thick skinned,  I could do it, I know!

"La  Llorona.... LA  LLORONA....

LA  ENCHILADA!!  LA  ENCHILADA!!


Dang.  So close.

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Linking up with Mama Kat for the prompt:
1.) Something that scared you when you were young…are you still afraid?


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