We had gotten back out on the road again having cared for mom after her stroke for four months. Life was returning to its usual road routine, and the world was spinning in greased grooves once more. Then we were in Johnstown, Ohio one monday morning and the cell phone rang. I could see from the caller ID it was an old high school buddy of mine, Tom Furr, and I knew it was unusual for him to be calling and, thus, I knew something was up. But I wasn't even remotely prepared for what. Donny Lindsey was dead. He was 51 years old.
Donny Lindsey was my best friend in high school. We met through school and church, and he and I and Larry Gore became known around our church as the Three Musketeers, because if one of us was there, the other two were not far away. Tom Furr would become the fourth musketeer later in high school. We all played softball together, chased girls together, did all the things that teenaged boys do. Donny and I spent an entire summer together both bemoaning the losses of girlfriends, and we wore out a copy of Elton John's "Captain Fantastic and the Brown Dirt Cowboy." (See: We All Fall in Love Sometimes/Curtains) We were a pretty pathetic pair of musketeers! Donny and I were the male leads of our high school musical, Bye Bye Birdie, him playing the rock star and me playing his manager. It was perfect casting. Neither of us had to act, we just had to memorize our lines and cues. Donny was the one of us that the girls fought over to get. Me, Larry and Tom just hung around and waited for the fallout. And he had a quick wit about him too. He had the personality that caused people to naturally gravitate to him. After high school, I stayed at home and commuted to Georgia State University, as did Larry. Donny and Tom went to work. But we still hung out together and played ball for another couple of years. Then Larry left to follow a dream of becoming a pilot. Donny and I began to drift apart as we went in different directions in life. I went years without seeing or hearing from him, but every now and then our paths would cross. Donny had never attended one of our high school reunions until our thirtieth, in 2006. Donna had met Donny just twice, when his mother passed away and when my father died, and thus had not seen the funny side of Donny. We laughed all night long, mainly because of Donny. When we were leaving, she complained of her face hurting from laughing so much. That was Donny. It wasn't the last time I would talk to him, but it was the last time I saw him alive.
I have been reflecting on the past. I remembered my cousin Ralph. Ralph (along with practically all my relatives)lived in south Georgia and was three years older than me but he was the youngest of 5 brothers. I think he and I were close because with me he wasn't the youngest and he could be the big brother. Our birthday were both in July; his the sixth and mine the ninth. In fact, one year he was nine on the sixth and I was six on the ninth. When I was growing up, our house was a revolving door of cousins coming to the big city and living with us for a while. Ralph was no exception and he lived with us one summer after we had moved to Lithia Springs. But we too lost contact, the current of our lives moving us in different directions. About the time Donna and I got together word came that Ralph was having problems. Recurring headaches, balance and memory issues. He had had some skin cancers removed from his back about four years earlier and they had metastisized into brain cancer. He had surgery and it had left him with a left arm that was basically useless and weakness in his left leg. One of his brothers had hit it pretty big in Nashville and his daughter was getting married in the fall, shortly after the surgery. Ron made arrangements for everyone to come and stay in Nashville for the wedding and I kind of took care of Ralph (seeing how I had been a therapist), helping him get dressed and walking around. My best memory of this was once we were getting into the limo and he began getting into the car like anyone else would. I grabbed him and said, "Whoa, I know thats not how they taught you to do that in rehab!" He turned and grinned the Ralph grin. "Oh yeah!" he replied. I saw him again at his house in south Georgia a couple of weeks later. I had been down with family and was coming by to tell him bye. He was asleep in a recliner. I didn't want to wake him up so I left. It was the last time I saw him alive. He passed away a week or two later. He was 44 years old.
Ramona was my first serious girlfriend in high school; the one who, as the late great Lewis Grizzard would say, "tore my heart out and stomped that sucker flat", the one who I wore out "Captain Fantastic" over. She and I had a tumultuous, on again off again three years. The first breakup was the one that almost did me in. She broke up with me in the spring of my junior year. She was a senior (rare in high school for that to happen). I was devastated to the point of having what I guess was a minibreakdown, coming down with shingles and spending a couple of days in bed at one point. During this, I had won a couple of speaking tournaments through the Georgia Baptist Convention, and I had another competition shortly after the breakdown. My dad was an old school dad, not a lot of babying and most physical contact was discipline or horsing around. But this time, waiting my turn to speak, he was sitting beside me and he put his around me as we sat there. I was 15 or 16 years old. I never will forget it. Anyway, Mona and I finally broke up for good in the fall of my freshman year in college. I went many years without seeing her; I heard she got married and had a child. One day in church I was walking down a hall, someone passed me and I heard from behind me, "Calvin???" It took me a second or two. "Mona???" We spoke for just a moment or two and then went our separate ways. It was the last time I would see her. In the middle of dad's fight with Alzheimers I got word that she had cancer. I debated trying to go and see her but I didn't. Donna and I were on the road at this point but we happened to be home when the phone rang in the middle of the night. Mom called to say that dad had fallen out of bed and she couldn't get him back in. Now when I was a child I would sometimes fall out of bed onto the floor and not wake up. Dad would pick me up and put me back in bed. The circle had come around and now I was picking him up. Two days later a friend of mine calls me and lets me know Mona had passed away. I couldn't bring myself to go to the funeral. Instead I sat in my recliner at home and stared at the fireplace. Between her death and what was going on with Dad I was feeling a furious whirlwind of emotions and memories and couldn't make much sense of them. Donna came in the room and asked if I wanted to talk. At first I said no, but when I started, I couldn't stop. I began bawling like I have never bawled in my adult life. But in talking it out I connected the event I wrote of earlier with the present and made some sense of it all. Mona's breakup with me caused me to have what was probably my most precious memory of my father when I was a teenager. And at the time of her death, I had my most sad and precious memory of him towards the end of his life. Mona was in her mid forties when she died.
There is a song on Neil Diamond's first greatest hits album; "Done Too Soon". Its starts with a peppy rock/pop sound and the verses are just names of famous people who are no longer with us strung together and rhymed("Jesus Christ, Fanny Brice. Wolfgang Mozart and Humphrey Bogart" etc.). But the chorus changes gears and goes quiet and solemn...
"Each one there,
has one thing to share;
They have sweated beneath the same sun,
looked up in wonder at the same moon.
And wept when it was all done.
For bein' done too soon.
For bein' done
too soon."
I have been thinking about this song since November. I haven't been able to bring myself to blog, but I wouldn't write about anything else until I got this down. In the last ten years I have lost the cousin I was closest to as a kid, my first love from high school, and my best friend from high school. All were "done too soon." Now my mother is facing a long downhill spiral following a stroke and is just a shell of her former self with no idea how much longer this is going to last. My father died three years ago after a horrific seven years of Alzhiemer's. And I'm left pondering an awful question:
Is is better to be "done too soon" than "done too LATE"?
