How DO you find the time ?

To all and any who care (and this list is small and limited) I have been a bit absent lately, I know. In my defense, I have been a tad busy. I have also been a tad unmotivated to put virtual pen to paper. Work, life, house, EMT class, kids, house, life, EMT class, ambulance calls and firemans balls. Busy, busy, busy.

I admire all of you who find the time and the inspiration to write something more than just a few paragraphs of drivel on a daily basis. I doff my cap to you, I do.

In big news, tomorrow is my 'naturalization' interview. It's where I get to find out if I'm eligible to join the club of American Citizens. Could be a big day. I'll let you know.

Now I'm off to be busy again.

No bones about it

I have a new found respect for all those in the medical profession.

I'm in the process of reviewing anatomy for my EMT-B Class, and let me tell you - there's a LOT to know. The amazing thing is that I'm not even scratching the surface - we're only learning the real basic stuff. My naturally inquisitive nature often wants a bit more perspective, so this handy web reference certainly gives that. It's then that you realize just how much STUFF your average med student and/or doctor has bouncing around in their noggin (and how many bits there are inside this fleshy bag we call a body).

Of course, they also have to remember all the OTHER stuff, like diseases and ailments, medications, procedures and such. It's no small wonder that medical school takes so long. It is a small wonder that so many people make it. God bless 'em.

Still, with all that knowledge it still ticks me off when I'm sick. After two weeks of suffering I finally drag myself to the doctor (or more correctly, my wife made me go). Expecting final relief after my period of stoic suffering, I'm disappointed to discover that it's probably viral and that I should 'take 4 ibuprofen' when I need them. Er, thanks - I already figured that one out.

Anyway, today is now officially 'Hug a Medical Professional Day'.

Oh, well, it's actually Martin Luther King, Jr. Day - so maybe tomorrow ?

Surrender

So, I gave in.

For the first time EVER, I have allowed another carpenter (dare I say a PROFESSIONAL Carpenter) to work on my house.

I think I've just reached the point where I really want stuff to get finished, and I'm tired of doing it myself. I made a valiant effort with the porch - I got the thing 80% done before snow and had a roof on. I spent countless days nailing and finishing the floor. I spent cold days up ladders nailing on trim.

I have exceeded my personal budget of enthusiasm, and when the opportunity arose for a friend of mine who is a carpenter to spend some time on it, I gave in.

Now, I can safely say that there is NOTHING quite so nice as sitting on the couch and hearing the sounds of someone else sawing, nailing and banging away.

Still, I'd better not get used to it. My wallet can't take this kind of luxury for too long....

Nicole Kidman !

So, I did not see Nicole Kidman today. I had no brush with stardom.

I'll admit that I'm quite fond of Nicole. I think she is a very attractive woman, and a good actress to boot. I loved 'The Interpreter'.

So, I was a bit sad to hear that she was here in our teeny little town, hanging out in our teeny little coffee shop (Green Tea with Jasmine, apparently, in case you were wondering), mere yards from my upstairs office space. I missed out.

Oh well. Next time. Wonder how many Google hits I'll get from people searching for 'Naked Nicole Kidman Pictures' ? Oops.

Happy Hangover

For all those who, unlike myself, partied long and wild. Happy New Year !

There will be a year when I stay up past 10 O'Clock. Maybe when the kids are older. Then again, maybe I'm just not cut out for the job of drunken reveler. Some of us just don't have it in us, I guess. There's always the sensible one in every crowd, and maybe I am that person.

Oh well. Happy Hangovers to all the people that carried out their duties and partied hard for the rest us.

It's all uphill from here

The Winter Solstice is here ! Things aren't as bad in Vermont as they can be in other parts of the world, where the sun barely makes an appearance during the short winter months and people go nuts without daylight. Still, it gets pretty cold and wintry and it is nice to know that you are headed (theoretically) for Spring.

Last night some friends of ours threw their first (annual) Solstice Party, which was a lot of fun. Part of the festivities included a nighttime snow shoe hike. Since they live across the street from our neighborhood ski resort, we started off straight up one of the runs to the top of the hill. About five minutes in I wished that I hadn't started the second beer a half an hour before, and another five minutes after that I began to regret having layered up for the Arctic cold (I should point out that the windchill was forecast to be 5 degrees F or -15 celsius). Rather than suffering hypothermia, the opposite was starting to be true and I was dying of the heat. Despite all of this, I managed to drag my ass up the remainder of the hike, briefly enjoy the pristine hilltop view, and then slither back down the hill.

As a demonstration of how bad this made me feel, I wasn't able to drink another beer for at least 30 minutes.

So, a lesson learned. Don't overdress, since it's just as bad as wearing too little. I guess I could have stopped to de-layer, but once you've got your groove on (and your teeth are gritted), there's just no stopping.

Nevertheless, a great thing to do on the solstice, and hopefully a winter tradition.

You'd better not poot

Last month we finally bit the bullet and moved my son out of his crib and into his 'big boy' bed. I'd been resisting this move a little, since I was quite happy with the status quo and feared the consequences of having a lively 2 1/2 year old bouncing around his room at all hours of the day and night.

