Author: ICRTD

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Sometimes…

I’m fond of typing here that “sometimes the universe provides”. By that I mean that often times in the past, when I’m stumped about what to write, something, somewhere happens that triggers something for me. And I spin out a thousand words or so based on that, whatever it may be. I’ve been working on a piece to put up here for a few days now, and it hasn’t been an easy write for me.

And then, about 45 minutes ago, I got a phone call from the Oldest One, She was very upset. As I was cycling through in my mind what might have happened to get her so upset, and landing on a handful of things (that’s kinda the way my mind works I guess) she told me one of the Heir To The Throne’s childhood friends was killed in a car crash last night.

She didn’t really know any details, she had just gotten the call alerting her about it immediately before calliing me, but she told me she didn’t know how to tell HTTT and wanted him to know before he saw it on social media. Which is, of course, a perfectly reasonable response. So I told her I’d make the call if she couldn’t. She agreed but said she wanted to be conferenced in to the call.

So I called him. And I told him. In an intentionally dispassionate voice. Because, even though the boys had grown apart over the years, they were still on good terms. And because, even though he’s had to deal with a lot of loss of loved ones in the course of his young life, it’s not an easy thing to hear, ever. It’s not that I didn’t care about HTTT’s friend, I always found him to be a very likable, somewhat goofy, and charming kid. He was also the only one of HTTT’s circle that callled me Papa. And he always did. If I showed up at one of their ballgames, whenever he saw me he’d call out “Hi Papa!” and was genuinely happy to see me.

So, knowing HTTT was at work, I tried to be as calm as I could be, knowing he would probably not be in a place where he would feel comfortable letting his emotions go. I’m not going to go into any greater detail than that now. Since this is all flowing pretty quickly in the aftermath, I won’t have time to let him proof this and see if he’s good with it. So I’ll leave this part of it here.

But really, how do you tell someone you love that someone has died?

I’ll always remember telling my then three year-old grandson that his Nana was gone. Vividly. Sitting cross-legged on the floor of a room in my niece’s house, trying to explain to him that he’d never see the Nana that he adored, and that worshipped him, again. And that she was now with Aunt Caitlin. I used to tell that story at Victim Impact Panels and it was not at all unusual, even after telling it hundreds of times, for me to cry as I tried to relate what that was like. Telling him that was difficult, maybe the most difficult thing I’ve ever had to do. And it’s not that this time was easy, I’m not trying to compare the two, it’s just that after we got off the phone I did nothing but second guess myself over my phone call.

I’m rarely at a loss for words, it’s true. But I can’t shake the feeling that I failed him as a support person in this moment. I told him to call or text whenver he wanted, but…

So, I sit here at the computer; listening to “God” by John Lennon on a loop. And I think about the morning I got up for work to this song and listened in stunned disbelief as Terri Hemmert told her audience that Lennon had been murdered late the night before. And I think about how the dream is over for a family, a group of friends, so many people that were a part of this young man’s life for twenty years and I know that their dream is over. Dreams of a long, happy life. Dreams of children or grandchildren. Dreams that we all have for our loved ones.

Hold the ones you love tightly, often.

Tell them you love them, often.

Do nice things for them, for no reason, often.

And, when they want to do nice things for you, let them.

Because sometimes the universe is an asshole.

Peace.

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Now Where Was I?

Welp, I pooped in a box today. How’s that for a way to start this post? 

That’s not technically true btw. I actually pooped into a plastic bucket and then placed the bucket inside the box. This is all due to my annual checkup, which took place last week. My Doc gave me the option of sending a sample in vs getting a colonoscopy and I chose the poop in a box route. It was ridiculously convenient too. I came home from running errands one afternoon and saw a package waiting for me on my front porch and thought “Ooooooh I got something!”  You can imagine my disappointment when I realized that, instead of some tasty treat a thoughtful, Beautiful Blonde has sent me, I would soon poop in a box.  Once you start saying that, it’s not easy to stop, it kind of rolls off the tongue, which is probably the wrong metaphor to use given the subject matter.  Still, you have to admit I’m right. Also, it got me thinking about jobs. There are many, many great jobs out there. I think I can safely say opening boxes of poop; eight hours a day, five days a week, is not one of them. I’m not sure what would be worse; knowing box after box after box contains someone’s poop, or opening a box and being surprised that the contents were poop. Probably the surprise box, but the surprise would wear off pretty quickly after the 40th or 50th box, I’m sure. And, yet, someone does this job. I hope it at least pays well. 