Donny was creamated and at his funeral his daughters carried his ashes down the aisle to the front of the chapel. Because he wouldn't be there to walk them at their weddings. Ralph was just beginning to start a blueberry farming venture in Baxley. Mona won't be around to help her son grow into a man. And yet, they are spared from the inexorable ravages of time. So: would you trade ten GOOD years off your life if you knew it would save you from ten BAD years? I don't know. At this point, I believe I would.
But on a final, less grim note, one of my favorite memories with Donny: We saw the Eagles in concert for the Hotel California tour some thirty four years ago and their last encore in that concert was "James Dean". So its chorus is my final tribute to Donny Lindsey, the king of cool in high school;
"You were too fast to live,
too young to die,
bye-bye."
Saturday, April 10, 2010
Monday, March 22, 2010
Travelin' By Faith
Calvin is usually the one posting but I had something I wanted to share.
I know from time to time God reveals Himself to us but this one was too powerful not to share. I first have to give you a little background so you’ll understand why this God moment was so powerful.
As most of you know, Calvin and I drive for FedEx Custom Critical and we drive all over the country. We have many opportunities for God moments and this is one of them. About a year ago I was reading in my bible in Luke, chapter 14. In verses 25 through 35 Jesus teaches about the cost of being a disciple and this is where God spoke to me. No, not audibly but just placed a question in my heart. He asked me, “Have you considered the cost of following me?” I remember looking up and thinking, “What does it matter, If we love you don’t we have to follow you no matter what?” I didn’t receive an answer. Later I would find out why. A few months after this I was driving my 11 hour shift. I have tons of time to talk to God and sometimes I even listen. This particular time He placed a question in my heart, “Do you believe me?” “Of course I believe you.” I replied. He said, “I know you believe in me, but do you believe me?” Hmm, I didn’t really think there was, but I guess there is a difference. I didn’t answer Him right away because I felt like I had come to a crossroad moment in my faith and I had to think seriously about my answer. I thought for a few days and told Him, “Yes, I not only believe in you but I believe you.” I knew His words to be true.
Now, fast forward to March 2010, my birthday is coming up and my youngest daughter, Terri, flies home to celebrate with the rest of us. As Terri and I are driving around town, I share with her these things that God and I have been discussing. We stopped to shop in Lifeway bookstore. Terri came across a bible study by Beth Moore and brought it to me. She asked if I had done the study “Believing God.” At first I told her I was sure I had because I’ve done all of them except her new one about Esther. Terri asked, “Are you SURE you’ve done this one?” Beth Moore had had the same conversation I was having with God. I was stunned!
Then, on my birthday, Terri and I went to hear President Jimmy Carter teach Sunday school in his church in Plains. His lesson was from Luke 13 about Jesus healing the crippled woman on the Sabbath and how, as usual, the synagogue rulers were upset with the people for coming to be healed on the Sabbath. It amazes me how they weren’t blown away by the fact that there was someone present who could actually HEAL this woman, they were just concerned about their rules being broken. Jesus had already taught that it was lawful to do “good” on the Sabbath. The point, I think, President Carter was making is Jesus went ahead and did things that were good even if it went against the rules. Then the visiting pastor preached from Luke 14. YEP -verses 25 through 35, the cost!
Okay, so you’re probably asking yourselves, “Where is she going with this?” Glad you asked.
March 11th we got a job picking up in Bath, New York going to McAlester, Oklahoma. The next day, March 12th, we were 238 miles away from McAlester when I saw an elderly gentlemen on the side of the road hitchhiking. He was holding his little cardboard sign that read “Need ride to McAlester, OK” WHAT? NO WAY! God wants me to pick this man up and give him a ride? I can’t! It’s against the rules!
I began to pray, “Oh, God, PLEASE send someone to pick this poor old man up, he needs a ride.”
God said, “I sent you.”
“But God, we can’t pick him up. We’re not allowed to, it’s against FedEx rules. We could lose our jobs.”
God said, “Some people lose their lives doing my will.”
As I continue to drive down the road debating this with God I cross a bridge over a creek named “TURNBACK CREEK!” I KID YOU NOT!!! Another mile down the road (yes, I’m still driving) there is a billboard on the left hand side of the road that is old and partially torn. All that I could read was “…word of God… and death...” I’m still driving down the road and mile after mile, driving further and further away from this elderly gentleman when God’s words came back to me – THE COST! I guess I really didn’t understand the cost as it pertained to me. I was not willing to lose my job or explain what was going on to Calvin so I kept driving.
No, I never did turn around. At first I felt as though God was wagging His finger at me saying “I gave you a test and you failed, MISERABLY! I asked you for a cup of water; you didn’t give it to me. When I was hungry; you didn’t feed me. When I ‘NEEDED A RIDE’ you didn’t give me one.” But it was satan beating me up, not God. God gently told me I didn’t fail. It was a lesson to teach me His ways, to learn that sometimes I may have to go completely against what is right to me and do what is right to Him.
I learned that I was NOT prepared for the cost. I just wasn’t. The song “I Surrender All” came to my mind and I had to ask myself, do I? Have I? Will I? This time it was just a man needing a ride. One day it may be someone’s eternal life at stake.
By the way, the state we were in when we saw the elderly gentleman hitchhiking was Missouri – the “SHOW ME” state. Ironic, huh?
Thank you for the privilege of sharing the powerful message God shared with me.
I know from time to time God reveals Himself to us but this one was too powerful not to share. I first have to give you a little background so you’ll understand why this God moment was so powerful.
As most of you know, Calvin and I drive for FedEx Custom Critical and we drive all over the country. We have many opportunities for God moments and this is one of them. About a year ago I was reading in my bible in Luke, chapter 14. In verses 25 through 35 Jesus teaches about the cost of being a disciple and this is where God spoke to me. No, not audibly but just placed a question in my heart. He asked me, “Have you considered the cost of following me?” I remember looking up and thinking, “What does it matter, If we love you don’t we have to follow you no matter what?” I didn’t receive an answer. Later I would find out why. A few months after this I was driving my 11 hour shift. I have tons of time to talk to God and sometimes I even listen. This particular time He placed a question in my heart, “Do you believe me?” “Of course I believe you.” I replied. He said, “I know you believe in me, but do you believe me?” Hmm, I didn’t really think there was, but I guess there is a difference. I didn’t answer Him right away because I felt like I had come to a crossroad moment in my faith and I had to think seriously about my answer. I thought for a few days and told Him, “Yes, I not only believe in you but I believe you.” I knew His words to be true.
Now, fast forward to March 2010, my birthday is coming up and my youngest daughter, Terri, flies home to celebrate with the rest of us. As Terri and I are driving around town, I share with her these things that God and I have been discussing. We stopped to shop in Lifeway bookstore. Terri came across a bible study by Beth Moore and brought it to me. She asked if I had done the study “Believing God.” At first I told her I was sure I had because I’ve done all of them except her new one about Esther. Terri asked, “Are you SURE you’ve done this one?” Beth Moore had had the same conversation I was having with God. I was stunned!
