In the Catholic faith there are 7 Sacraments. Baptism, Eucharist, Reconciliation, Confirmation, Marriage, Holy Orders, and Anointing of the Sick. These sacraments are special occasions for experiencing God's grace and presence. At this time in my life I had already received the Sacrament of Baptism after birth and the Sacrament of Eucharist while I was in the second grade (May 5, 2012 blog The First Communion-cute pics). Now I was in the fourth grade. This was the year we received the Sacrament of Reconciliation at St. Thomas Aquinas.
This was not an easy sacrament to accomplish. With Baptism we were babies and we just had to look cute and adorable. With the Sacrament of Eucharist it was learning about the last supper and remembering that Christ gave his body to die on the cross to save us from our sins. Now with the Sacrament of Reconciliation we had to tell the priest our sins. That is hard for anyone to do, especially a 10 year old.
In preparation for this day we learned about different sins and the laws of God, mostly we studied the 10 commandments. Some of these laws seemed far-fetched for us. DO NOT COMMIT ADULTRY! We were in the fourth grade. We were not even thinking about sex at that age. We all felt safe for not breaking that law. DO NOT COVENT THY NEIGHBOR'S WIFE OR OXEN! Again, we are children. We don't want our neighbor's wife or any other wife and my neighbor didn't have any oxen or donkeys or any other pets that I wanted. Sidenote: I do know as an adult there is a more meaning to this but as a child statements were taken at face value. REMEMBER THE SABBATH! It's Sunday. Whew! I remembered what day it was. There is another one I don't have to worry about breaking. YOU SHALL NOT MAKE FOR YOURSELF AN IDOL! No one was walking around with a golden calf under their arm so we didn't have to worry about that commandment either. What sins do we break? In our eyes we are perfect and sinless.
In Mrs. Dickinson's classroom we rehearsed what Penance was going to be like. A priest would sit in a chair in a corner of the church or in a special room behind the alter and we would sit in a chair next to him. It wasn't a closed closet that you see in the movies. This was going to be face to face. I had to start the conversation off by saying, "Good Morning Father. This is my first confession (or it has been yada yada months or years since my last confession)." Then I start spilling the beans on my sins. The priest would do his part and I would go back to my seat, reflect and pray the rosary.
The priests were wonderful men. Father Brendan, Father Pat, Father Jim, and a priest who had a collie style dog. Father Brendan and Father Pat were close to our family in couseling my mother during her divorce and being there for my grandparents during their sickness of cancer and eventually giving them Anointing of the Sick before they passed away. Now I have to go in front of one of them and tell them how bad I have been. They have been so supportive in my family and I have to tell them my sins in order to be forgiven?! I was hating the day for my Sacrament of Reconciliation.
It was on a Wednesday. Grades 4th, 5th, and 6th grades walked across the parking lot from the school to the church in the morning to attend service. First, second and third grade went to church on Thursdays and 7th and 8th grades went on Friday. We walked in and you can see a pair of chairs set up in different areas of the church. Mass started as usual. Then all the priests gathered up on the alter and told us where they each would be sitting and we could pick who we would like to see. They walked down the aisles, their long robes fluttering behind them as they walked. Peaceful instrumental music played in the background with some kind of scenery picture displayed up on the large screen behind the alter. A few kids got up and walked over to the priests. Some waited a few pews away to be the next person to tell their sins to the priest. I remember the church being dark and cold. I did not want to be there. I was debating madly at which priest I would pick to tell my darkest sins to; which priest that would look forever at me with disappointment for not being a perfect child. I just wanted it done and over with.
I finally got the ambition to head to a priest. I picked the one with the dog. Father Ed I am thinking was his name but I am not really sure. I didn't want the other priests, who were closer to my family, to know my sins. I was ashamed of them. I sat there on the dark wood pew waiting for a classmate to get done. As each child finished up everyone looked at them in awe. They made it out alive. They are still walking. They don't have to worry about talking to the priest anymore, ran through my thoughts. My attention would resume back to me. What to say. What to say. What to say. I would think as I kicked my little legs back and forth waiting my turn. Deep down inside I hoped the person in front would take up all the time and the priests would just say enough and service is over and to go back to school. It never happened. Then it was my turn.
I got up and slowly walked to Father Ed. I never made eye contact with him. I didn't want him to remember me or my sins. I just wanted to be another blank nameless face out in the crowd. Sitting there in the chair it reminded me of someone getting their hair done at the beauty salon by the way his robe hung down around him loosely and his black trousers with black shoes sticking out from the bottom of the robe. FOCUS! I had to focus! I remembered where I was and began to speak. I just opened my mouth and let the words flood out.
" Fighting with my brother and sister,"
Everyone says that. My mind started to talk to me, Can't you think of anything orginial?
"Not obeying my mom,"
Good. Good. Keep going. You have only been here a short time. You need more sins to tell, my brain would continue to speak to me.
"Forgetting homework assignments. Not doing good on tests."
I would think of my classmates. How can they be with the priest for so long! Are they that horrible of a person. I need more sins to think of.
"I swear sometimes. I stole some candy when I was little and I have lied."
Good with the lying and stealing. Those were in the commandments, my brain would appease my words.
"And that is it." I would end the confession of my sins.
Father Ed gave me a small pep talk on how to live a good life by obeying God's laws. He instructed me to go back to my seat and say the rosary a few times and that my sins will be forgiven. He sounded like a cashier at a check-out line in the grocery store. I try to think of some sins that I have commited and all I get is my total being a few rosary's and have a good day?! I was dismayed by it all. I have to do this twice a year?! I better start sinning more so I have something to tell the priest! I would think to myself.
Moving on to my junior high school years I started to really question why I needed the priest to forgive me of my sins. This has nothing to do with Catholicism but my own personal walk with the Lord. Why can't I just tell Jesus my sins? Why do I have to go through a priest to be forgiven? I started questioning other things in my faith and I started to take a step back and look for answers elsewhere which led me down a hard path in life.
Eighth grade came and it was time to start preparing me for the Sacrament of Confirmation. I told my mother no. It was a difficult decision to make because everyone around me has made that sacrament. My classmates were making it, my brother and sister have made it and it was my turn to make it. But I did decline. I stopped practicing Catholism then. It was not easy going against the grain of my family on the Catholic faith which has been embedded in our family for generations. My mother, sister and brother still practice the Catholic faith and attend mass and uphold its traditions. And that is all good. We have learned to respect and accept each other's differences.
Tuesday, February 12, 2013
Tuesday, February 5, 2013
The "Walter Mitty" Career Ideas In My Life
Walter Mitty is a fictional character in a short story The Secret Life of Walter Mitty by James Thurber that was first published in a magazine in 1939. In the story Walter Mitty spends most of his time in a fantasy world about some adventure rather then spending time in reality.
Growing up I had a few careers in mind for myself. As I got older my career options changed, as do most people. As children, when adults ask them what do they want to be when they grow up, mostly say a doctor, lawyer, president, professional athlete, rock star, actor or actress, teacher, firemen, police officer, etc. but not all actually pursue it. As they get older their likes start to change and they go down different paths in life. Don't get me worng, there are those who, at a young age, know what they want and have the drive to see it out to the end. There is nothing wrong with changing career ideas or what you want out of life. It is part of growing up.
When I was young, probably around 5 years old, there was a show called Real People. I don't remember much of the show but they showed people doing bizzare stunts and shocking things. One episode I seen was women mud wrestling and jello wrestling. I wasn't much of a girly girl growing up. I seen this and thought, WOW! I can wrestle and get dirty too! As a child it looked like fun. Who wouldn't want to wiggle and squirm and try to tie someone down in a pool full of jello?!
My grandpa used to watch wrestling shows and I would try to copy the moves on my older sibilings. They would sit there watching TV and I would leap across the room when they didn't notice me and pounce on them and try to hold them down for the count. My grandpa's friend gave me the nickname Jake the Snake (after the wrestler) and it stuck. To this very day my sister still calls me Jake or Snake. I don't mind it. I like it.
I would go places with my mom and someone would ask, "What do you want to be when you grow up?"
As proudly as I could I would hollar back, "A mud and jello wrestler!" My mom was horrified when I would say that and the person would get a look of shock not expecting that type of answer. When other people would ask the same question my mom would just start to cringe knowing what I was going to say. At the time I didn't realize there was a sexual innuendo to it. No wonder she hated it when people would ask what I wanted to be.
By the time I was in second grade my attention turned from mud and jello wrestling to space. I think my grandparents took a trip to Florida and went to the Kennedy Space Center. They came back with pictures they bought of astronauts in outer space and dehydrated ice cream which was nasty. But it all facsinated me. I wanted to go up and view the majestic Earth down below. I wanted the feeling of walking on air. That must be the most blissful feeling in the world, or outside of the world at least. Soon talk was in the news about sending a teacher into space and everyone was talking about astronauts and space. In career day at school that year I talked about how I wanted to be an astronaut and I explained what they did. Then in 1986 when I was in the third grade the Challenger exploded killing all, including the teacher, aboard. (See blog entry 1/24/12 26th Anniversary of the Challenger explosion) That still didn't stop me from wanting to go into space. My mom finally told me that I needed to know a lot of math and science, both were subject I didn't do well at. At 8 or 9 years old when someone shows you algebra or geometery it will scare you! I thought I will never learn this stuff and that was the end to my space career.
Near the end of 4th grade we had an assignment of writing a short story of a leprechaun and illustrate it. Mrs. Dickinson, my teacher at St. Thomas Aquinas, handed us a few pages of clover shaped paper to write the story on. Half of the clover was lined for our story and the top half was blank to draw a picture on. I don't remember exactly what my story was about. Something along the lines of a boy capturing a leprechaun and the leprechaun had to give him 3 wishes. The leprechaun didn't want to give out the wishes but eventually did. I do remember sitting there and crafting the story, putting life into the words, having a beginning, middle and an ending with a plot involved. This was something I did. This was my creation. This was my thoughts down on paper. I was hooked on writing. The illustrating part....well....let's just say artist was never in my thoughts as a career option.
I had a bright green hard plastic folder with a round Michigan State Spartan sticker on the front that I would carry around holding my story ideas and my pens. Any chance I got I would be writing. I would write in school, in church, at home, outside and inside. I remember this one story I was writing was about space aliens who come to Earth and befriends a brother and a sister. The aliens names were Orcho and Maesue. They had their own alien language which they would teach to the kids and the kids would help them learn English. I had a table of contents, chapters, even a dictionary of alien language. I must of had 11 or 12 chapters that I wrote down. I was very proud of this story. Every time I ended a new chapter I would reread the whole thing to my mom and she would listen to it and give me a pointer here and there. As much heart and sole a 5th grader has I put it all into this story. Then one day I couldn't find my folder. I searched high and low. A few weeks went by. Then I noticed the bright green folder between my sister's school books. I pulled out the folder and opened it up excitedly. As I open it I noticed it was my sister's classwork. It felt like a part of me died. I was so crushed. I confronted my sister about it but she said when she found the folder there was nothing inside. I don't know if I believed her then, or if I still do. I tried to recreate the story but I couldn't. It was too painful because I couldn't get it exactly how I had it.