I’ve been thinking about jobs for the last week or two, a lot more than usual. This is due to a handful of conversations I’ve had lately with the Heir to the Throne. Wonderful grandchild that he is, he came out to central North Carolina to pay me a visit and get away from some of the stressors life can throw at a 19 year old. And there are many. We’ve talked about jobs, careers, futures, relationships, several things of a serious nature. We’ve also talked a little bit about pooping in a box, because who better to appreciate hearing about poop in a box than a teenage male?  

It hasn’t all been serious talks though. We’ve also managed to sneak in a little fishing along with a quick trip out to the mountains where we did a little sightseeing.  While an attempted stop at Grandfather Mountain turned into an epic fail; due to the pandemic you can only get access if you make an appointment, which we did not do, our Plan B became a stop at Linville Falls, which was beautiful.  We’ve also visited what has become my go-to group of restaurants in the area for guests from back home. Lexington BBQ for, well, bbq; Magnolia 23 for old-school, home-style, Southern cooking; and Johnson’s for a lovely local favorite, cheeseburgers “all the way” which is to say a cheeseburger with chili, slaw, and mustard on it. It’s pretty tasty too, despite how you may think it sounds. I’m really glad he was able to come out for a visit, I think it did both of us some good.

He’s heading home tomorrow morning. I am too actually although I’ll be a couple hours behind him. I’m coming home for a couple weeks to give Ryan and Danielle a hand.  Ryan starts a new, still experimental, treatment using the drug ketamine. The long-term results are encouraging, so here’s hoping. He’ll need a chauffeur for the treatments, since there will be some short-term level of impairment involved, and that’s where I come in. Six treatments over ten days.

Ok, so quick disclaimer; I wrote the bulk of what you’ve read so far Friday morning while the car was getting a pre-road trip service.  I’m currently sitting at the kitchen table watching the two littlest ones playing in their inflatable pool in the backyard while #LillyNO is crashed on the couch.  We drove in yesterday, pretty uneventfully.  Well, let me take that back.  Yesterday was, in fact, a momentous trip in that, in all of the shuttles back and forth from NC to IL, #LillyNO had NEVER produced a drop of pee in the fine state of West Virginia even though every, single trip, either northbound or southbound included a stop there.  You may recall, or not, that I’m particularly fond of stopping in Beckley, WV where there is a place, Tamarack, that features work by local artisans.  It’s a great place to walk around a bit, get a bite to eat, and check out the work of some really talented people.  We have spent, literally, as long as an hour there, walking around the pet-walking area, while #LillyNO sniffs everything and anything and yet, never, ever did what I intended her to do while we were stopped there.  And yesterday, as we neared exit 45 (the Tamarack exit) or at least we were within 25 miles of it, #LillyNO started whining, like, a LOT, so I pulled off at the next exit.  We walked around for maybe five minutes when, lo and behold, she burst her WV seal so to speak.  I can’t imagine beaming more brightly if I had won a Pulitzer and a Nobel on the same day. Shoot throw in a Grammy, Tony, Oscar, Heisman, or any other award for that matter.

Ok, disclaimer number two… I had to walk away from this production several hours ago when, according to my laptop, the server at Word Press stopped functioning. I’m guessing maybe the fact that it was receiving content from me for the first time in a really long time short-circuited something.

I’m gonna wrap this one up here before something else happens and I can’t get it posted. I’m hoping this will get those of you that have been questioning why I haven’t written anything to get off my proverbial back. You know who you are. I’m looking at you Ray.

With a little luck, I’m going to try and squeeze in a visit or two with some friends while I’m here, but I make no promises. Love to all.

Peace

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Social Distancing

Full disclosure up in here, I started this one several days ago. I added a bit here or there and, it occurred to me I may as well change this around a little bit so it reads more like a daily (ish) journal. So here goes…

Coronavirus update March 20th – I didn’t even put pants on yesterday.

Before you get too much of a visual fright fest, I should clarify. I wasn’t half naked or anything, I just didn’t put on actual pants. I wore I guess what you would call loungewear all day. I didn’t leave the house for anything, so I didn’t see the point in putting real clothes on, you know?  I also spent a good portion of my day binge watching “Schitt’s Creek” and if you’ve never watched it, oh my god you need to. Maybe a little bit not for kids-ish but good Christ it’s hysterical. 