Then, on my birthday, Terri and I went to hear President Jimmy Carter teach Sunday school in his church in Plains. His lesson was from Luke 13 about Jesus healing the crippled woman on the Sabbath and how, as usual, the synagogue rulers were upset with the people for coming to be healed on the Sabbath. It amazes me how they weren’t blown away by the fact that there was someone present who could actually HEAL this woman, they were just concerned about their rules being broken. Jesus had already taught that it was lawful to do “good” on the Sabbath. The point, I think, President Carter was making is Jesus went ahead and did things that were good even if it went against the rules. Then the visiting pastor preached from Luke 14. YEP -verses 25 through 35, the cost!
Okay, so you’re probably asking yourselves, “Where is she going with this?” Glad you asked.
March 11th we got a job picking up in Bath, New York going to McAlester, Oklahoma. The next day, March 12th, we were 238 miles away from McAlester when I saw an elderly gentlemen on the side of the road hitchhiking. He was holding his little cardboard sign that read “Need ride to McAlester, OK” WHAT? NO WAY! God wants me to pick this man up and give him a ride? I can’t! It’s against the rules!
I began to pray, “Oh, God, PLEASE send someone to pick this poor old man up, he needs a ride.”
God said, “I sent you.”
“But God, we can’t pick him up. We’re not allowed to, it’s against FedEx rules. We could lose our jobs.”
God said, “Some people lose their lives doing my will.”
As I continue to drive down the road debating this with God I cross a bridge over a creek named “TURNBACK CREEK!” I KID YOU NOT!!! Another mile down the road (yes, I’m still driving) there is a billboard on the left hand side of the road that is old and partially torn. All that I could read was “…word of God… and death...” I’m still driving down the road and mile after mile, driving further and further away from this elderly gentleman when God’s words came back to me – THE COST! I guess I really didn’t understand the cost as it pertained to me. I was not willing to lose my job or explain what was going on to Calvin so I kept driving.
No, I never did turn around. At first I felt as though God was wagging His finger at me saying “I gave you a test and you failed, MISERABLY! I asked you for a cup of water; you didn’t give it to me. When I was hungry; you didn’t feed me. When I ‘NEEDED A RIDE’ you didn’t give me one.” But it was satan beating me up, not God. God gently told me I didn’t fail. It was a lesson to teach me His ways, to learn that sometimes I may have to go completely against what is right to me and do what is right to Him.
I learned that I was NOT prepared for the cost. I just wasn’t. The song “I Surrender All” came to my mind and I had to ask myself, do I? Have I? Will I? This time it was just a man needing a ride. One day it may be someone’s eternal life at stake.
By the way, the state we were in when we saw the elderly gentleman hitchhiking was Missouri – the “SHOW ME” state. Ironic, huh?
Thank you for the privilege of sharing the powerful message God shared with me.
Saturday, November 14, 2009
Detours
On January 31, 2007, my father passed away after a long fight with Alzheimer's. My mother was doggedly determined to keep him at home as long as possible and did so until the day before Dad died in a hospice care facility. While we had a person who came several times a day to help Mom with grooming Dad and some other issues, Mom bore the brunt of duty, and it took a noticeable toll on her. She had some major adjustment issues after his passing, as it was the first time in her entire seventy four years she had lived alone. But she persevered.
It was maybe a year later that we all began to notice changes in Mom's behavior, mainly that she was becoming less able to mantain a conversation. But in all other things it appeared that she was functioning fine alone. But the downhill slide in her ability to interact with everyone continued.
Then in June of this year, while we were in the New England area, my sister Cynthia called. She is a teacher in north Georgia and not able to get down to see Mom on a frequent basis. My niece Kimberly and her husband Tim live near Mom and she had called her mom (Cynthia) to tell her that they had taken Mom to the ER because she had been trying to cut the grass with the riding lawnmower (something she wasn't supposed to be doing any more)and had rolled it. She wasn't hurt other than bruises, but it came out that also that same week she had a fall in the yard and had a minor car accident and hadn't told any of us.
Cynthia was out of school and was able to go to stay with Mom immediately. Mom was scheduled for an appointment with a neurologist already but not for a couple of months, so we made some calls and got it bumped up to that week. Cynthia took her to the appointment, the doctor diagnosed mild Parkinson's Disease and dementia, put her on Aricept immediately and scheduled a MRI for the following Monday. We drove home that Friday evening/all day Saturday from Buffalo NY and relieved Cynthia so she could go home and take care of some issues. Donna and I took Mom to the MRI appointment on Monday, Donna went to spend Monday night at our house to straighten things up there and I got up Tuesday morning with Mom. I got her breakfast and gave her her meds and sat down in the recliner next to her and asked her a question. What came out of her mouth was a garbled collection of disconnected words that made no sense.
Now I had worked for four years as a therapist at a rehab facility and three years in the assisted living business and knew full well the symptoms of Cerebral Vascular Accident, or stroke. But the only symptom she was presenting was aphasic speech. There were no swallow issues that I could detect, no paralysis of the arms or legs. But I knew of course that SOMETHING was wrong so I told her I would take her to the ER. I started calling Donna to tell her what was going on, and Mom got herself up and got fully dressed on her own, which furthered my belief that she wasn't having a stroke. And the ER doctor, after performing his assessment, said he didn't think so either, but they would do a CT scan anyway. Long story short, Mom HAD had a stroke, and according to the doctor, it was still "evolving."
It's a scary thing as a "child" to be unexpectedly holding your mother's hand in the ER wondering if this is about to be it. With Dad, the entire family was at his bedside when he passed away, and his passing was inevitable, indeed even a blessing. But this was different. Here I was, alone except for Donna, who was in and out taking care of phone calls and all other manner of details. I was remembering what was in Mom's Living Will, and considering the possibility that I might have to make "the" decision in the event of a furthering of the stroke and a crash. But what I remember most about that was looking into my mother's eyes, and seeing the fear in them and knowing that the fact that she couldn't communicate was making it all the more fearful for her. But I know that I was thankful that I was there and able to hold onto her hand and comfort her as she had done for me all through my accident-prone childhood.
The stay at the hospital lasted from Tuesday a.m. and ended Friday afternoon. (The stay itself is a blog in and of its own!) Cynthia and I began to make arrangements as we knew Mom would be unable to live alone anymore and she wanted to stay at her house, if at all possible. Which I really wanted to do after all she sacrificed to keep Dad at home. We located a local woman who did 24 hour in-home care and who knew Mom already. She had been the caregiver for two of Mom's closest friends at church and came highly recommended. She agreed to stay and it looked like Donna and I would be back out on the road in a week or two, tops. Then the woman called and said she had a family crisis she had to attend to and would be unable to work for us. So, not knowing anyone else that was doing 24 hour care, we contacted an agency. But, not surprisingly, the rate was double what we were going to pay the other lady. And Donna and I came to the realization that we could stay with her, she would pay our bills and it would be less expensive than the agency. Plus, the freight business had gotten so bad that all we were doing was little more than just paying our bills anyway. It was a win-win scenario. So we decided to stay with Mom and our trucking career had run into a detour.