As hurt as I was for losing that story I didn't let it defeat me. I still loved writing. I would dabble with small stories here and there. I think I am on my 9th or 10th diary that I have kept while growing up. I don't write in it so much anymore but it is always like a good friend waiting for my pen to transcribe my thoughts unto it. It is interesting to go back and see how my thoughts have changed and to read different events that happened in my life, some that I forgot totally about. I am just glad I wrote them down to remember.
In the summer of 2008, knowing my love for writing, my husband gave me a great story line to write. I don't want to say too much about it but the story line drew me in. Right away we put together an outline and I started writing it. Then I would type it out on the computer. Juggling 5 kids and 7 months pregnant with our 6th child I didn't have much time to sit and write but when I could I would. Then one day our computer crashed. I lost everything. Losing pictures was bad enough but then when I realized my story was on there I cried. My story that I was putting my heat into was gone....again! I couldn't find the beginning part or the outline that I wrote down on paper either. The same crushed, depressed feeling swept over me. I tried to recreate the story but like before it wasn't the same. Without my outline I didn't know which way the story was going that Brian and I had planned out.
A few months ago I was cleaning out a junk drawer. In it was a notebook with papers shoved in. I opened it up and I stopped breathing. There was the outline and the beginning part of the story. I stood there staring at the papers, my mind not believing what I was holding on to. For about 3 years this story was missing. 3 years I have looked on and off for this story and now it is back in my hands. It was too good to be true. Rereading the outline brought a whole new excitment over me. I wanted to write again, to create.
I went out and bought a 3-ring binder, bright green in color in honor of my first writing folder. I put my story in there, along with 2 other story outlines I have for stories I have in mind. No more typing it out on the computer until I am finished writing it. There is nothing like curling up in bed with my paper, pen, dictionary and thesaurus next to me crafting my thoughts. If only I wasn't too tired when I go to bed at night so I can write more before I drift off to sleep.
For a brief moment in middle school I wanted to be a private secretary. I would imagine myself being the secretary of a CEO of some important company in New York City, following the person around with a notebook and pen scribbling down notes and delivering messages. At the end of the day I would take the company limo back to my skyrise apartment in the city and my apartment would be furnished with black leather furniture, glass and brass tables and huge exotic painting would hang on my walls. What was I thinking?! Looking back now it sounds so lonely and depressing. I didn't have future thoughts of children or a husband. Just me. I am so glad I did not venture down that path.
My careers drifted back to writing. What can I do, that is stable, but involved writing? Journalist. I could be a newspaper reporter. In high school I was part of an organization called Explorers. In a nutshell different occupations (firemen, policemen, journalists, radio dj's etc) meet with teens every other week and shows them how to do the job, what requirements need to be done for the profession, and small projects to do. I remember going to the Saginaw News in the evening with several other teens and getting a walk around the building. She explained how it worked and it seemed fun until she mentioned one thing. "It has long hours which can be very hard if you have a family."
For a brief moment I thought who is going to watch the kids if I have to work to midnight? It was the first time that I really thought about having a family in my future. I didn't seem to mind the long hours but it dawned on me that if I have a family it will be those hours that I am taking away from them. I didn't want to trade my family in for my career. I didn't know I would eventually be a stay at home mom but I knew I didn't want to be gone for a long time from my children like that.
Perhaps photography would be easier. I like taking pictures after all. I signed up for another Explorers group. Back to the Saginaw News for the meetings but this time with a photojournalist. Teens would show up with their high fancy camera with attachments and tripods and I am standing there with my pocket size 35mm camera. The leader didn't care. He showed us the dark room and how to develop pictures. As much as I enjoyed photography my heart wasn't into it. I loved it, but not as a career.
Finally late in my high school year I realized what I wanted to become. A high school history teacher. Deep down I had always loved history. The books I read, the movies I watched leaned mostly towards a historical genre. I enjoyed working on family trees and people of the past. I want to express that love of history to others. I know history isn't everyone's cup of tea but I at least want children, or young adults, to know about and have a respect for the past. I want to make it fun for them. I am passionate about education and I am passionate about history. My mom tells me that history teachers are a dime a dozen. That may be true but this is where my heart is at.
Years from now they are going to find some small obscure career chromosome dna. I think of the family I know. My dad is a teacher, my aunt is a teacher, I have 3 cousins who are teachers, one cousin is finishing up his teaching degree and another cousin is starting college soon for a teaching degree. A lot of teachers in my family. After high school I started to pursue my teaching degree but put it on hold while children came along. My husband and I wanted me to stay at home with the children. College and career will always be there. My children will not. This summer I will actually start to resume classes and soon earn my teaching degree.
As I look at how my life is now I think how lucky I am to have a bit of all these careers in my life. I do educate my children along side with their public schooling by telling them historical events of the day, talking to them about historical people and places, showing them math in the everyday world when cooking or doing the bills. I enjoy watching some of my kids arguing about who gets the computer because they want to add another chapter to a story they are writing on their own. I get to journal down the events that happen in our family in my diaries for them to remember and recall long after I am gone. I am the secretary by taking down appointment times, signing papers and filling out the calendar of the events to remember. I may not have the leather furniture or the brass and glass tables but I do have the unique artwork on my walls, designed by my favorite artists - my children. The photographer in me loves taking pictures of my family and the places we go and things we do. At night I fulfill my space dream by going out with my family and looking for the satellites up in the sky or the space station when it comes around. We look for the different constellations and shooting stars up in the twinkling night sky. At times we try to view the lunar eclipse or the beautiful colors of the Northern Lights. As far as the jello and mud wrestling, well, have you ever tried to change a diaper of a squirmy 18 month old who would rather run and play, or give a bath to a child who doesn't want a bath? Close enough.
Growing up I had a few careers in mind for myself. As I got older my career options changed, as do most people. As children, when adults ask them what do they want to be when they grow up, mostly say a doctor, lawyer, president, professional athlete, rock star, actor or actress, teacher, firemen, police officer, etc. but not all actually pursue it. As they get older their likes start to change and they go down different paths in life. Don't get me worng, there are those who, at a young age, know what they want and have the drive to see it out to the end. There is nothing wrong with changing career ideas or what you want out of life. It is part of growing up.
When I was young, probably around 5 years old, there was a show called Real People. I don't remember much of the show but they showed people doing bizzare stunts and shocking things. One episode I seen was women mud wrestling and jello wrestling. I wasn't much of a girly girl growing up. I seen this and thought, WOW! I can wrestle and get dirty too! As a child it looked like fun. Who wouldn't want to wiggle and squirm and try to tie someone down in a pool full of jello?!
My grandpa used to watch wrestling shows and I would try to copy the moves on my older sibilings. They would sit there watching TV and I would leap across the room when they didn't notice me and pounce on them and try to hold them down for the count. My grandpa's friend gave me the nickname Jake the Snake (after the wrestler) and it stuck. To this very day my sister still calls me Jake or Snake. I don't mind it. I like it.
I would go places with my mom and someone would ask, "What do you want to be when you grow up?"
As proudly as I could I would hollar back, "A mud and jello wrestler!" My mom was horrified when I would say that and the person would get a look of shock not expecting that type of answer. When other people would ask the same question my mom would just start to cringe knowing what I was going to say. At the time I didn't realize there was a sexual innuendo to it. No wonder she hated it when people would ask what I wanted to be.
By the time I was in second grade my attention turned from mud and jello wrestling to space. I think my grandparents took a trip to Florida and went to the Kennedy Space Center. They came back with pictures they bought of astronauts in outer space and dehydrated ice cream which was nasty. But it all facsinated me. I wanted to go up and view the majestic Earth down below. I wanted the feeling of walking on air. That must be the most blissful feeling in the world, or outside of the world at least. Soon talk was in the news about sending a teacher into space and everyone was talking about astronauts and space. In career day at school that year I talked about how I wanted to be an astronaut and I explained what they did. Then in 1986 when I was in the third grade the Challenger exploded killing all, including the teacher, aboard. (See blog entry 1/24/12 26th Anniversary of the Challenger explosion) That still didn't stop me from wanting to go into space. My mom finally told me that I needed to know a lot of math and science, both were subject I didn't do well at. At 8 or 9 years old when someone shows you algebra or geometery it will scare you! I thought I will never learn this stuff and that was the end to my space career.
Near the end of 4th grade we had an assignment of writing a short story of a leprechaun and illustrate it. Mrs. Dickinson, my teacher at St. Thomas Aquinas, handed us a few pages of clover shaped paper to write the story on. Half of the clover was lined for our story and the top half was blank to draw a picture on. I don't remember exactly what my story was about. Something along the lines of a boy capturing a leprechaun and the leprechaun had to give him 3 wishes. The leprechaun didn't want to give out the wishes but eventually did. I do remember sitting there and crafting the story, putting life into the words, having a beginning, middle and an ending with a plot involved. This was something I did. This was my creation. This was my thoughts down on paper. I was hooked on writing. The illustrating part....well....let's just say artist was never in my thoughts as a career option.
I had a bright green hard plastic folder with a round Michigan State Spartan sticker on the front that I would carry around holding my story ideas and my pens. Any chance I got I would be writing. I would write in school, in church, at home, outside and inside. I remember this one story I was writing was about space aliens who come to Earth and befriends a brother and a sister. The aliens names were Orcho and Maesue. They had their own alien language which they would teach to the kids and the kids would help them learn English. I had a table of contents, chapters, even a dictionary of alien language. I must of had 11 or 12 chapters that I wrote down. I was very proud of this story. Every time I ended a new chapter I would reread the whole thing to my mom and she would listen to it and give me a pointer here and there. As much heart and sole a 5th grader has I put it all into this story. Then one day I couldn't find my folder. I searched high and low. A few weeks went by. Then I noticed the bright green folder between my sister's school books. I pulled out the folder and opened it up excitedly. As I open it I noticed it was my sister's classwork. It felt like a part of me died. I was so crushed. I confronted my sister about it but she said when she found the folder there was nothing inside. I don't know if I believed her then, or if I still do. I tried to recreate the story but I couldn't. It was too painful because I couldn't get it exactly how I had it.
As hurt as I was for losing that story I didn't let it defeat me. I still loved writing. I would dabble with small stories here and there. I think I am on my 9th or 10th diary that I have kept while growing up. I don't write in it so much anymore but it is always like a good friend waiting for my pen to transcribe my thoughts unto it. It is interesting to go back and see how my thoughts have changed and to read different events that happened in my life, some that I forgot totally about. I am just glad I wrote them down to remember.
In the summer of 2008, knowing my love for writing, my husband gave me a great story line to write. I don't want to say too much about it but the story line drew me in. Right away we put together an outline and I started writing it. Then I would type it out on the computer. Juggling 5 kids and 7 months pregnant with our 6th child I didn't have much time to sit and write but when I could I would. Then one day our computer crashed. I lost everything. Losing pictures was bad enough but then when I realized my story was on there I cried. My story that I was putting my heat into was gone....again! I couldn't find the beginning part or the outline that I wrote down on paper either. The same crushed, depressed feeling swept over me. I tried to recreate the story but like before it wasn't the same. Without my outline I didn't know which way the story was going that Brian and I had planned out.