One would think having an increase in idle time might steer me back to this place more regularly and yet, today is literally the first time I’ve even looked at the site, and that was mainly due to a semi-regular perusal of my junk mail inbox where I found two website related spam emails.  I’ve had a couple ideas bounce around in my head but, since I try to steer clear of overtly partisan political posts, I’ve let them wither on the vine.

Coronavirus update March 43rd – As we all steer through our new ‘Rona normal, we can still find joy in some moments. I get it, sometimes that’s really hard to do. For example (and I totally get that this is a first world problem) due to the pandemic, we’ve had two concerts and two music festivals canceled and/or postponed. That’s a drag, no doubt, but it’s obviously the right call. But there have also been some wonderful musical moments these last couple weeks. Several artists have taken to posting videos of themselves doing solo, acoustic songs from their homes. BJ Barham, the frontman of American Aquarium has streamed himself playing his albums, one at a time, on a platform called StageIt and for $15.00 you can sign in and watch. So we did, a couple of albums. Drew and Ellie Holcomb have done a nightly bit called “Kitchen Covers” where they perform acoustic covers of a variety of songs, literally from their kitchen. I saw Jason Isbell cover the DBT song “Heathens” the other day as a birthday tribute to his friend Patterson Hood. These things have brought joy.

Music is rarely, if ever, about rational thought. Music should move your soul.  Michael McDonald may be a wonderful human being, perhaps he saved baby seals, or something. But imho he’s a hack musician that fits in comfortably alongside Journey on my personal skin crawl scale.  Huh. That came out of nowhere. I guess there was a little lingering animosity from my semi-recent post about musical talent. Or lack thereof. Just sayin’.

Coronavirus update March 65th – Here’s a plus. I tend to get bored with some of the mundane daily grind type tasks around the house. But now, it’s quite a bit harder to gloss these over. I think we’re going to clean the windows today. Probably. Possibly. Maybe. Tomorrow. Ish. I don’t think I’m THAT bored yet. I have to say though, my lawn looks better than it has, probably, ever. In a similar vein; I feel like I’m one step closer to being a Southerner. I spread my first batch of pine straw today. For the uninitiated, pine straw is pretty much what you think it is; the needles from southern pine. It’s used like mulch down here and it’s pretty much everywhere.

Coronavirus update March 98th – There have been a couple FaceTimes with the littles or the middles (I just thought of that, I kind of like the term) and a phone call or two from the HTTT, and these are always a pleasant diversion. I’m hopeful I’ll be able to make my annual pilgrimage back to northern Illinois in time to celebrate the Reigning Princess’ birthday with the fam instead of long distance, but I guess that’s up to the ‘Rona. I’m fairly confident this feeling that March of 2020 has been the. longest. month. ever. is a feeling that is shared by a multitude of people, if not most of the population at large.

Coronavirus update March 103rd – We actually got out a little today. In some of my travels since I moved down here, I noticed a sign for the Pisgah Covered Bridge, so I knew it was a thing, I just never took the time to check it out. Today, we did. It was pretty cool. Built in 1911, it was taken over by the state (or county or something) back at the end of the 90’s and is now a tourist-y kinda thing. And it was great way to spend an hour out in the sunshine and fresh air while still maintaining appropriate social distance from people. There’s a little creek that runs under it (duh, it’s a bridge) and it was just a very tranquil spot with a short (quarter mile or so) walking path around it. We may go back in the not too distant future for a picnic, corona permitting.

Coronavirus update April 1st – It’s actually, finally, for real for real not March anymore! Yaay us! I’m sure things are similar wherever you’re reading this, but down here it is certainly so; toilet paper has become like Bigfoot in that there are rumors it exists, but no one has seen it. I have a reasonable amount on hand (no pun intended)(also, sorry if that triggers a visual) so I’m not terribly worried about that. Yet.

Coronavirus update April 3rd – I feel like I need to mention that it was a year ago today life got turned on its ear. Last April 3rd I got a text from Danielle asking me if I had a few minutes to talk. That was when she told me about Ryan’s PTSD. I’ve written about it several times over the last few months and I’m not digging deeply into it now, other than to say he’s (we all have really) come a long way in the last 12 months. That’s not to say he’s in the clear by any means. Only that he’s in a much better space than he was a year ago, and I’m grateful for that. And I’m grateful for the incredible amount of support they’ve received from so many places and so many people. It’s truly humbling. At one point several months ago, when a bunch of support came rolling their way, he told me that he felt like George Bailey. That was great to hear and I thought it was an accurate analogy for him to make.