Cliches become cliches because there is a nugget of truth in them. The cliche I am thinking of now is "Life turns on a dime." Because it does. Any slight variations in time, space and circumstance, and life careens off in another direction that was not expected. Sci-fi movies and books often use the time-travel plot device, so much so that when you are in a group and say something about the "time-space continuum" people actually know what you are talking about. In the stories, one has to be careful when traveling into the past not to change or alter anything or the future you return to could be completely different. Indeed, in "Back to the Future" our hero Marty would have no future in which to return. This is also sometimes referred to as the "Butterfly Effect."
Of course, the same applies to the present. Slightest variations in any and all details of our daily lives send shock waves through the future and alter our lives in ways that often we are not even aware. This occurs even at the celular level of our bodies. A jarring blow to the body dislodges a few small cells of plaque in our blood vessels which travel to our brains, causing a clot which can bring about life-changing complication, yes, even the end of life itself. Or in my last post, if the doe had entered the roadway a second or two later than she did, how could that have changed everything? And God only knows how many of these events occur and we have no idea we just dodged or encountered a life event by a second, even a milli-second, that could have, or even did, alter our life path without us even realizing.
So, it appears Donna and I have returned to the main road after our "detour." After nearly five months at home, we are back on course. A lady who had been staying with Mom for a few hours at a time when Donna and I needed a break decided she could stay 24/7 with her. And I am pondering what it all has meant, and will continue to mean, as I know this has sent shock waves through our future. I know that I am thankful for the time we had with her. I will remember the few comments she was able to make and the times I was able to make her laugh. When the Falcons played the Bears on Monday Night Football this year, she and I watched it together. Towards the end of the game it got really tight and I would jump up out of my chair yelling at the TV and Mom was laughing at me. Finally the Falcons pulled it out at the end and I flopped back in my chair and told her I thought I would be the one needing a sleeping pill tonight (she had some insomnia issues and wanted a sleep aid every night) and she laughed heartily. I will remember forever our daily walks around the neighborhood. I would always say something before we left to go walking about making sure I had my cell phone with me, and one day during the walk she asked if I had my phone. I said, "Yeah, you need me to call a cab?" She smiled and chuckled a little and kept going.
So we are back, awaiting the next new course, or detour, and life keeps going.
It was maybe a year later that we all began to notice changes in Mom's behavior, mainly that she was becoming less able to mantain a conversation. But in all other things it appeared that she was functioning fine alone. But the downhill slide in her ability to interact with everyone continued.
Then in June of this year, while we were in the New England area, my sister Cynthia called. She is a teacher in north Georgia and not able to get down to see Mom on a frequent basis. My niece Kimberly and her husband Tim live near Mom and she had called her mom (Cynthia) to tell her that they had taken Mom to the ER because she had been trying to cut the grass with the riding lawnmower (something she wasn't supposed to be doing any more)and had rolled it. She wasn't hurt other than bruises, but it came out that also that same week she had a fall in the yard and had a minor car accident and hadn't told any of us.
Cynthia was out of school and was able to go to stay with Mom immediately. Mom was scheduled for an appointment with a neurologist already but not for a couple of months, so we made some calls and got it bumped up to that week. Cynthia took her to the appointment, the doctor diagnosed mild Parkinson's Disease and dementia, put her on Aricept immediately and scheduled a MRI for the following Monday. We drove home that Friday evening/all day Saturday from Buffalo NY and relieved Cynthia so she could go home and take care of some issues. Donna and I took Mom to the MRI appointment on Monday, Donna went to spend Monday night at our house to straighten things up there and I got up Tuesday morning with Mom. I got her breakfast and gave her her meds and sat down in the recliner next to her and asked her a question. What came out of her mouth was a garbled collection of disconnected words that made no sense.
Now I had worked for four years as a therapist at a rehab facility and three years in the assisted living business and knew full well the symptoms of Cerebral Vascular Accident, or stroke. But the only symptom she was presenting was aphasic speech. There were no swallow issues that I could detect, no paralysis of the arms or legs. But I knew of course that SOMETHING was wrong so I told her I would take her to the ER. I started calling Donna to tell her what was going on, and Mom got herself up and got fully dressed on her own, which furthered my belief that she wasn't having a stroke. And the ER doctor, after performing his assessment, said he didn't think so either, but they would do a CT scan anyway. Long story short, Mom HAD had a stroke, and according to the doctor, it was still "evolving."
It's a scary thing as a "child" to be unexpectedly holding your mother's hand in the ER wondering if this is about to be it. With Dad, the entire family was at his bedside when he passed away, and his passing was inevitable, indeed even a blessing. But this was different. Here I was, alone except for Donna, who was in and out taking care of phone calls and all other manner of details. I was remembering what was in Mom's Living Will, and considering the possibility that I might have to make "the" decision in the event of a furthering of the stroke and a crash. But what I remember most about that was looking into my mother's eyes, and seeing the fear in them and knowing that the fact that she couldn't communicate was making it all the more fearful for her. But I know that I was thankful that I was there and able to hold onto her hand and comfort her as she had done for me all through my accident-prone childhood.
The stay at the hospital lasted from Tuesday a.m. and ended Friday afternoon. (The stay itself is a blog in and of its own!) Cynthia and I began to make arrangements as we knew Mom would be unable to live alone anymore and she wanted to stay at her house, if at all possible. Which I really wanted to do after all she sacrificed to keep Dad at home. We located a local woman who did 24 hour in-home care and who knew Mom already. She had been the caregiver for two of Mom's closest friends at church and came highly recommended. She agreed to stay and it looked like Donna and I would be back out on the road in a week or two, tops. Then the woman called and said she had a family crisis she had to attend to and would be unable to work for us. So, not knowing anyone else that was doing 24 hour care, we contacted an agency. But, not surprisingly, the rate was double what we were going to pay the other lady. And Donna and I came to the realization that we could stay with her, she would pay our bills and it would be less expensive than the agency. Plus, the freight business had gotten so bad that all we were doing was little more than just paying our bills anyway. It was a win-win scenario. So we decided to stay with Mom and our trucking career had run into a detour.
Cliches become cliches because there is a nugget of truth in them. The cliche I am thinking of now is "Life turns on a dime." Because it does. Any slight variations in time, space and circumstance, and life careens off in another direction that was not expected. Sci-fi movies and books often use the time-travel plot device, so much so that when you are in a group and say something about the "time-space continuum" people actually know what you are talking about. In the stories, one has to be careful when traveling into the past not to change or alter anything or the future you return to could be completely different. Indeed, in "Back to the Future" our hero Marty would have no future in which to return. This is also sometimes referred to as the "Butterfly Effect."