A few months ago I was cleaning out a junk drawer. In it was a notebook with papers shoved in. I opened it up and I stopped breathing. There was the outline and the beginning part of the story. I stood there staring at the papers, my mind not believing what I was holding on to. For about 3 years this story was missing. 3 years I have looked on and off for this story and now it is back in my hands. It was too good to be true. Rereading the outline brought a whole new excitment over me. I wanted to write again, to create.
I went out and bought a 3-ring binder, bright green in color in honor of my first writing folder. I put my story in there, along with 2 other story outlines I have for stories I have in mind. No more typing it out on the computer until I am finished writing it. There is nothing like curling up in bed with my paper, pen, dictionary and thesaurus next to me crafting my thoughts. If only I wasn't too tired when I go to bed at night so I can write more before I drift off to sleep.
For a brief moment in middle school I wanted to be a private secretary. I would imagine myself being the secretary of a CEO of some important company in New York City, following the person around with a notebook and pen scribbling down notes and delivering messages. At the end of the day I would take the company limo back to my skyrise apartment in the city and my apartment would be furnished with black leather furniture, glass and brass tables and huge exotic painting would hang on my walls. What was I thinking?! Looking back now it sounds so lonely and depressing. I didn't have future thoughts of children or a husband. Just me. I am so glad I did not venture down that path.
My careers drifted back to writing. What can I do, that is stable, but involved writing? Journalist. I could be a newspaper reporter. In high school I was part of an organization called Explorers. In a nutshell different occupations (firemen, policemen, journalists, radio dj's etc) meet with teens every other week and shows them how to do the job, what requirements need to be done for the profession, and small projects to do. I remember going to the Saginaw News in the evening with several other teens and getting a walk around the building. She explained how it worked and it seemed fun until she mentioned one thing. "It has long hours which can be very hard if you have a family."
For a brief moment I thought who is going to watch the kids if I have to work to midnight? It was the first time that I really thought about having a family in my future. I didn't seem to mind the long hours but it dawned on me that if I have a family it will be those hours that I am taking away from them. I didn't want to trade my family in for my career. I didn't know I would eventually be a stay at home mom but I knew I didn't want to be gone for a long time from my children like that.
Perhaps photography would be easier. I like taking pictures after all. I signed up for another Explorers group. Back to the Saginaw News for the meetings but this time with a photojournalist. Teens would show up with their high fancy camera with attachments and tripods and I am standing there with my pocket size 35mm camera. The leader didn't care. He showed us the dark room and how to develop pictures. As much as I enjoyed photography my heart wasn't into it. I loved it, but not as a career.
Finally late in my high school year I realized what I wanted to become. A high school history teacher. Deep down I had always loved history. The books I read, the movies I watched leaned mostly towards a historical genre. I enjoyed working on family trees and people of the past. I want to express that love of history to others. I know history isn't everyone's cup of tea but I at least want children, or young adults, to know about and have a respect for the past. I want to make it fun for them. I am passionate about education and I am passionate about history. My mom tells me that history teachers are a dime a dozen. That may be true but this is where my heart is at.
Years from now they are going to find some small obscure career chromosome dna. I think of the family I know. My dad is a teacher, my aunt is a teacher, I have 3 cousins who are teachers, one cousin is finishing up his teaching degree and another cousin is starting college soon for a teaching degree. A lot of teachers in my family. After high school I started to pursue my teaching degree but put it on hold while children came along. My husband and I wanted me to stay at home with the children. College and career will always be there. My children will not. This summer I will actually start to resume classes and soon earn my teaching degree.
As I look at how my life is now I think how lucky I am to have a bit of all these careers in my life. I do educate my children along side with their public schooling by telling them historical events of the day, talking to them about historical people and places, showing them math in the everyday world when cooking or doing the bills. I enjoy watching some of my kids arguing about who gets the computer because they want to add another chapter to a story they are writing on their own. I get to journal down the events that happen in our family in my diaries for them to remember and recall long after I am gone. I am the secretary by taking down appointment times, signing papers and filling out the calendar of the events to remember. I may not have the leather furniture or the brass and glass tables but I do have the unique artwork on my walls, designed by my favorite artists - my children. The photographer in me loves taking pictures of my family and the places we go and things we do. At night I fulfill my space dream by going out with my family and looking for the satellites up in the sky or the space station when it comes around. We look for the different constellations and shooting stars up in the twinkling night sky. At times we try to view the lunar eclipse or the beautiful colors of the Northern Lights. As far as the jello and mud wrestling, well, have you ever tried to change a diaper of a squirmy 18 month old who would rather run and play, or give a bath to a child who doesn't want a bath? Close enough.
Tuesday, January 29, 2013
Houston, We Have A Problem (Part 2)
In a short recap from part 1 (blog posted on January 23, 2013 - Houston We Have A Problem Part 1), our water pipe that connected the house to the city water broke underground and our insurance company paid for our hotel stay at the Residence Inn in Grandville, Michigan. We were at the hotel just over a week while a crew was at our home in Allegan fixing the water lines. Brian came "home" from working half way into our hotel stay.
One night Brian and I were laying in the queen size bed flipping through the channels on the TV that sat on the long dresser in one of the bedroom in our hotel suite. Some shows caught our interest for a moment but we mostly couldn't find anything impressive to watch. We came across one station that did catch our attention. Before our eyes we were watching astronauts moving about on a shuttle out in space. Confused, we watched a bit more. We looked at the corner of the screen where it gave the call letters NASA TV. We grabbed the hotel TV listing card and realized it was the station live programing of what is going on at NASA. We had Directv at home and we didn't receive this station, nor did we know it existed.
I looked over at Brian. "Did you know we had a shuttle up in space?" I asked him.
Without taking his eyes of the TV, "No, I had no idea."
It was January 31, 2003. We couldn't wait for the kids to fall asleep so we can "spy" on what the astronauts are doing. We found out it was the Columbia that launched January 16. Their mission was to do an Earth Science research. They had over 60 different science experiments that involved spiders, insects, bees, and other animals. They were also working on microgravity research as well. The camera would go back and forth from the Columbia to Mission Control. The camera would give a wide angle shot of Mission Control and you can see people walking about and some seated at their posts doing minor things.
February 1, we wake up to start another day. On the radio we heard of the Columbia disintegrated upon re-entry into the atmosphere. A numb feeling swept across us. This can't be right, I thought, We were just watching them last night on TV.
We got back to the hotel and turned on the NASA TV station. There was a picture of an empty Mission Control room and a recorded message saying the station is temporarily down for the moment. Dread fell upon us. We sat staring at the picture not able to move. Several hours prior we were watching them move about on the shuttle and now all seven on board perished. One minute they are coming home and the next minute they are a memory.
One night Brian and I were laying in the queen size bed flipping through the channels on the TV that sat on the long dresser in one of the bedroom in our hotel suite. Some shows caught our interest for a moment but we mostly couldn't find anything impressive to watch. We came across one station that did catch our attention. Before our eyes we were watching astronauts moving about on a shuttle out in space. Confused, we watched a bit more. We looked at the corner of the screen where it gave the call letters NASA TV. We grabbed the hotel TV listing card and realized it was the station live programing of what is going on at NASA. We had Directv at home and we didn't receive this station, nor did we know it existed.
I looked over at Brian. "Did you know we had a shuttle up in space?" I asked him.
Without taking his eyes of the TV, "No, I had no idea."
 |
| The crew of the Columbia. |
I resumed watching the NASA TV. We seen people wearing blue suits working on something. You couldn't hear what they were saying. Every now and then a speaker radio would break the silence and ask the astronauts a question and the astronauts would reply back. It wasn't overly enjoyable to watch yet there was something intriguing about knowing these astronauts are in outer space doing their work and we are watching them in the comfort of the bed. We must of fallen asleep because we woke up in the morning with the TV on and more of NASA TV was playing. We had Christian to take to school and things to do so we shut off the TV and went on with our day. It was January 31, 2003. We couldn't wait for the kids to fall asleep so we can "spy" on what the astronauts are doing. We found out it was the Columbia that launched January 16. Their mission was to do an Earth Science research. They had over 60 different science experiments that involved spiders, insects, bees, and other animals. They were also working on microgravity research as well. The camera would go back and forth from the Columbia to Mission Control. The camera would give a wide angle shot of Mission Control and you can see people walking about and some seated at their posts doing minor things.
February 1, we wake up to start another day. On the radio we heard of the Columbia disintegrated upon re-entry into the atmosphere. A numb feeling swept across us. This can't be right, I thought, We were just watching them last night on TV.
We got back to the hotel and turned on the NASA TV station. There was a picture of an empty Mission Control room and a recorded message saying the station is temporarily down for the moment. Dread fell upon us. We sat staring at the picture not able to move. Several hours prior we were watching them move about on the shuttle and now all seven on board perished. One minute they are coming home and the next minute they are a memory.
The cause of the Columbia accident all started from the moment the shuttle took off for outer space. A hole was made in the shuttle's wing when a piece of foam broke off from the external fuel tank during lift-off. At the time it didn't seem like a big deal. It was normal for bits to break off with the stress of lift -off. When the Columbia was re-entering the atmosphere hot gases entered in the wing of the shuttle causing it to disintegrate. Parts of the shuttle were found throughout the northeastern part of Texas and into Louisiana. Over 84,000 pieces have been collected and they are still finding parts of the Columbia to this day.
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| Workers piecing the shuttle debris together. |
Some of the odd things that have been recovered is the Caenorhabditis elegans worm, one of the worms the Columbia crew was doing an experiment on. It was in a petri dish that was in a container that was in a locker. The worms, actually the decendants of the original worms since they don't live very long, were amazingly found alive. Astronaunt Kalpana Chawla brought with her 2 Deep Purple CD albums. The CD's ended up surviving the distruction of the Columbia. Deep Purple ended up making a song dedicated to the Columbia called, "Contact Lost".
If our pipes didn't break we would of never known about the Columbia being up in outer space working on a mission. We would of found out about it by watching the news like most of America that fateful February 1, day. We enjoyed being able to watch what they were doing on the shuttle and how Mission Control connected with them. We felt honored to step inside NASA albeit via TV station but to get an inside look of what went on in the Columbia.
Wednesday, January 23, 2013
Houston, We Have A Problem (Part 1)
This is a two-part blog. The events that will be told before you lead up to another set of events the week after. Since it is two different events I will keep them seperated in my blog but have the next blog be a continuation from this blog.
One thing about being a trucker's wife is that you learn how to be independent. The husband is out on the road for weeks at a time with usually an unknown date on his return. He is working hard on the road with different hours and different weather with idoit drivers. It is not an easy life and and only certain people can live in that lifestyle. The wife tends to the home and children and and everything in between. It is not easy for wife either. Again, only certain types of people can live in that lifestyle.
My husband is very handy with everything. I don't think there is anything he cannot do. If there is something he is unsure of he fakes it well and still does the task right. When he is home he fixes the things that need fixing or tinkers with other things around the house. He likes to stay busy.