Coronavirus update April 4th – If you’re thinking I’ve been repeatedly burying the lede, well then, you’ve been paying attention. And if you haven’t, I’ll help you out. I’ve used the plural “we” multiple times as opposed to the singular “I” or “me” throughout this post. There’s a reason for that. I’m about to introduce a new character into the ensemble cast of this fine piece of literary achievement.

If you recall my post about traveling to Denver, you may also recall how I went back to shaving my head to avoid the Doc Brown comparisons. What was left unsaid was this- when I left for the airport, I stopped in to my local coffeehouse/restaurant for a road latte. When I walked in, one of the employees of said place, a woman I had noticed in there before, many times, saw me walking in and reacted in a way no one has ever reacted to me. That is to say, she was happy to see me. Like, really happy. Like, REALLY, REALLY happy to see me. And, as it turns out, she is a big fan of the shaved-headed me. Long story short, the Beautiful Blonde and I have spent quite a lot of time together these last several months. Despite all the hurdles life has placed before me, I’m as happy as I’ve been in a very long time and I have her to thank for it. Obviously none of us know what the future holds. But we’re enjoying this part of the ride as long as it lasts and we’ll see where we go from here.

Stay safe peeps. Keep socially distant, wash your hands, cover your cough, play nice with each other, and all the other things we learned as children. It’s amazing how far those simple lessons will take you, not just during a pandemic, but always. And, as always…

Peace

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Deadlines

If you’ve spent any amount of time here, specifically over the last ten months or so, you are likely well aware of what’s been happening with my family. I’m speaking, in general about my son Ryan’s struggles with PTSD, but in particular, I’m speaking about Run For Our Lives and the effort Ryan and Danielle are making to call attention to, and raise money for, Illinois Firefighter Peer Support (ILFFPS) which is the resource they turned to when he was in a crisis state and almost added to the 130 firefighters that died last year by suicide.

One of the few ways Ryan has almost always been able to find solace, especially when he was deep in the throes of his PTSD, was through running. He’s been a runner for pretty much his entire adult life. The joy he’s found on the road or trail as he runs has helped him find some peace, even at times when that felt like the last thing he would ever achieve. So running was a natural way for him to try to raise funds to pay forward on behalf of firefighters that may be dealing with demons similar to those he’s fighting.

When Ryan and Danielle explained to me what they were doing; that he would run one kilometer for every firefighter that died in 2019 by suicide, and how it would work; that they would have people sign up to run “alongside” him in a virtual 130 km run, the skeptical part of my mind kicked in. Fortunately, I kept my big mouth shut. The last thing either of them needed from me at the time was doubt. But as they told me their goal was to get 50 people to sign up for their virtual run, which would take place from February 1st to May 30th, I thought that might be pretty tough to reach.

Let me just say, HAH!

I have rarely, if ever, been more glad to be wrong about something in my life. As of last night the registration total stood at 90. Which is incredible, to say the least.

But really, to be thisclose to DOUBLING their initial goal? I stand even more amazed at the fortitude those two have shown in the face of incredible adversity. I’m always, always, always proud of all of my kids. My bonus kids too. So the very least I can do is put this out there for any of you that have been thinking about signing up to be a part of this. Today is your last day to sign up.

As a reminder, $100 of the $130 registration fee will go to ILFFPS to help them provide essential service to firefighters, and their families, that find themselves teetering on the brink. You’ll be sent a Google Doc to track your mileage (in case you’re wondering, 130 km translates to 80.7 miles), you’ll be invited to a private Facebook group for encouragement, you’ll get, upon completion, some cool race swag in the form of a t-shirt and a medal. And, maybe best of all, you’ll be playing a role in helping to save someone’s life.

Think about that for a minute. Does it sound hyperbolic? Maybe. But it’s the truth. The $100 sent in from your registration will help save lives. What better feeling is there than that?

