Oh Lord, another one

You just can't slow down old Father Time. His brother, The Grim Reaper, needs the business.

Yes follks, it's my birthday again. Happens every year. I'm not really morbid about the whole thing - it's more a sense of resignation that there's not a darn thing I can do about it.

I'm enjoying my thirties, and I'll be sad to see them go. No doubt I'll probably enjoy my forties, too, but I'm rather attached to this decade of life and would love to keep it indefinitely.

Possibly the biggest redeeming factor about the advance of years is the increasing enjoymnet and wonder that I experience as a parent.

I do enjoy the odd present here and there. I most certainly enjoy a Birthday dinner. The best gift I've had all day is the hug and 'Happy Birthday Daddy' I received from my daughter first thing this morning.

Right now my two children are pretending to be hockey players (ice hockey) and are 'skating' around the kitchen. My daughter has butterfly wings and a ballerina skirt. Priceless.

Fifty words for snow

Apparently, so everyone will tell you, Eskimos have fifty words for snow.

Researching this I have come to discover that this isn't strictly accurate, and is in fact just an arbitrary number that someone came up with since it sounded impressive. The reality isn't that interesting, and another nice idea goes down the drain.

I am not one of these people that await the arrival of the first flakes with giddy anticipation. I am not an avid skier, snowboarder, nordic skier or snowmobiler. I'll snowshoe from time to time, but only because I like to hike and it's easier that way.

In all its gleaming sunlit virgin glory, snow can be a wonderful sight. Unfortunately, it often doesn't take that form and can be an enormous pain in the rear.

Today's minor snowfall (the Weather Service keeps changing the forecast from 5-7 inches this morning, to less than one inch at 6pm, and now 1-2 inches) is one such weather event. It's slushy. It's wet. It's annoying to clean off of things. So, in my mind it shouldn't occupy the same word. This is more like 'frozen accumulating precipitation'. Catchy, huh ?

So, we need more than one word in the English language to describe snow. If any of the people who decide these things are reading, I'd like you to consider this and make the appropriate changes. Let me know when you're done.

Thank you.

Giving Thanks

This is one of my favorite times of year. Not just because my birthday is right around the corner, but because of the Thanksgiving Holiday.

Unlike most other overhyped, oversold, or plain overwhelming holidays, Thanksgiving has somehow escaped the overcommercialism of Christmas and Easter. It's a holiday that everyone gets to celebrate - regardless of race, colour, religion, sexual orientation and income. The simple thing about Thanksgiving is that it's really just about that - gathering together and being thankful. For your family, friends and what you have. You don't have to thank God - whichever or whatever deity you worship - it's more about just being reflective and stopping to take a minute.

I also enjoy the general lack of stress prior to the actual day. There's no tree, lights, presents, cards, religious services or TV specials. Other than making sure you have the requisite Turkey, trimmings and plenty of booze - it's all pretty low key.

Being a relative newcomer to the US (going on 13 years now), I immediately took to Thanksgiving. We didn't have it in England, and here was a time of year when you could get together, have a great meal and get a day off work without stressing about it for a month. It's also nice to throw political correctness to the wind and be able to wish all and sundry a 'Happy Thanksgiving !' without concern of offending someone's religious sensibilities.

This year will be a bit different. My wife and children will be at her parents' in Connecticut. I'm on call for the Ambulance that day, so I'll be here at home. The rest of my crew will be coming over for dinner, and we'll all sup ginger ale and hope we don't get called. It'll be nice, though. A different kind of family, but one I'm just as thankful for.

So, to any reader - no matter where you are in the World - take a moment next Thursday and join the millions of Americans in being just a little more thankful for the gifts that we have, and remember the millions who aren't as fortunate.

Another FIRE

I wonder if undertakers feel guilty when another stiff comes rolling in. On the one hand, it means business. On the other, someone had to die. Still, it wasn't the undertaker who was responsible for them dying, just cleaning things up.

The same is true of fireman, I guess. I mean, we don't make the fires (Ok, some firefighters have been arrested for arson, but not as a rule) we just go put them out.

Our first real chimney fire of the year. If there was ever a better demonstration of why you should clean your chimney, this was it. I'm amazed the smoke could even make it to the top, there was so much creosote and soot caked in the flue. He was lucky, though - he didn't lose the house and has only a bit of a cracked chimney and some smoke damage. Could have been a lot worse.

Still, It's nice to be needed.

Oh, BUGGER !

Many moons ago, back in my oh so distant carefree youth, I buggered up my knee. Whatever I did caused my knee to swell up to melon like proportions and made walking quite a challenge. Being on a hiking trip in France at the time, and without healthcare, the only solution was to rest it as much as possible and soldier on. Eventually, the swelling went away and the knee returned to normal (well, mostly normal).

Fast forward a number of years (I won't write down how many, since that alone makes me feel old), and somehow the old injury is back. I'm pretty sure that this time it objected to me crawling around on the new porch roof with a nailgun, or stepping up and down a 2 foot step every time I got up on to the porch (memo to self: build steps).

Either way, I've gone and done it in again. This time, I think I may have to actually go and see a medical professional. It must be a male thing, but I hate admitting that I actually have something WRONG with my body, and see a visit to the doctor as admitting defeat. Couple this with the general apathy of most doctors to any type of sporting activity ('Well, if it hurts, you should stop doing that activity') and I guess I haven't really seen the point. Truth is, though, I WANT to be able to take a run without shooting knee pain, and I most definitely don't want to get 'melon knee' again anytime soon - it really cramps your style.