I, on the other hand, is the baby of the family and I was pampered. Everything was hired out that needed to be done around the house. My dad left the state, my mom was losing her vision and her parents (my grandparents) passed away when we were young. Looking back things around the house had to be hired out because no one was there to fix it for us, whether it was painting our walls, putting in a new dishwasher or moving across the state of Michigan. We depended on others for most of the "honey-do" list. I never set foot in a hardware store until I met my husband. And the old joke of a car needing "blinker fluid"? Yea, I fell for it. So it was very hard when my husband would go on the road and something unexpected would happen. Many times he would try to talk me through things and try his hardest to figure out what I am talking about because I didn't know the correct terminology for certain parts or pieces of what was happening. A quick example: Just recently I had to replace a broken pipe. I told my husband I had to get a plastic piece thing to connect the two pipes. He told me that it is called a "union". Then when I went to the hardward I was able to tell the guy I needed a union instead of a plastic connector thingy. I have learned a lot in our marriage and at times impress myself. I am still learning a lot of things too.
The year was 2003. It was late January and if I remember correctly it was an average winter. We had snow on the ground and it was cold but not overly cold. Christian was in kindergarten and I had our daughters Elizabeth and Ashton along with our almost 5 month old son James at home. We owned our own semi-truck and Brian was over in Wisconsin making deliveries and pick-ups. Everything were going pretty much normal. Until I went to give the girls a bath.
It was mid-morning. I turned on the water and checked the temperature and flipped the switch to plug the tub. I reached to turn off the tub. I turned one knob to the off position but the water kept coming. Confused, I reach up and grab the other knob and turned that one to the off position. The water still kept coming full force. I grabbed both knobs and twisted them back and forth and the water would not shut off. NOOOOO! I thought to myself. I have dealt with water freezing up in pipes but not water that does not want to stop coming out of the faucet. I didn't get it. I flipped the switch back so the water can drain out. Then I called Brian.
He sounded as confused as I did as to why the water wasn't stopping. "See the panel next to the tub?" he asks.
"Yes." I replied back.
"Pull it off and there should be a twist valve that looks like the outside faucet. Turn it the opposite direction to shut the water off."
I pull off the vented metal panel. It was a small little cubby space that showed the pipes to the tub. There was also an old wooden potty chair with a picture of a bear painted on the back of the seat and wooden arm rests. I wonder how long that has been there, I thought. I returned my attention to the pipes and looked around. "There isn't a valve in here." I tell Brian over the phone.
"There has to be. Are you sure you are looking in the right spot? Look up and down the pipes. It has got to be there."
I look all over the pipes. "I'm sorry, hun, but there isn't a valve anywhere back here."
Brian gave a frustrated sigh trying to figure this out being across on the other side of Lake Michigan. After a brief moment of thinking Brian says, "Go to the back room, open the door to the cellar and there should be a valve on one of the pipes down there. Let me know when you find it and call me back."
I walk to our back room and look at the U-shaped cord on the floor. The wooden gray door that led to the cellar was on the floor to our back room. When opening it you had to give the door a hard push to swing it up and over the opening it revealed in the floor. If you leaned too far forward you had a chance of falling in. Cobwebs usually lined the bottom side of the heavy door which seperated from the ceiling wall from the cellar. No doubt it was creepy. I grabbed our outdoor broom and quickly swept around the entrance of the cellar and the first few steps. I used the broom like an expert swordsman swatting away all the webs I could find. I didn't want to look too deeply into the webs for fear of finding a spider. I knew if I were to spy a spider I would of hightailed it out of there in lightning speed.
The height of the cellar is about 5 feet. It was narrow and small. Three people could probably fit in there but that would be about it. I hunch over making sure my head would not come in contact with the cobwebs hanging from the ceiling and looked around. I seen the silver metal pipes but I wasn't seeing a valve. The phone rung. It was Brian. "Are you down there yet?"
"Yes I am but I am not seeing a valve."
"WHAT?! The valve has to be there! You aren't looking hard enough." I can tell he was getting frustrated over the situtation.
We argued about it for a moment and he hung up. I stood there for a moment wondering what to do next. I could hear the girls coming near the back room. I didn't want them to fall in the opening so I popped back out and led them to the livingroom. My phone rung again. It was my mother-in-law. Brian called her to come and help me out. I filled her in on the situtation. She came over to see if there was anything she can do. "I've never seen such a thing." she says as she watches the water pour out of the tub faucet. She tried the knobs but with no luck. She looked behind the metal panel and was amazed that there isn't a knob. "There is supposed to be a shut off valve here." she informs me, "but there is not." She calls Brian to confirm that there isn't a shut off valve behind the tub. We both head back down into the cellar to look and she was half laughing at the lack of sight of a valve. "I have a friend who knows about plumbing. Let me call him to come and take a look."
She calls her friend and in a few hours he shows up with his wife and accesses my plumbing situtation. "Hi. Don't worry. I am a jack of all trades and a master of nothing, " Right away I envisioned his head on a jack of diamonds playing card. "Looks like you have a problem." he informs me.
No kidding! I thought to myself. I never thought I would want to see the water shut off. "Let me see what I can do." He heads outside and brings in his bag of tools. His wife, my mother-in-law and I go into the livingroom to talk and the kids were happily watching tv.
He traces one of the pipes in the bathroom to a wall. "Where does this pipe go, do you know?" He certainly asked the wrong person. I shook my head and gave my sholders a shug to indicate to him that I didn't know. He walks outside and around the house. On the side of the house, just under the bathroom window, was a large silver metal slab. I never knew what was under it. He opened it up and found the pipes and a valve that led out to the city water. He turned that valve and my water shut off in the house.
"I know where the pipe goes out to." he explained to me about the metal slab, "Unfortunally, I have to shut the water off to your whole house. You might want to call a professional plumber to come and and look things over. I think you have a broken pipe under the ground."
"Oh no!" I exclaimed back. I knew this wasn't going to be good.
Since it was getting late in the day I had to wait the next day, without water, to call a professional plumber to come and look at it. He said that they would have to do some digging to fix the pipe and it could take up to a week to fix. He informed to check with my house insurance to see about the work being covered.
I called up State Farm and told them of the situtation and gave them the name and number to the plumber. Thankfully because the break was under the ground the insurance does pay for it and they will also cover the cost of a hotel for our family. This unfortunate event ended up being like a mini vacation. The insurance agent tried looking in the area for hotels with a double room. We were a family of 6 but 5 at the time since Brian was in another state. There wasn't a hotel that would accommodate our family size. She looked in Grand Rapids and found one. Residence Inn in Grandville up off of 44th st (now near Rivertown Point) had a two bedroom suite with a kitchenette. Perfect! The only down side to it was having to drive down to Allegan every day to take Christain to school at East Martin Christian with all the children in tow. We had to wake up earlier than normal but it was something we had to do.
I packed up several of their clothes and toys and made my way north to the hotel. We took the elevator to the second floor and made our way to the room at the end of the hallway. We opened the door and I was suprised by how beautiful the room was. The kitchen, complete with cupboards and dishes, were off to the left. The livingroom was straight ahead with a faux fireplace. Off each side of the livingroom was a bedroom with a queen size bed. Christian, Elizabeth and Ashton took one room and James (since he was still a baby) and I took the other room. They even had a portable playpen that I could use for James. I put their clothes in the dressers and organized their toys and books. The kids really enjoyed having a TV in their room since I don't allow them to have one in their own bedroom at home. But there was also a TV in the livingroom and one in my bedroom. It was very roomy and comfortable since we were displaced at the moment.
Later on in the week Brian came home, or I should probably say the hotel. He would talk to the plumber and see how things were progressing. He had the plumber install shut-off valves to the the bathroom and the kitchen and another one under the house for those just in case moments.
We enjoyed our time at the hotel and tried to make the most of it. We would kick back, lounge around watching news programs while the children were in their room watching episodes of Rugrats or Blue's Clues. Then one station caught our attention that we didn't have at home. At the time we didn't realize the historical event that was about to take place several hours into the future as we sat back and watched what was before our eyes.
This story will continue on the January 29th blog of the historical event that happens next.
One thing about being a trucker's wife is that you learn how to be independent. The husband is out on the road for weeks at a time with usually an unknown date on his return. He is working hard on the road with different hours and different weather with idoit drivers. It is not an easy life and and only certain people can live in that lifestyle. The wife tends to the home and children and and everything in between. It is not easy for wife either. Again, only certain types of people can live in that lifestyle.
My husband is very handy with everything. I don't think there is anything he cannot do. If there is something he is unsure of he fakes it well and still does the task right. When he is home he fixes the things that need fixing or tinkers with other things around the house. He likes to stay busy.
I, on the other hand, is the baby of the family and I was pampered. Everything was hired out that needed to be done around the house. My dad left the state, my mom was losing her vision and her parents (my grandparents) passed away when we were young. Looking back things around the house had to be hired out because no one was there to fix it for us, whether it was painting our walls, putting in a new dishwasher or moving across the state of Michigan. We depended on others for most of the "honey-do" list. I never set foot in a hardware store until I met my husband. And the old joke of a car needing "blinker fluid"? Yea, I fell for it. So it was very hard when my husband would go on the road and something unexpected would happen. Many times he would try to talk me through things and try his hardest to figure out what I am talking about because I didn't know the correct terminology for certain parts or pieces of what was happening. A quick example: Just recently I had to replace a broken pipe. I told my husband I had to get a plastic piece thing to connect the two pipes. He told me that it is called a "union". Then when I went to the hardward I was able to tell the guy I needed a union instead of a plastic connector thingy. I have learned a lot in our marriage and at times impress myself. I am still learning a lot of things too.
The year was 2003. It was late January and if I remember correctly it was an average winter. We had snow on the ground and it was cold but not overly cold. Christian was in kindergarten and I had our daughters Elizabeth and Ashton along with our almost 5 month old son James at home. We owned our own semi-truck and Brian was over in Wisconsin making deliveries and pick-ups. Everything were going pretty much normal. Until I went to give the girls a bath.
It was mid-morning. I turned on the water and checked the temperature and flipped the switch to plug the tub. I reached to turn off the tub. I turned one knob to the off position but the water kept coming. Confused, I reach up and grab the other knob and turned that one to the off position. The water still kept coming full force. I grabbed both knobs and twisted them back and forth and the water would not shut off. NOOOOO! I thought to myself. I have dealt with water freezing up in pipes but not water that does not want to stop coming out of the faucet. I didn't get it. I flipped the switch back so the water can drain out. Then I called Brian.
He sounded as confused as I did as to why the water wasn't stopping. "See the panel next to the tub?" he asks.
"Yes." I replied back.
"Pull it off and there should be a twist valve that looks like the outside faucet. Turn it the opposite direction to shut the water off."
I pull off the vented metal panel. It was a small little cubby space that showed the pipes to the tub. There was also an old wooden potty chair with a picture of a bear painted on the back of the seat and wooden arm rests. I wonder how long that has been there, I thought. I returned my attention to the pipes and looked around. "There isn't a valve in here." I tell Brian over the phone.