I’m keeping this one short today. A.) I don’t think I can top that last point and B.) I want to get this up on the interwebz as soon as I can. So I’mma end with this. If you’ve signed up already, thank you. If you’ve contemplated signing up, please do so, today. If my tired, old, ass can do this, your’s certainly can. It’s super simple to register, just follow this link to the form and don’t forget to submit your payment info at the bottom (I almost did when I registered. Don’t be me). Piece of cake.

And, of course,

Peace.

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Forty Isn’t Old, If You’re A Tree

Jesus I’m old. This is not some new phenomenon btw, but today, it got reinforced in an unforgiving way. Today, my second child hit 40 years old.

Sigh.

I’m not even going to ask how it happened, I mean, duh, right? But there are questions in there. How did this cheesy little tow-head

get so old so fast? That picture feels like it was about two years ago. It also provides further documentation that the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, since closer inspection reveals he is holding a chocolate cupcake. He’s also already got a well developed, if subtle, “Really Dad?” look on his face. Although I must say, I never got too many of those from him over the years. Unlike a certain unnamed sibling.

As I thought about what I wanted to say to mark today, I knew I had to include one of my fondest memories of his childhood. The day I was convinced he was going to play in the big leagues. He was a toddler, probably between 16-19 months old. We were all out in the front yard, doing I have no clue what. But he had his new, plastic bat in his hand. I was sitting on the front step of the house and he was eight or ten feet in front of me. I grabbed the plastic wiffle ball that came with his bat and tossed it to him. First time ever. So, obviously this was the first time he’d ever swung a bat at a “pitched” ball. He lined the ball off my chest. I mean like “THWACKTHUMP” quick. And that rocket shot was produced by the sweetest little, natural, left-handed swing. Now, this may not seem like anything to many, maybe most of you. But at this, still early stage of parentdom, I was convinced this kid was going to be a professional ballplayer.

Of course, he didn’t become a ballplayer. It’s safe to say the gene card deck was stacked against him. But, too, I don’t believe that was ever his passion. You don’t throw yourself into something you’re not passionate about. You don’t try to change the way things are if you’re not passionate about why the change is needed. You don’t take up the fight that benefits others more than yourself (since your ship has already sailed) without passion.

The 39th year was not an easy one for my son. He’s faced, and continues to face, a challenge that has bested many. And he keeps moving forward. Coming from a crisis state, which he was in last spring, to today, is nothing short of remarkable to me. The transparency, the openness of what he’s gone and is going through is inspiring to me. The fact that he chose to continue addressing his struggles with PTSD through the passion of his service to others is, to me, far more impressive than if he had, in fact, played major league baseball. Conceiving of Run For Our Lives to raise awareness of the very real problem of firefighter suicide, something A.) we weren’t even aware was a problem as recently as five years ago and B.) raising money for an organization, Illinois Firefighter Peer Support, (ILFFPS) that provided help for Ryan and Danielle on the day they realized he couldn’t go on, speaks to me about the type of man he has always been.

And it will always make me think about the day I got a text from Danielle that read, simply, “You have a minute”

The day he almost became a statistic.

The day he took his first step towards light.

So, at this point, I’m going to ask you to, if you haven’t already, click on this link and register to be a part of the Run For Our Lives virtual run. It’s pretty painless, mainly since you don’t need to run or walk all 130 kilometers on one day, like Ryan will. The virtual run opens February 1st and must be concluded by May 30th. The math is a little over a half mile every day between those two dates. The fee is $130 and of that amount $100 will go to ILFFPS, an organization funded totally by donations, so that they can continue to provide essential resources to firefighters, and their families, that find themselves in a crisis state. If you’ve already registered, invite a friend to do it with you. If you’re in a position to make a corporate type sponsorship, contact me and I’ll get you in touch with the right people. Before I give up this particular pulpit, let me also add a phone number or two; 855-90-SUPPORT if you or a first responder you know is at or nearing crisis. 800-273-8255 is the number for the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline for anyone that may be in need.

Lastly, I think, I want to thank everyone that has registered so far. You’re helping to make a difference in the lives of people you’ll liklely never meet and that’s no small thing.

Ok, I lied, I’ve got one last thing… I just want to wish this guy a Happy 40th!!!

I know you’re a fan of naps, but I hope as you settle into this new decade on the planet, you find true value in their recuperative powers. Even if you no longer get to share them with Tobi the Jack Russell terrorist (not a typo). Have a great day Ryan, I’ll talk to you tonight. I love you.