Of course, the same applies to the present. Slightest variations in any and all details of our daily lives send shock waves through the future and alter our lives in ways that often we are not even aware. This occurs even at the celular level of our bodies. A jarring blow to the body dislodges a few small cells of plaque in our blood vessels which travel to our brains, causing a clot which can bring about life-changing complication, yes, even the end of life itself. Or in my last post, if the doe had entered the roadway a second or two later than she did, how could that have changed everything? And God only knows how many of these events occur and we have no idea we just dodged or encountered a life event by a second, even a milli-second, that could have, or even did, alter our life path without us even realizing.
So, it appears Donna and I have returned to the main road after our "detour." After nearly five months at home, we are back on course. A lady who had been staying with Mom for a few hours at a time when Donna and I needed a break decided she could stay 24/7 with her. And I am pondering what it all has meant, and will continue to mean, as I know this has sent shock waves through our future. I know that I am thankful for the time we had with her. I will remember the few comments she was able to make and the times I was able to make her laugh. When the Falcons played the Bears on Monday Night Football this year, she and I watched it together. Towards the end of the game it got really tight and I would jump up out of my chair yelling at the TV and Mom was laughing at me. Finally the Falcons pulled it out at the end and I flopped back in my chair and told her I thought I would be the one needing a sleeping pill tonight (she had some insomnia issues and wanted a sleep aid every night) and she laughed heartily. I will remember forever our daily walks around the neighborhood. I would always say something before we left to go walking about making sure I had my cell phone with me, and one day during the walk she asked if I had my phone. I said, "Yeah, you need me to call a cab?" She smiled and chuckled a little and kept going.
So we are back, awaiting the next new course, or detour, and life keeps going.
Friday, June 12, 2009
Oh, deer!
Two nights ago I was cruising down I80 east in Ohio in the "granny lane" which is, of course, the far right slow lane. (The far left lane is the "hammer lane" as in "put the hammer down" by the way.) The interstate here is 3 lanes wide in both directions with a concrete wall separating them. A fully loaded car hauler semi passes me in the center lane and about the time my front bumper is at the back of his trailer, I see a doe in my lane, trotting quickly across the interstate right to left headed straight into the car haulers path.
Now this is a fairly commonplace event on interstates across America. According to the National Highway Traffic Safety Administration there are 1.5 million accidents a year involving deer and motor vehicles, resulting in over 1 BILLION dollars in damage and 150 FATALITIES. I knew of a woman at our church who hit a deer that flew over the top of her car on impact and and went through the windshield of the car behind her, killing two people. If you want to see some amazing/grusome photos, google car/deer accidents and have at it.
As far as trucking goes, deer are a major nuisence. We don't have the agility of an automobile, so avoidance is difficult. A direct impact will usually take out the radiator of a truck, which can run several thousand dollars, not including body work, and if you are an independent contractor/owner-operator, will knock you out of work several days and cost you even more money. You may have noticed some trucks have add-on equipment to their front ends; large tubular grills that look particularly menacing. They are, in fact, deer catchers, and come in a wide variety of designs and pricing. I have considered getting one for our truck, but keep hesitating, due to the cost, added weight and subsequent increase in wind resistance which leads to declining fuel economy. Plus in over four years of doing this job, we had not even had a close encounter with a deer. A couple of times I have seen deer coming out of the woods toward the interstate at a trot and have hit the air horn before they reach the highway, and they have bolted back into the woods. Most of the time they just stand there, non-plussed, and continue grazing.
But the evidence of collisions are everywhere on the interstates, usually butchered carcasses and bloody smears sometimes stretching tens of yards down the road. I once counted 15 such sites along a 20 mile stretch of interstate in Wisconsin. And almost always both the live sightings and the corpses are does. Bucks are generally too savvy to be hanging around heavily travelled roads, but during the mating season, well, you know where they'll be! Which leads to another occasionally sighting I have noticed: headless deer roadkill. At first I thought that maybe the collision decapitated some deer. Then one day I saw a man stopped on the side of the road carrying a buck's head and tossing it into the back of his pickup, and it dawned on me. It sounds like a Jeff Foxworthy joke: If you stop on the interstate and decapitate a roadkill buck for a trophy rack, you might be a redneck!
Other animals than deer find themselves victims of motorized mayhem as well, of course. It seems to me, completely anecdotely, that raccoons have replaced the oppossum as the number one victims of the interstates. Recently I was driving late at night on a particularly deserted stretch of interstate when I saw a raccoon waddling into my path, cutting across the roadway, from my right to left. He stopped in the middle of my lane, turned to face me, and raised up on his rear legs with his front legs stretching to the sky, as if to say, "AAAAAHHHHHH!" (You really have to stop and get a mental picture of this, it looked like something out of "Over The Hedge".) Because I was aware the interstate was empty, I was able to swerve left and the raccoon recovered enough to cut back to my right and avoid an unpleasant demise.
Spotting live wildlife on the roadside is usually a perk of the job, however, and we have seen a wide variety. Earlier this year on a trip out west we spotted several bald eagles, which we had never seen in the wild before. On our last trip out west we spotted wild turkeys, a fox, a coyote, antelope, and the grand finale, a couple of bighorn sheep rams in the Rocky Mountains west of Denver, all in the same day. And a day later at a truck stop in Denver, I watched a family of foxes playing in a field next to the lot. (I got pictures of that, I will post on Facebook soon. All our pictures are available to look at via a connection at the bottom of the blog.) At another stop in southwestern Pennsylvania I was taking Buffett for a walk off the leash when I saw a skunk stroll out of the woods. Fortunately, I saw him before Buffett did and I was able to get him back on the leash before the olfactory disaster befell us. Buffett has a grand time chasing rabbits at various places around the country, especially the large jackrabbits of southern Texas. My all time Marlin Perkins moment, however, was a couple of years ago in eastern Pennsylvania when early one morning I spotted a young black bear grubbing in a rotted fallen tree.
So, back to a couple of nights ago. I started popping the brakes as soon as I spotted the doe, as did the car hauler. She disappeared from my view as she crossed in front of the semi and he was helpless to employ evasive manuevers. (An eighty thousand pound, eighty foot long vehicle moving at sixtyfive miles per hour is not very nimble, nor can it stop on a football field, much less a dime.) I was not able to ascertain the outcome for the doe. The semi did not stop, which would at least seem to indicate it was not a direct hit. I didn't see her come out the bottom of the semi, but I was too close to see if she cleared the other side. But she would have had another eastbound lane to go, then a four foot concrete wall and three lanes of westbound I80 traffic to negotiate. Not good odds for her. But I didn't actually witness any collision, therefore I will think positive thoughts for her.
But I am rethinking the grill now.
Now this is a fairly commonplace event on interstates across America. According to the National Highway Traffic Safety Administration there are 1.5 million accidents a year involving deer and motor vehicles, resulting in over 1 BILLION dollars in damage and 150 FATALITIES. I knew of a woman at our church who hit a deer that flew over the top of her car on impact and and went through the windshield of the car behind her, killing two people. If you want to see some amazing/grusome photos, google car/deer accidents and have at it.