"There has to be. Are you sure you are looking in the right spot? Look up and down the pipes. It has got to be there."
I look all over the pipes. "I'm sorry, hun, but there isn't a valve anywhere back here."
Brian gave a frustrated sigh trying to figure this out being across on the other side of Lake Michigan. After a brief moment of thinking Brian says, "Go to the back room, open the door to the cellar and there should be a valve on one of the pipes down there. Let me know when you find it and call me back."
I walk to our back room and look at the U-shaped cord on the floor. The wooden gray door that led to the cellar was on the floor to our back room. When opening it you had to give the door a hard push to swing it up and over the opening it revealed in the floor. If you leaned too far forward you had a chance of falling in. Cobwebs usually lined the bottom side of the heavy door which seperated from the ceiling wall from the cellar. No doubt it was creepy. I grabbed our outdoor broom and quickly swept around the entrance of the cellar and the first few steps. I used the broom like an expert swordsman swatting away all the webs I could find. I didn't want to look too deeply into the webs for fear of finding a spider. I knew if I were to spy a spider I would of hightailed it out of there in lightning speed.
The height of the cellar is about 5 feet. It was narrow and small. Three people could probably fit in there but that would be about it. I hunch over making sure my head would not come in contact with the cobwebs hanging from the ceiling and looked around. I seen the silver metal pipes but I wasn't seeing a valve. The phone rung. It was Brian. "Are you down there yet?"
"Yes I am but I am not seeing a valve."
"WHAT?! The valve has to be there! You aren't looking hard enough." I can tell he was getting frustrated over the situtation.
We argued about it for a moment and he hung up. I stood there for a moment wondering what to do next. I could hear the girls coming near the back room. I didn't want them to fall in the opening so I popped back out and led them to the livingroom. My phone rung again. It was my mother-in-law. Brian called her to come and help me out. I filled her in on the situtation. She came over to see if there was anything she can do. "I've never seen such a thing." she says as she watches the water pour out of the tub faucet. She tried the knobs but with no luck. She looked behind the metal panel and was amazed that there isn't a knob. "There is supposed to be a shut off valve here." she informs me, "but there is not." She calls Brian to confirm that there isn't a shut off valve behind the tub. We both head back down into the cellar to look and she was half laughing at the lack of sight of a valve. "I have a friend who knows about plumbing. Let me call him to come and take a look."
She calls her friend and in a few hours he shows up with his wife and accesses my plumbing situtation. "Hi. Don't worry. I am a jack of all trades and a master of nothing, " Right away I envisioned his head on a jack of diamonds playing card. "Looks like you have a problem." he informs me.
No kidding! I thought to myself. I never thought I would want to see the water shut off. "Let me see what I can do." He heads outside and brings in his bag of tools. His wife, my mother-in-law and I go into the livingroom to talk and the kids were happily watching tv.
He traces one of the pipes in the bathroom to a wall. "Where does this pipe go, do you know?" He certainly asked the wrong person. I shook my head and gave my sholders a shug to indicate to him that I didn't know. He walks outside and around the house. On the side of the house, just under the bathroom window, was a large silver metal slab. I never knew what was under it. He opened it up and found the pipes and a valve that led out to the city water. He turned that valve and my water shut off in the house.
"I know where the pipe goes out to." he explained to me about the metal slab, "Unfortunally, I have to shut the water off to your whole house. You might want to call a professional plumber to come and and look things over. I think you have a broken pipe under the ground."
"Oh no!" I exclaimed back. I knew this wasn't going to be good.
Since it was getting late in the day I had to wait the next day, without water, to call a professional plumber to come and look at it. He said that they would have to do some digging to fix the pipe and it could take up to a week to fix. He informed to check with my house insurance to see about the work being covered.
I called up State Farm and told them of the situtation and gave them the name and number to the plumber. Thankfully because the break was under the ground the insurance does pay for it and they will also cover the cost of a hotel for our family. This unfortunate event ended up being like a mini vacation. The insurance agent tried looking in the area for hotels with a double room. We were a family of 6 but 5 at the time since Brian was in another state. There wasn't a hotel that would accommodate our family size. She looked in Grand Rapids and found one. Residence Inn in Grandville up off of 44th st (now near Rivertown Point) had a two bedroom suite with a kitchenette. Perfect! The only down side to it was having to drive down to Allegan every day to take Christain to school at East Martin Christian with all the children in tow. We had to wake up earlier than normal but it was something we had to do.
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| Ashton watching TV in the livingroom of the hotel. |
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| Ashton (age 2 and a half) and Beth (age 5) |
We enjoyed our time at the hotel and tried to make the most of it. We would kick back, lounge around watching news programs while the children were in their room watching episodes of Rugrats or Blue's Clues. Then one station caught our attention that we didn't have at home. At the time we didn't realize the historical event that was about to take place several hours into the future as we sat back and watched what was before our eyes.
This story will continue on the January 29th blog of the historical event that happens next.
Tuesday, January 15, 2013
Blood on the Ice
Ever have one of those moments where you are at the wrong place at the right time? Have you ever been in a place where you know you really shouldn"t be but you went against your better judgement and it turned out for the best? I know situtations like that rarely happen but for this moment it happened to me.
It was January of 1996. Tip-Up-Town was going on at Houghton Lake, Mi. It is like a winter carnival on ice. Growing up I loved going there and participating in some of the winter games of tug-of-war, egg catch, and pie eating contest. The ice sculptures were always amazing and there was always an ice slide for the kids. But Tip-Up-Town in a whole different blog by itself.
I was a few weeks shy of turning 19 and in my second semester at Grand Valley State University. The weekend was approaching and I mentioned to my friends about heading up to Tip-Up-Town and staying at our family cabin for the weekend. A lot of them never heard of it and were ready to go check it out. We loaded up 3 or 4 different cars and headed north for a fun filled weekend.
We arrived Friday night and decided to check out the festival Saturday morning. It was good and busy there. One of my friends Rebecca and I participated in the pie eating contest, of which I got second. My prize was a free dinner and drink to a local pub. It wouldn't be so bad if I was over 21 but bragging rights was still there for second place. I remember it being very cold and most of us started to huddle in the warming tent. We decided to go home and to come back later in the evening for the dance. It was fun as it should be.
Sunday morning came upon us. I was awake, along with just a few others, to greet the sun rising up in the east over the frozen lake. It was quiet and peaceful except for the distant sounds of the snowmobilers darting back and forth in front of the cabin. Small talk was spoken while some smoked their cigarettes and others drank their coffee. While we talked we kept our eyes on the snowmobilers out front. At some point of the freezing process of the lake the ice shifted creating a style of ramp out in front of our cabin. The snowmobilers were having fun zooming fast over the ramp and giving them a lift in the air on their snowmobiles. It was cheap entertainment for us early risers.
While we sat there watching, this one snowmobile was going extremely fast. He went up on the nature-made ice ramp and lost control of what he was doing. The snowmobile flew straight up in the air at a good height then did a flip forward and nose dived in the unyielding hard ice below. The snowmobiler flew off the sky-rocketing machine like a rag doll and came crashing down onto the ice. Upon impact with the ice his helmet popped off and slid across the ice spinning. When we saw the snowmobile fly up into the air we all gasped. It was like watching some action movie but you knew this was real and there wasn't an air bag below to catch the daredevil. A few of us quickly stood up and others yelled out before the guy even hit the ground. It was like everything happened in slow motion yet there was nothing anyone could do to stop what was about to happen. We just knew it wasn't going to end nice.
"SOMEONE RUN DOOR TO DOOR TO FIND SOMEONE WITH A PHONE AND CALL 911!" I yelled while dashing out the door in my socks and pajamas to the lake where the snowmobiler laid. At that time most people didn't carry around cell phones. Our cabin didn't have a phone line because we didn't use the cabin that much. Beepers were not even around to the general person yet. Our neighbors closed up their cabins for the winter so I wasn't sure who they could find to call. I just prayed they had to find a phone and quick.
The snow was about ankle deep with drifts here and there. I didn't care. This man needed help. I couldn't feel the weather. I think my body was in shock of what I had witnessed that it didn't care. His friend/snowmobile partner was already there calling out his name, which I cannot remember, and not getting a response. I knelt down beside him and took off his glove and held his hand and told him that help was on its way. He had a sky mask that covered his face. His eyes were closed. He didn't move. I was scared. I looked around and seen pieces of his snowmobile laying about. The skies were snapped off and broken. The front hood was torn up and bits of it were lying around. The plexiglass windshield was busted in a few pieces. My God, how can anyone survive this? Please let him be okay, I prayed to myself.
I put my finger under his nose to feel his breathing. It was light but I could feel it. It was hard to see his chest rising with the heavy snowsuit he was wearing. My roommate, Laurie, my friend Rhonda, and a few others came out with their blankets to put around him. His friend wanted to see if we can move him off the ice and up closer to the road in wait for the ambulance. We shouted no at him and let him know that we don't know his injuries and we don't want to cause further injury. The ice was thick. There was no danger of us falling through. The best bet was to stay put. Jon and a man we called Bing, two of the guys that were with us, came running out to us saying they got hold of a neighbor several houses down and called 911. Good, I thought, he will get the help he needs.
A few moments pass. I guess in times like this the time cannot pass quick enough. The friend reaches up and starts to pull away at the skimask the injured man was wearing. We tried to protest but his friend said he was only going to remove it over his mouth only. Tenderly the man slowly pulled the mask over his mouth. I could see the lower part of his head. Blood started to pool on the ice. I felt so uncomfortable seeing that. I rubbed his hand some more reassuring that the ambulance was on its way.
At one point he started to moan and he tried to make some movement to sit up. His eyes still couldn't open. I laid my hands on his sholders and told him not to move, that he needed to be still. Everyone was coaxing him that he could not sit up and to stay laying down. He tried to resist but gave in and rested his body back on the ice. I took his hand in my hand again. My friends were still encircled around him giving him words of comfort and prayers.
We start to hear the ambulance. A few people ran up to the front of the cabin to wave down the ambulance. They quickly come across the yard with a sled type of transport. I released his hand and told him he was going to be okay now and I backed away to let the medical personnel do their work. They gently placed him on the sled and hauled him off, blankets and all. I looked back down and seen the blood stained ice and thought just an hour prior he was out here having a grand ol' time.
A short time after that a wrecker came to pick up the pieces to the snowmobile. A few of us walked around the ice picking up pieces and tossing them on the flatbed of the wrecker. The blood still stood out against the white snow and ice like a sore thumb. A few of the guys could tell we were bothered by it and grabbed more snow off the banks of the shore and covered it.
We went inside, all of us in shock of what just happened. I soon started to shiver. I don't know if it was because the cold finally sunk in or over the whole ordeal of what just happened. I didn't even know where they took him. There wasn't medical facilities around the area. The closest ones that I knew of were either Cadillac or West Branch. I heard his first name (which I forgot) but I never knew his last name. I have no idea what ever happened to him.