Peace.

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Big Sigh

Let me start this by saying, I read a handful of different blogs, almost all of them about non-serious type things; sports, music, what have you. And, when I read them, I read them with a critical eye. I look at simple stuff mostly, spelling, grammar, typos, etc. When I find an error I shake my head, make a tsk-tsk noise and think to myself, how can you hit the “Publish” button without proofreading your stuff? When the frequency of these errors reaches a certain point, an arbitrary one admittedly, I tend to read that particular blog, or writer, with a jaded eye. Everything gets taken with a grain of salt; since they don’t even care enough to proofread their stuff, how can they care enough to confirm what they write? Makes perfect sense, right? Fwiw, I try to proofread my posts at least three times before I post them. In both edit mode and in preview mode because I figure the different looks will help me spot errors. And even after doing that, truth be told, it’s not unusual for me to go back and reread old posts and still spot a typo or some other screw up. Each one makes me a little crazy too. Not quite “a part of me dies” crazy but more like “JFC, how could I let that slip past me?” crazy. Which is a special kind of crazy all on its own.

That brings me to yesterday. Or maybe more accurately, this morning. When I sat down and reread yesterday’s post before trying to create another piece of finely crafted literature for your enjoyment. And a misspelled word jumped out at me. In the first effing sentence. So I fixed it and hit the “Update” button. Because I care about providing a quality product. Really, all joking aside, I care about what I put out here. Granted, it might not always seem that way, but I promise you, I do. And I kept reading. All the way to the second paragraph where another typo jumped out at me. Boy, I chastised myself. How did I miss these? Once again, I made the correction and hit “Update”. And kept reading. The wheels fell off in the third paragraph where I don’t even know what the hell happened. I know there was still oxygen in the coffeehouse atmosphere, because no groups of people around me passed out. Maybe somebody spiked my coffee, I don’t know, but whatever happened, I created a couple new words in there. So I made the corrections and, because learning had occurred, I waited to update the post until I’d found them all. Good thing too because I found a half dozen frickin’ errors in the bloody post. Good god, I hope I found them all. I’m a little afraid to go back and read it again, you know?

So, I want to apologize to anyone and everyone that read yesterday’s festival of errors. Especially due to the nature of the post. I assure you, the information I passed along was all legit, the stories are all true, they were just delivered to you in an incredibly fumble-fingered way and personally, I expect more from myself. As readers, regular or not, you should expect better of me than what you were served yesterday. At least the links all worked. I hope.

I kind of sat on this one for a few hours, to see if I wanted to add anything, and I think I’m good with where it is. So I’m going to close it out by linking to the well, maybe not new and improved, but certainly (I hope) more readable, version of yesterday’s post. Enjoy.

Peace.

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Run For Our Lives

I’ve referenced titling these gems on occasion here, that sometimes it’s harder to come up with a title than it is the subject. Well, this one was easy enough to title, since my focus is on the ongoing efforts of my son and daughter-in-law to promote awareness, and prevention, of firefighter suicide. For those of you that haven’t been following along, Run For Our Lives is the fundraising effort they’ve started since Ryan “went public” with his PTSD. He’ll be raising money by running one kilometer for every firefighter to die by suicide in 2019. As compiled by Firefighter Behavioral Health Alliance that number is 130. So on May 30, 2020 he’ll take off on a run of 130 km (80.7 miles). The target of this fundraising effort is Illinois Firefighter Peer Support Group which is the organization Danielle reached out to for help as Ryan sank deeper into the depths of his PTSD. Their support, by my son’s own admission, helped prevent him from becoming a statistic.

The method for meeting the goal they’ve set, raising $10,000.00 for ILFFPS, is called a virtual run. As I said, Ryan will be doing his run on May 30, 2020, however the virtual run will take place beginning February 1st and must be completed by May 30th. So you can run as much or as little each day until you hit the 130 kilometer mark. In case I’ve left something out, or caused you confusion about how this works, here’s a short video explaining the virtual run –

I don’t think the video mentioned the registration fee, although I know it’s on the form (link to follow), but the cost is $130.00. Of this amount, $100.00 will go to Illinois Firefighter Peer Support to assist them as they work to support Fire and EMS personnel in crisis. Let me take a minute here to say I recognize this post is already link intensive, but there’s a lot of information to share, and it’s important that this stuff gets out there accurately. Also I’m not done linking stuff so…