As far as trucking goes, deer are a major nuisence. We don't have the agility of an automobile, so avoidance is difficult. A direct impact will usually take out the radiator of a truck, which can run several thousand dollars, not including body work, and if you are an independent contractor/owner-operator, will knock you out of work several days and cost you even more money. You may have noticed some trucks have add-on equipment to their front ends; large tubular grills that look particularly menacing. They are, in fact, deer catchers, and come in a wide variety of designs and pricing. I have considered getting one for our truck, but keep hesitating, due to the cost, added weight and subsequent increase in wind resistance which leads to declining fuel economy. Plus in over four years of doing this job, we had not even had a close encounter with a deer. A couple of times I have seen deer coming out of the woods toward the interstate at a trot and have hit the air horn before they reach the highway, and they have bolted back into the woods. Most of the time they just stand there, non-plussed, and continue grazing.
But the evidence of collisions are everywhere on the interstates, usually butchered carcasses and bloody smears sometimes stretching tens of yards down the road. I once counted 15 such sites along a 20 mile stretch of interstate in Wisconsin. And almost always both the live sightings and the corpses are does. Bucks are generally too savvy to be hanging around heavily travelled roads, but during the mating season, well, you know where they'll be! Which leads to another occasionally sighting I have noticed: headless deer roadkill. At first I thought that maybe the collision decapitated some deer. Then one day I saw a man stopped on the side of the road carrying a buck's head and tossing it into the back of his pickup, and it dawned on me. It sounds like a Jeff Foxworthy joke: If you stop on the interstate and decapitate a roadkill buck for a trophy rack, you might be a redneck!
Other animals than deer find themselves victims of motorized mayhem as well, of course. It seems to me, completely anecdotely, that raccoons have replaced the oppossum as the number one victims of the interstates. Recently I was driving late at night on a particularly deserted stretch of interstate when I saw a raccoon waddling into my path, cutting across the roadway, from my right to left. He stopped in the middle of my lane, turned to face me, and raised up on his rear legs with his front legs stretching to the sky, as if to say, "AAAAAHHHHHH!" (You really have to stop and get a mental picture of this, it looked like something out of "Over The Hedge".) Because I was aware the interstate was empty, I was able to swerve left and the raccoon recovered enough to cut back to my right and avoid an unpleasant demise.
Spotting live wildlife on the roadside is usually a perk of the job, however, and we have seen a wide variety. Earlier this year on a trip out west we spotted several bald eagles, which we had never seen in the wild before. On our last trip out west we spotted wild turkeys, a fox, a coyote, antelope, and the grand finale, a couple of bighorn sheep rams in the Rocky Mountains west of Denver, all in the same day. And a day later at a truck stop in Denver, I watched a family of foxes playing in a field next to the lot. (I got pictures of that, I will post on Facebook soon. All our pictures are available to look at via a connection at the bottom of the blog.) At another stop in southwestern Pennsylvania I was taking Buffett for a walk off the leash when I saw a skunk stroll out of the woods. Fortunately, I saw him before Buffett did and I was able to get him back on the leash before the olfactory disaster befell us. Buffett has a grand time chasing rabbits at various places around the country, especially the large jackrabbits of southern Texas. My all time Marlin Perkins moment, however, was a couple of years ago in eastern Pennsylvania when early one morning I spotted a young black bear grubbing in a rotted fallen tree.
So, back to a couple of nights ago. I started popping the brakes as soon as I spotted the doe, as did the car hauler. She disappeared from my view as she crossed in front of the semi and he was helpless to employ evasive manuevers. (An eighty thousand pound, eighty foot long vehicle moving at sixtyfive miles per hour is not very nimble, nor can it stop on a football field, much less a dime.) I was not able to ascertain the outcome for the doe. The semi did not stop, which would at least seem to indicate it was not a direct hit. I didn't see her come out the bottom of the semi, but I was too close to see if she cleared the other side. But she would have had another eastbound lane to go, then a four foot concrete wall and three lanes of westbound I80 traffic to negotiate. Not good odds for her. But I didn't actually witness any collision, therefore I will think positive thoughts for her.
But I am rethinking the grill now.
Thursday, May 14, 2009
Attack of the Lot Lizards! Parts 1 and 2
PROLOGUE:
When people find out what it is we do, invariably a guy asks(women NEVER ask) about truck stop prostitution. Or in the vernacular of the truckers, "lot lizards." (In fact, there are stickers for sale in truck stops that have a caricature of a female lizard dressed sleazily with a circle/slash over her that says "No Lot Lizards." I see these on trucks quite frequently.) I have always answered that it isn't that prevalent. We rarely see or hear anything except in a couple of areas of the country. Of course, we don't go looking for action either, and as I have previously blogged, I don't get on the CB much at all and never in the truck stops, so its possible more is going on than we know. But South Dallas is one of those areas and was where we first really witnessed it. It was late at night and we were looking for a place to park and sleep. We were waiting to pull into the lot due to a backup at the fuel pumps, and I watched a young woman get out of one truck and go immediately to the next truck and knock on the door. As we were looking for a place to park on the lot we saw a Dallas police car cruising the lot and we knew we were not in a very reputable area of town. Another time at a different truck stop in South Dallas I watched as a woman drove her car around the lot, stopping at trucks and getting out to knock on the door. But I had never directly encountered a "lot lizard" until.....
PART 1
We were in Memphis last summer (the other area of the country where we've seen this alot) in the middle of the day. Donna was in the sleeper working on something on the computer and I was up front in the driver's seat, just looking around. And I saw a woman walking around the lot, approaching trucks and knocking on doors. The interesting thing about her was that she wasn't dressed provocatively at all. Black slacks, a colorful but non-revealing blouse, no wild make-up or hair or shoes. She would have not looked out of place at church. In fact, I wasn't sure up to this point that she was, indeed, a lot lizard. Well, she wasn't getting any takers when she looked over and saw me sitting up front and headed my way. "Oh, crap!" I thought and jumped back into the sleeper. This did not deter her and she knocked on the door. I went up front and asked, "Can I help you?" She didn't speak at all. She kind of tilted her head down, raised her eyebrows and patted her chest while looking at me with questioning eyes as if to say, "You want this?" I STILL wasn't exactly sure what was going on, so I repeated my question. Again, she didn't speak but repeated her pantomime. I finally said, "No, no thank you." and stepped back into the sleeper. She KNOCKED ON THE DOOR AGAIN!!! I looked at Donna. "You want to handle this?" She went up front. The "LL" saw her and "found" her voice; "Oh I was looking for someone else!" Yeah, I bet you were, I thought, and the woman went away.