You see, I did not have permission to be at the lake. I never told my mom that we were going to the cabin that weekend. I guess that was part of my rebellious side that was still in me. I begin to think what if we weren't up there? I would of never had known an accident like that happened in front of our cabin. His friend would of had to leave him alone to go find help, which wasn't close by. He wouldn't of had the blankets to help keep him warm on the cold, hard ice. He wouldn't of had the group of people around him giving him words of encouragement and comfort. I hadn't been to Tip-Up-Town in about 10 years at that point. The one year I decide to go back this happens.
I do believe God does things for a purpose. He puts people where they need to be in the manner that they need to be there. We all complain about being caught up on traffic or being behind a slow moving car. But perhaps we are there for a reason. Maybe there is danger up the road and that slow moving car is preventing us from the danger at the moment. You never know.
It was January of 1996. Tip-Up-Town was going on at Houghton Lake, Mi. It is like a winter carnival on ice. Growing up I loved going there and participating in some of the winter games of tug-of-war, egg catch, and pie eating contest. The ice sculptures were always amazing and there was always an ice slide for the kids. But Tip-Up-Town in a whole different blog by itself.
I was a few weeks shy of turning 19 and in my second semester at Grand Valley State University. The weekend was approaching and I mentioned to my friends about heading up to Tip-Up-Town and staying at our family cabin for the weekend. A lot of them never heard of it and were ready to go check it out. We loaded up 3 or 4 different cars and headed north for a fun filled weekend.
We arrived Friday night and decided to check out the festival Saturday morning. It was good and busy there. One of my friends Rebecca and I participated in the pie eating contest, of which I got second. My prize was a free dinner and drink to a local pub. It wouldn't be so bad if I was over 21 but bragging rights was still there for second place. I remember it being very cold and most of us started to huddle in the warming tent. We decided to go home and to come back later in the evening for the dance. It was fun as it should be.
Sunday morning came upon us. I was awake, along with just a few others, to greet the sun rising up in the east over the frozen lake. It was quiet and peaceful except for the distant sounds of the snowmobilers darting back and forth in front of the cabin. Small talk was spoken while some smoked their cigarettes and others drank their coffee. While we talked we kept our eyes on the snowmobilers out front. At some point of the freezing process of the lake the ice shifted creating a style of ramp out in front of our cabin. The snowmobilers were having fun zooming fast over the ramp and giving them a lift in the air on their snowmobiles. It was cheap entertainment for us early risers.
While we sat there watching, this one snowmobile was going extremely fast. He went up on the nature-made ice ramp and lost control of what he was doing. The snowmobile flew straight up in the air at a good height then did a flip forward and nose dived in the unyielding hard ice below. The snowmobiler flew off the sky-rocketing machine like a rag doll and came crashing down onto the ice. Upon impact with the ice his helmet popped off and slid across the ice spinning. When we saw the snowmobile fly up into the air we all gasped. It was like watching some action movie but you knew this was real and there wasn't an air bag below to catch the daredevil. A few of us quickly stood up and others yelled out before the guy even hit the ground. It was like everything happened in slow motion yet there was nothing anyone could do to stop what was about to happen. We just knew it wasn't going to end nice.
"SOMEONE RUN DOOR TO DOOR TO FIND SOMEONE WITH A PHONE AND CALL 911!" I yelled while dashing out the door in my socks and pajamas to the lake where the snowmobiler laid. At that time most people didn't carry around cell phones. Our cabin didn't have a phone line because we didn't use the cabin that much. Beepers were not even around to the general person yet. Our neighbors closed up their cabins for the winter so I wasn't sure who they could find to call. I just prayed they had to find a phone and quick.
The snow was about ankle deep with drifts here and there. I didn't care. This man needed help. I couldn't feel the weather. I think my body was in shock of what I had witnessed that it didn't care. His friend/snowmobile partner was already there calling out his name, which I cannot remember, and not getting a response. I knelt down beside him and took off his glove and held his hand and told him that help was on its way. He had a sky mask that covered his face. His eyes were closed. He didn't move. I was scared. I looked around and seen pieces of his snowmobile laying about. The skies were snapped off and broken. The front hood was torn up and bits of it were lying around. The plexiglass windshield was busted in a few pieces. My God, how can anyone survive this? Please let him be okay, I prayed to myself.
I put my finger under his nose to feel his breathing. It was light but I could feel it. It was hard to see his chest rising with the heavy snowsuit he was wearing. My roommate, Laurie, my friend Rhonda, and a few others came out with their blankets to put around him. His friend wanted to see if we can move him off the ice and up closer to the road in wait for the ambulance. We shouted no at him and let him know that we don't know his injuries and we don't want to cause further injury. The ice was thick. There was no danger of us falling through. The best bet was to stay put. Jon and a man we called Bing, two of the guys that were with us, came running out to us saying they got hold of a neighbor several houses down and called 911. Good, I thought, he will get the help he needs.
A few moments pass. I guess in times like this the time cannot pass quick enough. The friend reaches up and starts to pull away at the skimask the injured man was wearing. We tried to protest but his friend said he was only going to remove it over his mouth only. Tenderly the man slowly pulled the mask over his mouth. I could see the lower part of his head. Blood started to pool on the ice. I felt so uncomfortable seeing that. I rubbed his hand some more reassuring that the ambulance was on its way.
At one point he started to moan and he tried to make some movement to sit up. His eyes still couldn't open. I laid my hands on his sholders and told him not to move, that he needed to be still. Everyone was coaxing him that he could not sit up and to stay laying down. He tried to resist but gave in and rested his body back on the ice. I took his hand in my hand again. My friends were still encircled around him giving him words of comfort and prayers.
We start to hear the ambulance. A few people ran up to the front of the cabin to wave down the ambulance. They quickly come across the yard with a sled type of transport. I released his hand and told him he was going to be okay now and I backed away to let the medical personnel do their work. They gently placed him on the sled and hauled him off, blankets and all. I looked back down and seen the blood stained ice and thought just an hour prior he was out here having a grand ol' time.
A short time after that a wrecker came to pick up the pieces to the snowmobile. A few of us walked around the ice picking up pieces and tossing them on the flatbed of the wrecker. The blood still stood out against the white snow and ice like a sore thumb. A few of the guys could tell we were bothered by it and grabbed more snow off the banks of the shore and covered it.
We went inside, all of us in shock of what just happened. I soon started to shiver. I don't know if it was because the cold finally sunk in or over the whole ordeal of what just happened. I didn't even know where they took him. There wasn't medical facilities around the area. The closest ones that I knew of were either Cadillac or West Branch. I heard his first name (which I forgot) but I never knew his last name. I have no idea what ever happened to him.
You see, I did not have permission to be at the lake. I never told my mom that we were going to the cabin that weekend. I guess that was part of my rebellious side that was still in me. I begin to think what if we weren't up there? I would of never had known an accident like that happened in front of our cabin. His friend would of had to leave him alone to go find help, which wasn't close by. He wouldn't of had the blankets to help keep him warm on the cold, hard ice. He wouldn't of had the group of people around him giving him words of encouragement and comfort. I hadn't been to Tip-Up-Town in about 10 years at that point. The one year I decide to go back this happens.
I do believe God does things for a purpose. He puts people where they need to be in the manner that they need to be there. We all complain about being caught up on traffic or being behind a slow moving car. But perhaps we are there for a reason. Maybe there is danger up the road and that slow moving car is preventing us from the danger at the moment. You never know.
Tuesday, January 8, 2013
Camera Operator for "Ask The Pastor" on the Christian Station WTLJ
Yesterday I had the honor of watching and being an extra to a short film (Chrysalis The Film) come to life in Reed City, Michigan. It was fascinating to watch the people beind the scenes making sure the lighting was perfect and the camera's had the right angle. Soon my thoughts were taken adrift back to 1995 where I was a cameraman for the Christian television station WTLJ out of Allendale, Michigan.
It was an Autumn day in 1995. I was in my first year of college at Grand Valley State University. The Renaissance Festival had finished up (September 18 blog: My Performance in the GVSU Renaissance Festival) and I was looking for something else to occupy my time, preferably a job. I would go to the counseling center and look at the job postings. Then one ad caught my eye. It was a volunteer position to be a cameraman for WTLJ which was right around the corner from the GVSU campus. That sounds interesting, I thought. True, it didn't pay anything but I was certainly curious. So I called on it and an interview was set up in a couple of days.
The interview wasn't much of an interview. It was more of "how to" as they told me I was going to film the live tv show "Ask the Pastor". I was in shock. Live? What if I mess up? I never did this type of thing before. I was a projectionist at my Catholic Church growing up but that wasn't nothing compare to this. My thoughts were in panic mode but I didn't let it show on the outside. I smiled and nodded and kept myself reserved.
"Ask the Pastor" was a live show set up kinda a like a game show. There was the host and there was a panel of 4 pastors from different churches in the west Michigan area. They had, which I would say, regulars and every now and there would be a different pastor that would show up. I remember Pastor Trimm. He was a large man with dark hair and fastly growing speckles of gray throughout his hair and beard. He was also loud, abrupt and animated with his actions when he answered questions and fun to watch. In almost every episode he would end up holding his Bible high up in the air shouting in a deep voice, "This is the truth; The whole truth; And nothing but the truth, And in God's Almighty name let us say Amen!" You couldn't help but say Amen after that even if I could only whisper it.
Live calls would come in from people in the area and every now and then a letter would be read by the host. The phone lines were constantly busy by people wanting to know more insight on God's word and how to interpret it. I never heard of the show previously. I never heard of the station before. I knew who God was but I was still at an infant stage with my Christianity. I am still working on my Christianity but I have come a long away. Anyway, the host would make sure the pastor's stayed on track and everyone had a chance to speak in a timely manner. Sometimes debates would break out between pastors on the interpretation of scripture and after a few moments the host would try to settle the manner and move on to the next caller.
The producer showed me how to use the huge cameras. She shows me how to pan left, pan right, zoom in and zoom out. She said that was all I needed to know and it was really quite simple. I was introduced to a late-middle aged lady who was the main camera operator and to another volunteer camera operator who was an elderly man. Then she handed me a headset (earphones with a microphone) to put on and went into another room so we can do a trial run before the show.
The camera's were huge. I had to step up on a circular platform that was connected to the camera. Huge handles stuck out from the side and the ends rotated to zoom in and zoom out. I tilted it up so it would be level to the panel where the pastors sit and remember feeling the heavy weight of the camera. If I let go the camera could slowly point downwards so I had to make sure I had a good grip on it. Even panning left and right you could still feel the weight of it. There was two viewing areas. One was what the camera was viewing and the other is what was being seen on TV. Looking at that one you can adjust the headspace and make sure they are centered correctly if need be.
Over my ear piece a sound broke the silence, "Okay Jill. Can you hear me?" I replied yes back into the microphone attachment, "I want you to focus on the sign "Ask the Pastor" and zoom in closely and slowly on the P." I would start to zoom in and direction would be given if I was going to fast or if I was going to slow. After a few attempts I figured out the speed and pressure of zooming. "Now I want you to zoom in to have just the sign showing then slowly pan down and zoom out to the panel of pastors." I did just that. All was going good.