For instance, late last week the Chicago Tribune put up this story about Ryan and Danielle and their path through PTSD to this point. It’s been picked up by numerous outlets and is helping spread the word that we need to stop stigmatizing PTSD and instead need to address it for what it is, a fact of life for many people, but one that need not destroy lives. I feel like I need to say something here, not that I’ve been shy about saying it to anyone at any time, but I feel like it needs to come out again. I’m incredibly proud of both Ryan and Danielle for what they’ve gone through, what they’re going through and dealing with what lies ahead of them. This obviously hasn’t been easy for either of them, but they’ve responded to the challenge placed in their lives wonderfully. I also want to acknowledge the incredible outpouring of support they’ve received to this point from so many people, thanks for that.

I think I’m down to one last link for this post but it is likely the most important one, the registration form for anyone that wants to take part in the virtual run. It’s a Google document so it should be easy for even the most computer illiterate among us to fill out and submit and, as I mentioned above, the money raised is going to an incredibly worthwhile cause. Clicking on this link will take you to the document and following the instructions there will get you registered. If you’ve already registered, thank you! If you haven’t please consider signing up today. Together we can make a difference. I know that sounds cheesy, but it’s the truth.

This picture was taken by Danielle and it is, to me anyway, one of the most powerful pictures I’ve seen in some time. Let’s hope through our efforts, no one on this job has to feel this sense of being overwhelmed again. Thanks.

Peace.

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And Now, For Something Completely Different

Ok, sometimes I can’t help myself, so apologies to Monty Python, but it felt like a natural title since most of my recent posts, infrequent though they may be, have been of a serious nature. Today, not so much. I want to kind of blow the carbon out of this thing and get back to a more light-hearted nature today. I don’t know about you, but I need it.

So, I recently spent an evening in Durham, NC at a concert, namely – The Last Waltz. If you’re a music person you may be asking (Go ahead, I’ll wait…)

“Hey, wait a minute, didn’t that concert take place back in the 70’s?”

To which I would reply “You are correct. But this was a re-creation of the original concert put together by Warren Haynes and produced by Robbie Robertson.”

Now then, one of the joys of attending a concert, in addition to the obvious #livemusicisbetterlive thing, is interacting with random strangers. Occasionally this is wonderful, but, by and large, it leaves me silently muttering to myself and shaking my damn head.

As in… casual, pre-show conversation with a fellow a couple seats down revealed he had seen (or was planning on seeing, frankly it all gets a bit blurry) The Doobie Brothers with Michael McDonald. And that’s where the blurry started. If you know me IRL, there’s a real good chance you know my feelings (looking at you O-town) about the band Journey. If you don’t know, my personal feelings about that group of “musicians” can be summed up like this… If modern music were a cat, Journey would be the hairball that said cat was attempting to hack up. How’s that for a visual? So, with that frame of reference as a starter, where does Michael McDonald fit in? I’ll get back to this later.

This year has been probably my favorite concert-going calendar year. Twenty or so concerts/music festivals since the start of 2019 kept my soul in a good place. Without going back through my calendar to confirm (well, maybe a peek or two) my memory, in 2019 I saw among others; Patty Griffin, Drive By Truckers, Gary Clark Jr., Greensky Bluegrass, Yonder Mountain String Band, Manchester Orchestra, Big Thief, New Pornographers, Strand Of Oaks, American Aquarium, Bottle Rockets, and a few that I’m blanking on. I also made it to a wonderful music festival in Lexington, KY; Railbird Festival, in what was its inaugural event. 2020 promises to be pretty good for me musically too, with tickets already secured for Beale Street Music Festival in May and High Water Festival in April. As a bonus, four of my fav people are coming to join me in Charleston, SC for High Water, so in addition to a really killer (and it is) lineup, the company should make for a pretty spectacular weekend.