Part 2
Well, a couple of weeks ago, we wound up in Memphis and parked at the same truck stop. We had driven all night, my shift resulted in my getting just a few hours sleep before the delivery, so I crawled into bed and went to sleep. Donna was next to me reading. I was awakened by the roaring barking of Buffett our Road Dog Golden Retriever and to an astonished expression on Donna's face. "It's that SAME WOMAN!" she exclaimed. She had approached our truck, knocked on the door, and then actually opened the door, which set off Buffett. "Oh, s***!" she exclaimed and slammed the door shut. But she continued to knock on the door, calling "Jonathan?!? Jonathan!?!" Donna never went up front and shushed me when I started to ask what in the world was going on. Eventually, she went away. And soon after, so did we.
Epilogue
In the face of this economy, it seems we are seeing more of this than we have in the past. I guess desperate times result in desperate measures for some people. I read a news report recently that noted an uptick in the number of first time criminals, notably a youth minister in south Georgia who robbed a bank due to dire financial straights. But if a woman chooses prostitution to make money, why in the world would any woman choose TRUCK STOP prostitution? I mean, as a group, these are probably the dirtiest, smelliest, foulest group of men in America! (I can say this, because, as Jeff Foxworthy says, I are one. A trucker, that is.) Of all the possible clientele a woman could target, why truckers? I guess its because they are an easy sell, due to the above reasons and the fact that they are usually very lonely. I am sad for any woman who feels so desperate as to be compelled to sell her body, but the life of a Lot Lizard is beyond my comprehension. God help them.
When people find out what it is we do, invariably a guy asks(women NEVER ask) about truck stop prostitution. Or in the vernacular of the truckers, "lot lizards." (In fact, there are stickers for sale in truck stops that have a caricature of a female lizard dressed sleazily with a circle/slash over her that says "No Lot Lizards." I see these on trucks quite frequently.) I have always answered that it isn't that prevalent. We rarely see or hear anything except in a couple of areas of the country. Of course, we don't go looking for action either, and as I have previously blogged, I don't get on the CB much at all and never in the truck stops, so its possible more is going on than we know. But South Dallas is one of those areas and was where we first really witnessed it. It was late at night and we were looking for a place to park and sleep. We were waiting to pull into the lot due to a backup at the fuel pumps, and I watched a young woman get out of one truck and go immediately to the next truck and knock on the door. As we were looking for a place to park on the lot we saw a Dallas police car cruising the lot and we knew we were not in a very reputable area of town. Another time at a different truck stop in South Dallas I watched as a woman drove her car around the lot, stopping at trucks and getting out to knock on the door. But I had never directly encountered a "lot lizard" until.....
PART 1
We were in Memphis last summer (the other area of the country where we've seen this alot) in the middle of the day. Donna was in the sleeper working on something on the computer and I was up front in the driver's seat, just looking around. And I saw a woman walking around the lot, approaching trucks and knocking on doors. The interesting thing about her was that she wasn't dressed provocatively at all. Black slacks, a colorful but non-revealing blouse, no wild make-up or hair or shoes. She would have not looked out of place at church. In fact, I wasn't sure up to this point that she was, indeed, a lot lizard. Well, she wasn't getting any takers when she looked over and saw me sitting up front and headed my way. "Oh, crap!" I thought and jumped back into the sleeper. This did not deter her and she knocked on the door. I went up front and asked, "Can I help you?" She didn't speak at all. She kind of tilted her head down, raised her eyebrows and patted her chest while looking at me with questioning eyes as if to say, "You want this?" I STILL wasn't exactly sure what was going on, so I repeated my question. Again, she didn't speak but repeated her pantomime. I finally said, "No, no thank you." and stepped back into the sleeper. She KNOCKED ON THE DOOR AGAIN!!! I looked at Donna. "You want to handle this?" She went up front. The "LL" saw her and "found" her voice; "Oh I was looking for someone else!" Yeah, I bet you were, I thought, and the woman went away.
Part 2
Well, a couple of weeks ago, we wound up in Memphis and parked at the same truck stop. We had driven all night, my shift resulted in my getting just a few hours sleep before the delivery, so I crawled into bed and went to sleep. Donna was next to me reading. I was awakened by the roaring barking of Buffett our Road Dog Golden Retriever and to an astonished expression on Donna's face. "It's that SAME WOMAN!" she exclaimed. She had approached our truck, knocked on the door, and then actually opened the door, which set off Buffett. "Oh, s***!" she exclaimed and slammed the door shut. But she continued to knock on the door, calling "Jonathan?!? Jonathan!?!" Donna never went up front and shushed me when I started to ask what in the world was going on. Eventually, she went away. And soon after, so did we.
Epilogue
In the face of this economy, it seems we are seeing more of this than we have in the past. I guess desperate times result in desperate measures for some people. I read a news report recently that noted an uptick in the number of first time criminals, notably a youth minister in south Georgia who robbed a bank due to dire financial straights. But if a woman chooses prostitution to make money, why in the world would any woman choose TRUCK STOP prostitution? I mean, as a group, these are probably the dirtiest, smelliest, foulest group of men in America! (I can say this, because, as Jeff Foxworthy says, I are one. A trucker, that is.) Of all the possible clientele a woman could target, why truckers? I guess its because they are an easy sell, due to the above reasons and the fact that they are usually very lonely. I am sad for any woman who feels so desperate as to be compelled to sell her body, but the life of a Lot Lizard is beyond my comprehension. God help them.
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
"Man, it pours...."
"Seems it never rains in Southern California,
seems I've often heard that kind of talk before.
It never rains in California,
But girl, don't they warn ya,
it pours.
Man, it pours"
A couple of months ago Donna and I made it out to Los Angeles for the weekend after making a delivery there on a Friday. This made us very happy because we would be able to spend the weekend with Terri, my step-daughter who lives there. We got to go to the beach, had lunch on the Santa Monica Pier, and generally observe the bowl of granola (nuts, fruits and flakes) that is life in SoCal. (Photographic evidence is on our Facebook page) It was a little cool with high thin clouds but all in all a lovely day at the beach.
We had parked the truck where Terri works and had to get up early Monday morning to get it out of there before the employees arrived. Well, it was a steady hard cold rain falling, not pleasant at all, and when we got to the truck, the batteries had died and we had to jump it off. Not a great start to the week! We got it to crank, after I had gotten soaking wet, and were off to the truck stop out around Ontario to hang out and wait for the next job. But we missed an exit to I-10 east and had to go up an exit to turn around. Arrgh! Rainy days and mondays, and all that.
We started down the exit ramp and had to stop four or five vehicles short of the intersection due to a traffic light. I looked ahead and saw a figure huddled under what looked like a garbage bag with holes cut out for the head and arms. The person was holding one of those signs that we all have seen; the "will work for food" or "homeless, hungry, please help" variety (Funniest one of those I've seen is "why lie, I need a beer.") Except this sign had been rendered unreadable by the cold hard rain that was pounding the area; the running ink made the sign look like a Rorchach Test. Donna and I were out of cash save for the coins we throw in the ash tray to use for doing laundry. Donna started digging out all the quarters, I was studying the person closer as we waited on the light and said to Donna, "Is that a girl?" The light changed, we started rolling up to the intersection. I let the window down, Donna handed me the large fistful of change, had to be three or four bucks, I slowed as we approached the figure, and I reached out to quickly hand off the money so we wouldn't slow traffic behind us, and I made eye contact with a young woman who would probably be attractive when not looking like a drowned rat.