So, off to the doc I shall go.

Nothing like a good fire...

Yesterday was something of an interesting day. As a fireman, I wouldn't say exactly that you WISH for a fire, but you're never unhappy when you get to go and put one out - no matter how small it is.

We got a tone around 10:30 or so, for a reported fire at a sugar house in town. For those who don't understand all of the complexities of maple sugar production, the sugar house is where all of the sap is stored, boiled, condensed and turned from tree sap into yummy pancake topping. This process occurs once a year at the END of winter. How does an unmanned, unheated, remote shack with no electricity catch fire ? Gooood question.

Within 10 minutes, we were at the scene which from the outset looked to be mostly a mopup job. Small structures like this one are typically down on the ground within minutes of the inception of the fire - there's so little structure to burn that it doesn't take long. Our job at this point is to cool down hot spots, rake over all of the debris and hunt for any leftover fire.

The challenge with this one was the access - a very steep, very rutted, very muddy track for about 200 yards. Hauling 2 1/2 inch line up such a track can be a challenge - even dry it weighs quite a bit. Once it's to the fire, the line is 'charged' and we go to work. If you've never operated a nozzle on the end of a 2 1/2 inch line, let me tell you - it's hard work. None of your garden hose pressure here. We're talking 150 psi, 500 gpm water monster in your hands. The job of the man on the nozzle is really just to direct the flow - not so much to hold the line. That is the job of the backup man (or preferrably two backup men). Their job is to wrestle the beast and try to keep everyone on the ground, not flying away from the back pressure (or nozzle reaction). This is hard on muddy, sloping wet ground.

Nonetheless, within a half hour the site was cool, we were much dirtier and we could go home. Which is of course, where the crappy bit starts. Now you get to drain and pack hundreds of feet of hose that has been in a mud puddle. Cart it back to the station. Hose it down, connect it back up and repack it on the truck. I'm not sure which is the dirtier job - the black fire ash, or the hose cleanup.

Either way, once all is said and done I can go home feeling I've done something useful today. Plus my bunker gear smells like fire once again.

Deadbeat

The Tavern was a small, cozy respite from the dreay November rain falling in sheets outside.

The open fire made the atmosphere warm and inviting.

The food was delicious and beautifully prepared.

The check was presented, the credit card declined. Declined ?

At such a moment (and I'm sure that at some point or another this must happen to everyone) you feel like a complete deadbeat, someone trying to sneak a bad credit card to pay your bill.

You run through the mental checklist of 'did I pay the bill' or 'did the card get cancelled' or 'did I go over my limit' ? Yes, no and no.

Rummaging through my wallet, I find the replacement. 'Here, try this one' I say, trying to sound like someone who is confident that he's not down to his last penny and desparately trying to find a card with some room left on it (been there, though). The waitress smiles, trying to give me that 'Oh, it's OK - this happens ALL the time' look, while all the while I know she's thinking 'poor bastard, he must be broke'.

The second card is accepted and no kitchen chores have to be performed before we are allowed to leave the restaurant.

I come to discover later that my credit card provider had thoughtfully sent me out an 'upgraded' card and thoughtfully cancelled the old one before I received it. It's nice to be so special.

I'm so complex

For those of you who own a Tivo, I need make no more explanantion since you are aware of the wonders of this gadget.

Any who don't should consider themselves technological neophytes beyond help, but I'll tell you just so that you understand. Tivo is sort of a cross between a VCR, a computer and Mr. Spock. It revolutionizes the process of watching TV. In addition to the interesting features of being able to pause and rewind live TV, the best part is that you can record shows by simply selecting the one you like from the guide and BOOM - every episode will be saved by the gorgeous Tivo for your viewing pleasure. What you then end up with is a library of stuff on your magic black box that you want to watch, and you can do so when the time is good for you (say, after the kids are in bed or on a Sunday afternoon instead of Thursday night at 9PM).

There is one feature that has let me down, though. Maybe it's MY fault. Maybe my viewing habits are just so extremely diverse as to define logic. Even an FBI profiler would be stumped, I suppose.

See, Tivo is supposed to look at what YOU choose to record and then by searching long and hard through its millions of upcoming shows, pick something else you might like and record it just in case you're interested. This is called 'TiVo Suggestions'.

At first, TiVo picked all kinds of stuff. Alas, all of it crap. Gradually, it must have felt shunned since I never watched any of its little video gems. Now, I think it has just given up. Poor little thing.

There must be something wrong with me.

I've come out

So, it finally happened. It's not that I was keeping it a secret, exactly. Just that I wasn't advertising it. I haven't felt that I'm living a lie or anything. It's all so innocent.

It all started as something personal - just to see if I could do it, whether I had it in me and if I could stick to it.

I didn't tell my wife just because when it all began there wasn't anything to tell, and I wanted to have something to show for it.

Anyway, thanks to my slightly nosey father, the truth came out. Now everybody in my family knows that I have a blog. Thanks, Dad.

Still, my 'modus operandi' all along was to write with the knowledge that my lovely wife would someday read every sordid word. With this in mind, I avoid all manner of potentially inflammatory topics and keep my sex life intact (thanks, honey).

Personally, I think that my family doesn't find it that interesting anyway. Hopefully they've all buggered off and left me in peace (not referring to you, honey).