The first weeks were a little 'challenging', shall we say. He didn't really enjoy the process and would stand wailing at the safety gate erected in his doorway, until finally becoming too tired and falling asleep, often on the floor. On one occasion he awoke at 3am and turned on his lights, playing loudly. It didn't take us long to figure out that unscrewing the lightbulb in the fixture would be a good idea.

Anyhoo, the upshot of all of this is that he's now awake earlier and opens his door first thing. Now that he's over the 'screaming to come get me' phase, it's actually fairly fun to lie in bed and listen to his little monologue.

These days, he is performing an enthusiastic rendition of 'Santa Claus is coming to town'. He does know a good number of the words, and those he doesn't are more than made up for by both sheer volume and repeating the previous line, or substituting 'You'd better not poot, you'd better not cry' (I am spelling 'poot' per his pronunciation).

He has yet to scale the gate and break free from the bonds of parental oppression, but the day cannot be far away. I have already caught his sister passing him step stools over the gate to construct a rickety tower. You have to be impressed at their organization, improvisation and ingenuity, though.

I just hope that after Christmas is done we can get him to switch to another tune, or we'll be hearing 'Santa Claus....' until Easter.

It can't be this easy...

I am feeling no stress. Not even the tiniest little bit.

Which makes me worried. Normally around this time of year, I'm feeling harried and hurried preparing for Christmas. Not that I personally have a LOT to do, you understand, just that I have a tendency to be a bit of a procrastinator.

I think two major factors could be involved in this unusual pre holiday serenity. Firstly, I only have one person to shop for - my wife. She in turn buys gifts for the other 300 people on her list. ("Oh, but you HAVE to buy a gift for that nice man that dropped off our refrigerator two years ago - he was sooo helpful"). Secondly, we moved to Vermont. I don't mean to indicate some kind of Bermuda Triangle calming effect, but since we are a bit farther from a large variety of shops, you tend to either plan ahead or shop online (which mostly also requires planning ahead).

All of the other sundry Christmassy things appear to have fallen in line, and I can't thing of anything I should be worried about. Not a thing. Did I MISS something ? It just can't be this easy.

Incidentally, gift shopping for my super spouse was completed before the month of December even began. Now THAT'S organization !

Brrrr

Even Brass monkeys would be migrating.

Ah, Luxury

It's nice once in a while to really splash out and do something decadent. It's even nicer if it involves a babysitter and two nights away without the kids. Woohoo !

I took my lovely wife to Boston for a two day break, and BOY did we have fun. We shopped (too much), we dined (too much), we drank (waay too much) and we even got cultural at the Museum of Fine Art's Ansel Adams exhibit. I'd highly recommend the latter if you're in or near Boston. I've been a fan of his work for a while, but this exhibit has some very rare pieces that will surprise and educate you to the truly varied work of this genius artist.

I'm too relaxed to think of anything more creative. I'm sure normal life will resume again very soon.

Small town, small life ?

I wonder sometimes what it must be like to live and die in the same place, never moving, never exploring a wider world.

There are generally two types of locals in this town that would fit this description.

The first is of the 'glass half full' mentality, fully of the mind that there isn't anything much worth exploring outside of the immediate area and that this is simply the most wonderful place that God ever made. Ever cheerful, helpful and friendly this individual is known and respected by almost everyone. The reassurance and sense of self that comes from knowing every facet of your surroundings must be wonderful.

The other is rather less appealing. The 'miserable bugger' seems unable to leave what he deems as a shithole of a town, and so drags out every day life with all of the enthusiasm of a child on the way to a dentist's appointment. He'll waste no opportunity to gripe and tell you about how the place has gone downhill, point out all of its shortcomings and generally spread his dark cloud in your direction. He seems to lack the courage to do anything else and so remains locked in the same daily cycle of life, doomed to live out his days in small town hell.

I think we're pretty lucky that most local residents who can claim to be 'true locals' fall into the first category - maybe that's what makes this place so special for those of us who come late to living here.

Since I left 'home' pretty early in life, I'll never know what it's like to have the same constant of place. Maybe that's a good thing.

It's got to be real...

Tomorrow, my little family will set out on our annual hunting expedition. We'll go armed with warm clothing, sharp implements and keen eyes for picking out the perfect specimen.

I like to do things the old fashioned way.

Sure you get buy them at the supermarket, the gas station or many vendors who dot the streets at this time of year. Somehow, going out and wrestling the thing with your own bare hands just adds to the experience. A little snow on the ground only adds to the festive feel.

Nope, Deer season is over. Now it's Christmas Tree season.

Living here in Vermont, there's no shortage of tree farms that cater to the 'cut it yourself' crowd. Searching row upon row of potential candidates adds to the excitement of finding that pine with the perfect symmetry, right height and correct degree of bushiness. There follows some crawling around on the ground, pruning of lower limbs and general huffing and puffing as the bow saw is put to use toppling the lucky winner.

At this point one realizes that it's a half mile uphill back to the car, dragging an 80 pound conifer. It's all good exercise, right ?

Still, nothing beats the aroma of a real pine tree at Christmas. We've never had a fake one, and I just cannot imagine they're the same. Not only is the smell different, but where's the fun in dragging a dusty old box out of the attic every year ?

Give me the thrill of the hunt anytime.

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.