The panel of pastors soon arrived and we were ready for the live show. A stampede of wilderbeasts were running around my stomach, I was so nervous. I had to be quiet as a mouse and listen to the prompts that they gave to me. When I seen a red light inside my camera I was told that my camera was on and I had to be careful about moving my camera then. She would have me focus on one pastor, switch to another camrea, then have me focus on another pastor and she would switch back to my camera. I realized that the producer was a chatter box when the show was going on, even making funny jokes every now and then. At times, we cameramen, looked at each other with huge smiles on our faces trying not to laugh or make any sounds. I really enjoyed working behind the scenes. When we were done with the show the producer would say through our headsets, "That's a rap!" and we would take off our headsets, place them neatly on top of the machines and shut them down. On a monitor off to the side we can see that a commercial was already started on the station. Overall, it really wasn't too difficult.
Soon they would have me come in and do specials and help film the Christmas "Thank You" commercials set to music. This one time I had a really bad cough due to a cold I had. I was dropping Hals Cough Drops in me like it was candy so I wouldn't cough while on the air. They asked if I could stay after and film a special guest speaker they where interviewing for a different taped show. I had no problem with it. After "Ask the Pastor" I go the green room and drank a large glass of water and had a small coughing fit since I was suppressing it so much. I was trying to get my coughs out of my system before the next filming. I make my way back into the studio to help set up for the special. There was a group of people off to the side talking and they called me over. The producers introduced me to the guest speaker, we shook hands and we exchanged small talk. Then I went back over to my camera to get it ready for the special.
There was a new host and the guest speaker sat next to him both sitting comfortable chairs with a small table between them with glasses of water. The host started to do his opening monologue introducing his guest. "....my guest here today is going to tell us what it is like living in todays society with AIDS..." My brain froze! AIDS! I studied AIDS in school and I wasn't afraid of him and I knew I wasn't going to get AIDS by him being in the room. But I had a flashback. I am full of germs! I have a cold! I shook his hand! My sick germs are on him. I think I just killed him! and other thoughts like this pounded my head as filmed the interview. I wasn't worried about me. I was worried about HIM. Afterwards I approached him and told him I didn't know he had AIDS but that I was fighting a cold and I was concerned. He smiled and thanked me for telling him but he said he knew when he came in and seen me in the green room coughing and drinking water. He assured me that he currently has his AIDS under control not to worry. Not to worry is easier said then done I suppose.
I worked at WTLJ for a few months a couple days a week. The new semester was just beginning and I had class time during the production of "Ask the Pastor" and I couldn't film it anymore. I did a few more extra's during that last semester of my freshman year at GVSU when I could. After that year I moved down to Allegan, Michigan and it was too far for a drive to keep it up. I was so disappointed that I had to quit. I really enjoyed the people there and working behind the scenes.
Seeing the film crew working during the film The Chrysalis recalled all those wonderful memories of WTLJ. For a brief moment I could still see myself driving down the stations long dirt drive and parking in the back, walking into the station doors with the sound box to my left and station room to my right, hearing their voices, feeling the rubber grips on the camera to move it about and remembering some of shows and scenes that I helped out on. I look back on it with fond memories.
It was an Autumn day in 1995. I was in my first year of college at Grand Valley State University. The Renaissance Festival had finished up (September 18 blog: My Performance in the GVSU Renaissance Festival) and I was looking for something else to occupy my time, preferably a job. I would go to the counseling center and look at the job postings. Then one ad caught my eye. It was a volunteer position to be a cameraman for WTLJ which was right around the corner from the GVSU campus. That sounds interesting, I thought. True, it didn't pay anything but I was certainly curious. So I called on it and an interview was set up in a couple of days.
The interview wasn't much of an interview. It was more of "how to" as they told me I was going to film the live tv show "Ask the Pastor". I was in shock. Live? What if I mess up? I never did this type of thing before. I was a projectionist at my Catholic Church growing up but that wasn't nothing compare to this. My thoughts were in panic mode but I didn't let it show on the outside. I smiled and nodded and kept myself reserved.
"Ask the Pastor" was a live show set up kinda a like a game show. There was the host and there was a panel of 4 pastors from different churches in the west Michigan area. They had, which I would say, regulars and every now and there would be a different pastor that would show up. I remember Pastor Trimm. He was a large man with dark hair and fastly growing speckles of gray throughout his hair and beard. He was also loud, abrupt and animated with his actions when he answered questions and fun to watch. In almost every episode he would end up holding his Bible high up in the air shouting in a deep voice, "This is the truth; The whole truth; And nothing but the truth, And in God's Almighty name let us say Amen!" You couldn't help but say Amen after that even if I could only whisper it.
Live calls would come in from people in the area and every now and then a letter would be read by the host. The phone lines were constantly busy by people wanting to know more insight on God's word and how to interpret it. I never heard of the show previously. I never heard of the station before. I knew who God was but I was still at an infant stage with my Christianity. I am still working on my Christianity but I have come a long away. Anyway, the host would make sure the pastor's stayed on track and everyone had a chance to speak in a timely manner. Sometimes debates would break out between pastors on the interpretation of scripture and after a few moments the host would try to settle the manner and move on to the next caller.
The producer showed me how to use the huge cameras. She shows me how to pan left, pan right, zoom in and zoom out. She said that was all I needed to know and it was really quite simple. I was introduced to a late-middle aged lady who was the main camera operator and to another volunteer camera operator who was an elderly man. Then she handed me a headset (earphones with a microphone) to put on and went into another room so we can do a trial run before the show.
The camera's were huge. I had to step up on a circular platform that was connected to the camera. Huge handles stuck out from the side and the ends rotated to zoom in and zoom out. I tilted it up so it would be level to the panel where the pastors sit and remember feeling the heavy weight of the camera. If I let go the camera could slowly point downwards so I had to make sure I had a good grip on it. Even panning left and right you could still feel the weight of it. There was two viewing areas. One was what the camera was viewing and the other is what was being seen on TV. Looking at that one you can adjust the headspace and make sure they are centered correctly if need be. Over my ear piece a sound broke the silence, "Okay Jill. Can you hear me?" I replied yes back into the microphone attachment, "I want you to focus on the sign "Ask the Pastor" and zoom in closely and slowly on the P." I would start to zoom in and direction would be given if I was going to fast or if I was going to slow. After a few attempts I figured out the speed and pressure of zooming. "Now I want you to zoom in to have just the sign showing then slowly pan down and zoom out to the panel of pastors." I did just that. All was going good.
The panel of pastors soon arrived and we were ready for the live show. A stampede of wilderbeasts were running around my stomach, I was so nervous. I had to be quiet as a mouse and listen to the prompts that they gave to me. When I seen a red light inside my camera I was told that my camera was on and I had to be careful about moving my camera then. She would have me focus on one pastor, switch to another camrea, then have me focus on another pastor and she would switch back to my camera. I realized that the producer was a chatter box when the show was going on, even making funny jokes every now and then. At times, we cameramen, looked at each other with huge smiles on our faces trying not to laugh or make any sounds. I really enjoyed working behind the scenes. When we were done with the show the producer would say through our headsets, "That's a rap!" and we would take off our headsets, place them neatly on top of the machines and shut them down. On a monitor off to the side we can see that a commercial was already started on the station. Overall, it really wasn't too difficult.
Soon they would have me come in and do specials and help film the Christmas "Thank You" commercials set to music. This one time I had a really bad cough due to a cold I had. I was dropping Hals Cough Drops in me like it was candy so I wouldn't cough while on the air. They asked if I could stay after and film a special guest speaker they where interviewing for a different taped show. I had no problem with it. After "Ask the Pastor" I go the green room and drank a large glass of water and had a small coughing fit since I was suppressing it so much. I was trying to get my coughs out of my system before the next filming. I make my way back into the studio to help set up for the special. There was a group of people off to the side talking and they called me over. The producers introduced me to the guest speaker, we shook hands and we exchanged small talk. Then I went back over to my camera to get it ready for the special.
There was a new host and the guest speaker sat next to him both sitting comfortable chairs with a small table between them with glasses of water. The host started to do his opening monologue introducing his guest. "....my guest here today is going to tell us what it is like living in todays society with AIDS..." My brain froze! AIDS! I studied AIDS in school and I wasn't afraid of him and I knew I wasn't going to get AIDS by him being in the room. But I had a flashback. I am full of germs! I have a cold! I shook his hand! My sick germs are on him. I think I just killed him! and other thoughts like this pounded my head as filmed the interview. I wasn't worried about me. I was worried about HIM. Afterwards I approached him and told him I didn't know he had AIDS but that I was fighting a cold and I was concerned. He smiled and thanked me for telling him but he said he knew when he came in and seen me in the green room coughing and drinking water. He assured me that he currently has his AIDS under control not to worry. Not to worry is easier said then done I suppose.
I worked at WTLJ for a few months a couple days a week. The new semester was just beginning and I had class time during the production of "Ask the Pastor" and I couldn't film it anymore. I did a few more extra's during that last semester of my freshman year at GVSU when I could. After that year I moved down to Allegan, Michigan and it was too far for a drive to keep it up. I was so disappointed that I had to quit. I really enjoyed the people there and working behind the scenes.
Seeing the film crew working during the film The Chrysalis recalled all those wonderful memories of WTLJ. For a brief moment I could still see myself driving down the stations long dirt drive and parking in the back, walking into the station doors with the sound box to my left and station room to my right, hearing their voices, feeling the rubber grips on the camera to move it about and remembering some of shows and scenes that I helped out on. I look back on it with fond memories.
Tuesday, January 1, 2013
Where's There Smoke, There's Fire
It was a cold wintery December 31st day before the New Year. 2007 was ending and the happy promise of 2008 was just around the corner. I was early in my pregnancy with our 6th child. We just installed a new power steering pump on our 2000 Plymouth Voyager Flexfuel model and just got it back from the shop about a week prior. Our back-up GMC Safari was down for a reason I cannot remember at this time. The day before we went to Brian's sister's place for a post-Christmas gathering. We got back really late and decided we would unload the van the next day.
Brian was looking at the load board and a good load came across but Brian would have to leave right away, unfortunally missing out on New Years night. I was sad that he had to leave but I understood. He went out to prep and start his semi as I started to gather his clothes together to take on his voyages. Brian came back inside frustrated that the truck batteries had died and he needed to jump his truck. He grabs the keys to the Plymouth and drives up to the front of his semi and hooks the cables up from the van to the truck to jump start it. He comes back inside to help collect the things he needs to bring with him letting the truck get a good charge before he tries to start it.
We were talking in the bedroom while I was finishing up packing his bag having small conversation when Elizabeth, who was 9 years old at the time, came into our room. "I just looked out my bedroom window and I am seeing smoke coming from the van." she says.
"Oh, that' not smoke. That is exhaust from the van going into the air. Don't worry about it." Brian says to her.
"Okay," doubtfully sounding as she left the room. A few moments later she comes back in. "I really think it's smoke coming from the van."