So, let’s backtrack to my metaphor. I’ve been thinking about how best to describe my feelings about Mr. McDonald as he relates to my taste in music. I feel like I should put out a bit of a disclaimer here. Obviously not everyone has the same taste in music. And I fully recognize it takes some amount of skill to sell the number of records a major label artist, in any genre, sells over the course of their career. But see, that’s the good thing about music. You can have strong opinions about what you do or don’t like. There’s enough variety that if you don’t like a particular artist, you need not listen to it. Tangentially, no one forces you to listen to that which you don’t enjoy. Turn the station, you know? I’m not opposed to trying out artists I’ve not heard before. Seven of the acts I listed above are bands I’d either never heard of or had never listened to until I contemplated buying tickets to their shows. And I thoroughly enjoyed each of the shows. By the same token, I won’t be purchasing a ticket to go see Micheal McDonald in this lifetime. Something about his voice maybe, or his look maybe, or the fact that I feel he is singularly responsible for turning the aforementioned Doobie Brothers from the kind of band that you sing along at the top of your lungs to their numerous hits as you drive down the road with your car windows wide open into the smarmy, self-aggrandizing treacle that was produced from the time he joined the band until the world at large tired of his musical diabetes and stopped buying their records for fear of slipping into a coma.

Too much? Yeah, maybe. But imho Michael McDonald is the hairball the cat coughed up after eating the initial (Journey-based) hairball.

I feel so much better having gotten that off my chest btw. Even though I feel like there’s a really good chance my respective timelines will become loaded down with links to MM songs. I can think of at least a few of you that have that loveably antagonistic approach. It’s a risk I’m willing to take.

I do, after all, have an intimate relationship with my “delete” button.

In a perfect world, I’d crank out some type of year-end or decade-end post. So, it’s a definite maybe. But if it doesn’t happen I’d just like to say thanks to everyone that has continued reading my random tomfoolery here on the interwebz. I hope you all had the best holiday season ever and I wish you all a safe, and happy new year!

Peace!

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The Neverending Story

I’ve had a few people asking me why I haven’t written anything lately and when I would. I’ve had some ideas bounce around my head, and was thinking I was ready to do something, maybe something light-hearted to get me back into the swing of things.

With apologies to the book/movie, the universe again provided. I wish it hadn’t.

But this really is how it feels some days.

Like today.

Mixed in amongst all the well wishes (thanks for those btw) I found out one of my son’s friends/mentors from his time at the IAFF Behavioral Heath Center took his own life last night. And so, I found myself sitting in my carport this morning, tears streaming down my face. For a man I never met.

I can’t begin to imagine how this blow struck my son. But it is a stark reminder of just how fragile the human psyche is. And how difficult it is to find, and keep, your balance.

For those of you that aren’t aware, my son is back in a counseling program, an outpatient program about 35 minutes from home. The last few times we’ve spoken, he has seemed to be in better spirits, but in all honesty, when we chat, it is such a small snapshot of his day, I’m not sure how he feels. And even if I was back in Illinois, I’m not sure I’d know. But, in all honesty, this is one of the times where the miles between us feels even farther than it really is.

My son and daughter-in-law continue working on Run For Our Lives and if you haven’t already “liked” their page, I urge you to do so to keep current on their progress. As a reminder, he’ll be running one kilometer for every firefighter suicide in 2019. As of October 31st, that number was 101 and quite frankly, that boggles my mind. The money they raise will go to Illinois Fire Fighter Peer Support, (855-90-SUPPORT) a wonderful organization that has done, and continues to do, so much to help men and women in our chosen profession cope with the often overwhelming nature of the job. Even my simple math skills tell me that we’re looking at roughly 120 Fire Fighter suicides by the end of the year.

That’s too many.

Too many people that can’t find the answers. Too many people that feel they have nowhere else to turn. Too many people that can’t find peace. Too many people that feel taking their own life is the best, maybe only, possible choice.

As a parent, we’re programmed to provide for our children. And, when we are unable to provide the thing they need, the burden weighs heavy. This is not something that goes away when your child reaches a certain age. When it happens, we dig in and do whatever we can to try and help. But it rarely feels like enough, especially when crap keep coming at them in waves. A week or so ago I was able to offer up an analogy that resonated with him during a rough stretch. It felt great to know that I was able to contribute in some small way. But it never feels like enough. So I’ll do what I can, and in this case, what I do best, and write about our experiences so that hopefully sharing our pain will help open a door for someone, somewhere, in need.

This image, taken by my daughter-in-law, is one that sums up his struggle brilliantly. I hope that our story helps eliminate what it so perfectly illustrates.

Elliott, I hope you find the peace you sought but couldn’t find here in this plane.

Rest In Peace.

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They Came (and are coming) From Afar

First things first…

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

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

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

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

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

Peace