Brian reassured her that she was just seeing the exhaust and how confusing that can be to a young person. She left the room again. We went on with our conversation for a little while. I casually walked into the back room to grab something for Brian. I looked out the window and I saw flames starting to lick up from the lifted hood of our van. "OH MY GOODNESS, BRIAN! THERE IS A FIRE!" I yell to him.
He darts across the house to the back door where I was standing. "MY TRUCK!" he yells out, "CALL 911!" He ran out the door and out to the van.
I grabbed the phone and proceeded to call 911. The operator asked if the van was near the house or another building. I told her no but it was near the road and my husband's semi truck. Of course she also asked if there were any injuries which there were none since we were all inside. Then she informed me that she was sending the fire department out our way.
I put on my shoes and ran out to join Brian. He was busy trying to toss snow into the engine to try to extinguish the flames but it was of no use. He realized how close the van was to his truck and tried to drive it further back in the driveway. He tried to break but it didn't want to stop. Somehow, with God's help, the van stopped short of entering the roadway. Brian opens up the slider door of the van and quickly pulls out the car seats and tosses them to the side in the snow. He dashes over to me with a look of doom in his eyes. "There's nothing we can do but just watch her burn." he said.
We stood there is awe watching the flames lick up around the van mockingly dancing around taunting at our helplessness. The children started to come outside to see such an amazing sight. Our focus turned to the children in keeping them safe. We went inside and I escorted them to our bedroom where they can see from the window in the safety of indoors. I grabbed my camera and went back outside to join my husband in watching our van be destroyed before our eyes.
Then we remember that we had the children's Christmas gifts left inside from the night before. They were all gone now. Our favorite music CD's that we would listen to in the car - gone. Some of the receipts from the trucking business was now up in flames. Brian realized that he never tried using the alternative fuel that the van was designed to use but he always wanted to try out.
The heat was so intense that it was hard to get close to it. We kept watch to make sure a jumping spark didn't set off Brian's truck. The unplowed driveway was now lacking snow leaving a burning black residue in its place instead. The feeling was so surreal.
We would go inside to get warm only to hear knocks at the door of passer-byers informing us that our van was on fire. It was like a painful reminder of part of our life falling apart and there wasn't anything anyone can do to stop it. Neighbors would come by to make sure everyone was okay and to watch the devastation unfold before them. Cars would pull off at a safe distance to watch. I don't blame them for staring. It was hard not to look.
One small white car was slowly passing by. You can tell that she was looking at the fire. Right when she was passing smack dab behind the van something in the van made a small explosion and a loud pop. It was like our van was giving off a scary "Boo" to the white car. The car quickly accelerated and kept on driving north. We couldn't help but laugh. I think God knew we needed a comic relief break at that time.
The fire department finally showed up and put out the fire. By then there was nothing left to the van. The things that could melt were already melted off. The steering wheel was gone, parts of the tires were gone, the window's were gone, the seats were all gone. Our family van was nothing more than a pile of burnt metal.
The fire chief did his job of trying to figure out what caused the fire. They pointed out that there was a charred area in the hood which gave them the impression that the fire started around the battery area. They questioned Brian wondering how our finances were and making sure that we didn't purposly start the fire. Our van was paid off so we just had basic PLPD insurance on it. If we purposely would of started a car fire we would of torched our non-working full coverage GMC van. But I am sure they were just doing their job. When they came to the conclusion that it wasn't deliberate they gave us their theory. They believe that the van was backfed through the jumper cables. Basically the batteries in the truck over-charged and the extra energy was fed back through the jumper cables and over heated the van batteries. We wondered if the new power steering pump malfunctioned causing some of the fluid to spark over onto the battery. The damage was done and there was nothing more we could do from it.
I felt bad for not believing in Elizabeth when she told us she seen smoke. We should of looked right away when she said she seen smoke. Brian just came from the outdoors just a few minutes prior. Fire was the last thing that was on our minds or that one would even start. I told her that we should of believed her in knowing what she seen. She looked up at us sadly and said, "I told you I seen smoke."
The climax to our troubles was not yet over with. We look over at the semi which still didn't want to start. We look over at our GMC which wasn't working and we looked over at our charred Plymouth and realize we are totally without transportation. Brian had to cancel his run because the Plymouth was smack dab in front of the truck and we couldn't move the van because of the holiday. We had to wait until January 2nd for the scrap metal place to reopen from the holiday and take the van away. We ended up towing our other van to the shop to readily get that fixed. It was a bad start to a new year.
We tried to comfort our depression by telling each other that the van was only a 7 seater and we would soon need 8 seats but this would not be the way I would want to get rid of the van. I was happy to have my husband home to ring in the new year even if it was in horrible circumstances. Five years later there is still a burned spot in our driveway from where the van caught fire. Little bits of melted scrap metal pieces lie within the gravel of the driveway. When I mow near that spot I cannot help but think of that terrible New Year's Eve Day.
Brian was looking at the load board and a good load came across but Brian would have to leave right away, unfortunally missing out on New Years night. I was sad that he had to leave but I understood. He went out to prep and start his semi as I started to gather his clothes together to take on his voyages. Brian came back inside frustrated that the truck batteries had died and he needed to jump his truck. He grabs the keys to the Plymouth and drives up to the front of his semi and hooks the cables up from the van to the truck to jump start it. He comes back inside to help collect the things he needs to bring with him letting the truck get a good charge before he tries to start it.
We were talking in the bedroom while I was finishing up packing his bag having small conversation when Elizabeth, who was 9 years old at the time, came into our room. "I just looked out my bedroom window and I am seeing smoke coming from the van." she says.
"Oh, that' not smoke. That is exhaust from the van going into the air. Don't worry about it." Brian says to her.
"Okay," doubtfully sounding as she left the room. A few moments later she comes back in. "I really think it's smoke coming from the van."
Brian reassured her that she was just seeing the exhaust and how confusing that can be to a young person. She left the room again. We went on with our conversation for a little while. I casually walked into the back room to grab something for Brian. I looked out the window and I saw flames starting to lick up from the lifted hood of our van. "OH MY GOODNESS, BRIAN! THERE IS A FIRE!" I yell to him.
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| Taken December 31, 2007 a short time after we discoved our van was on fire. |
He darts across the house to the back door where I was standing. "MY TRUCK!" he yells out, "CALL 911!" He ran out the door and out to the van.
I grabbed the phone and proceeded to call 911. The operator asked if the van was near the house or another building. I told her no but it was near the road and my husband's semi truck. Of course she also asked if there were any injuries which there were none since we were all inside. Then she informed me that she was sending the fire department out our way.
I put on my shoes and ran out to join Brian. He was busy trying to toss snow into the engine to try to extinguish the flames but it was of no use. He realized how close the van was to his truck and tried to drive it further back in the driveway. He tried to break but it didn't want to stop. Somehow, with God's help, the van stopped short of entering the roadway. Brian opens up the slider door of the van and quickly pulls out the car seats and tosses them to the side in the snow. He dashes over to me with a look of doom in his eyes. "There's nothing we can do but just watch her burn." he said.
We stood there is awe watching the flames lick up around the van mockingly dancing around taunting at our helplessness. The children started to come outside to see such an amazing sight. Our focus turned to the children in keeping them safe. We went inside and I escorted them to our bedroom where they can see from the window in the safety of indoors. I grabbed my camera and went back outside to join my husband in watching our van be destroyed before our eyes.
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| 2000 Plymouth Voyager up in flames. |
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| Look to where the side mirror would be. You can see the melted plastic dripping down. The windows at this point have melted away. |
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| The fire even goes right down to the tires. |
Then we remember that we had the children's Christmas gifts left inside from the night before. They were all gone now. Our favorite music CD's that we would listen to in the car - gone. Some of the receipts from the trucking business was now up in flames. Brian realized that he never tried using the alternative fuel that the van was designed to use but he always wanted to try out.
The heat was so intense that it was hard to get close to it. We kept watch to make sure a jumping spark didn't set off Brian's truck. The unplowed driveway was now lacking snow leaving a burning black residue in its place instead. The feeling was so surreal.
We would go inside to get warm only to hear knocks at the door of passer-byers informing us that our van was on fire. It was like a painful reminder of part of our life falling apart and there wasn't anything anyone can do to stop it. Neighbors would come by to make sure everyone was okay and to watch the devastation unfold before them. Cars would pull off at a safe distance to watch. I don't blame them for staring. It was hard not to look.
One small white car was slowly passing by. You can tell that she was looking at the fire. Right when she was passing smack dab behind the van something in the van made a small explosion and a loud pop. It was like our van was giving off a scary "Boo" to the white car. The car quickly accelerated and kept on driving north. We couldn't help but laugh. I think God knew we needed a comic relief break at that time.
The fire department finally showed up and put out the fire. By then there was nothing left to the van. The things that could melt were already melted off. The steering wheel was gone, parts of the tires were gone, the window's were gone, the seats were all gone. Our family van was nothing more than a pile of burnt metal.
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| Fire Department getting hoses ready to put out the fire. |
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| Elizabeth is looking on from the tree to the right. |
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| Firemen working hard to put the fire out. |
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| A skelton of a car lingers out from the smoke left behind from the flames. |
The fire chief did his job of trying to figure out what caused the fire. They pointed out that there was a charred area in the hood which gave them the impression that the fire started around the battery area. They questioned Brian wondering how our finances were and making sure that we didn't purposly start the fire. Our van was paid off so we just had basic PLPD insurance on it. If we purposely would of started a car fire we would of torched our non-working full coverage GMC van. But I am sure they were just doing their job. When they came to the conclusion that it wasn't deliberate they gave us their theory. They believe that the van was backfed through the jumper cables. Basically the batteries in the truck over-charged and the extra energy was fed back through the jumper cables and over heated the van batteries. We wondered if the new power steering pump malfunctioned causing some of the fluid to spark over onto the battery. The damage was done and there was nothing more we could do from it.
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| The firemen look over the van to establish cause for the fire. |
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| No steering where, no dashboard, no seats remain from the blazing inferno. |
I felt bad for not believing in Elizabeth when she told us she seen smoke. We should of looked right away when she said she seen smoke. Brian just came from the outdoors just a few minutes prior. Fire was the last thing that was on our minds or that one would even start. I told her that we should of believed her in knowing what she seen. She looked up at us sadly and said, "I told you I seen smoke."
The climax to our troubles was not yet over with. We look over at the semi which still didn't want to start. We look over at our GMC which wasn't working and we looked over at our charred Plymouth and realize we are totally without transportation. Brian had to cancel his run because the Plymouth was smack dab in front of the truck and we couldn't move the van because of the holiday. We had to wait until January 2nd for the scrap metal place to reopen from the holiday and take the van away. We ended up towing our other van to the shop to readily get that fixed. It was a bad start to a new year.
We tried to comfort our depression by telling each other that the van was only a 7 seater and we would soon need 8 seats but this would not be the way I would want to get rid of the van. I was happy to have my husband home to ring in the new year even if it was in horrible circumstances. Five years later there is still a burned spot in our driveway from where the van caught fire. Little bits of melted scrap metal pieces lie within the gravel of the driveway. When I mow near that spot I cannot help but think of that terrible New Year's Eve Day.
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