Now this is a scene that we all face, at least anyone who ever gets out of the house at all anymore. Especially in these economic hard times. And we all have to come to some decision as to how we are going to handle it. I worked with a woman at South Fulton Medical Center who saw the same people with little variation every day at the exit ramp of Cleveland Avenue at I-75. She decided to fix little bags of food with a bible tract and give them to the people on the corner every day. After several days of the same person being there to receive the food, the guy on the corner looked in the bag and groaned, "Tuna AGAIN?" Obviously he hadn't heard the one about the gift horse.
Most people these days turn away. They fall mainly into three camps. One group believes they are all con men and they should go get jobs, another believes that even if they are truly needy, its their own fault it happened so they need to go fix it themselves. Another group sympathizes with them but decides to give money to charities that can better discern between the truly needy and the lazy cons. I have seen both sides of this, having gone to Georgia State University in the late 70's in downtown Atlanta. Yes there are drunks, drug addicts and/or con men out there. And they prey off the sympathy of others, just like there are people who cheat the welfare system and live off the government. And few things rile me more than people who arrogantly believe and act like they are entitled. But I entered into a discussion of this with a friend of mine who was railing over the welfare state in this country and I asked him, "What percentage of the people on welfare are frauds, by your estimate?" I think he said about 40 percent. "So you want to punish the 60 percent who are truly needy and deserving in order to eliminate the frauds?" He didn't have an answer.
Probably my most memorable encounter up to the time of this story came at GSU one night as I was leaving the gym after an activity. A man approached me, one hand was bandaged and the other was holding some papers. The papers were used in the approach, they were from Grady Hospital and were about an injury to his hand, or at least that's what he told me, I didn't look too closely at them. After a brief conversation, it boiled down to that he needed a place to spend the night; it was winter and it was cold. I suggested the mission right around the corner but he said it was full and plus people would rob you there. He knew of a place over by Spring Street that was safe but they charged eight bucks a night and he didn't have it. I was watching and listening to him closely; his eyes were clear and he was fairly well spoken, not slurring. I took a leap of faith and offered him a ride over to the shelter. He told me he owed them for a night and they wouldn't let him in until he paid up his bill, so when we got there I gave him a twenty. After I gave him the money he turned to me and asked, "Do you read the Bible?" I was caught off guard. I was raised in a Baptist church and was currently teaching Sunday School. I stammered, "Uh, yeah!" He looked dead into my eyes and said, "Matthew 25:40..." and proceeded to quote the verse, in full and perfectly, to the stunned Sunday School teacher. He shook my hand, got out of the car and literally bounded up the stairs and into the shelter.....
Sometimes things happen in mere seconds with total strangers that haunt you for a lifetime. In the City of Angels, in that young woman's eyes, in just a flash of time, I saw desperation, embarrassment, humiliation and gratitude. I reached out with the fistful of coins and her hands were trembling so badly from the cold and rain that she dropped probably a third of them, but she still gave an embarrassed smile and said through chattering teeth, "Oh, THANK you!" As we were rolling I called out good luck to her.
"Out of work, out of my head,
out of self-respect, I'm outta bread,
I'm under-loved, I'm under-fed,
I wanna go home...."
I wish we had done more. I wish we had stopped, traffic be damned, and taken the time to try and help her out of her mess. But we didn't. No, I was driving. I didn't. And I have the image of her trembling hands dropping the coins burned into my brain forever.
I hope if she had LA dreams they finally came true. If not, I hope she made it home safely without having to compromise herself. I hope she got to the people who love her and they took her in and didn't judge. I hope for all of us that we don't punish the truly needy because of the frauds. I hope that we all will remember that when we give a cup of water it is in the Master's Name.
Matthew 25:35-39
For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in, I needed clothes and you clothed me, I was sick and you looked after me, I was in prison and you came to visit me. Then the righteous will answer him, "Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you something to drink? When did we see you a stranger and invite you in, or needing clothes and clothe you? When did we see you sick or in prison and go to visit you?"
Then came the verse the man quoted me, Matthew 25:40;
"The King will reply,'I tell you the truth, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers of mine, you did it for me.'"
seems I've often heard that kind of talk before.
It never rains in California,
But girl, don't they warn ya,
it pours.
Man, it pours"
A couple of months ago Donna and I made it out to Los Angeles for the weekend after making a delivery there on a Friday. This made us very happy because we would be able to spend the weekend with Terri, my step-daughter who lives there. We got to go to the beach, had lunch on the Santa Monica Pier, and generally observe the bowl of granola (nuts, fruits and flakes) that is life in SoCal. (Photographic evidence is on our Facebook page) It was a little cool with high thin clouds but all in all a lovely day at the beach.
We had parked the truck where Terri works and had to get up early Monday morning to get it out of there before the employees arrived. Well, it was a steady hard cold rain falling, not pleasant at all, and when we got to the truck, the batteries had died and we had to jump it off. Not a great start to the week! We got it to crank, after I had gotten soaking wet, and were off to the truck stop out around Ontario to hang out and wait for the next job. But we missed an exit to I-10 east and had to go up an exit to turn around. Arrgh! Rainy days and mondays, and all that.
We started down the exit ramp and had to stop four or five vehicles short of the intersection due to a traffic light. I looked ahead and saw a figure huddled under what looked like a garbage bag with holes cut out for the head and arms. The person was holding one of those signs that we all have seen; the "will work for food" or "homeless, hungry, please help" variety (Funniest one of those I've seen is "why lie, I need a beer.") Except this sign had been rendered unreadable by the cold hard rain that was pounding the area; the running ink made the sign look like a Rorchach Test. Donna and I were out of cash save for the coins we throw in the ash tray to use for doing laundry. Donna started digging out all the quarters, I was studying the person closer as we waited on the light and said to Donna, "Is that a girl?" The light changed, we started rolling up to the intersection. I let the window down, Donna handed me the large fistful of change, had to be three or four bucks, I slowed as we approached the figure, and I reached out to quickly hand off the money so we wouldn't slow traffic behind us, and I made eye contact with a young woman who would probably be attractive when not looking like a drowned rat.
Now this is a scene that we all face, at least anyone who ever gets out of the house at all anymore. Especially in these economic hard times. And we all have to come to some decision as to how we are going to handle it. I worked with a woman at South Fulton Medical Center who saw the same people with little variation every day at the exit ramp of Cleveland Avenue at I-75. She decided to fix little bags of food with a bible tract and give them to the people on the corner every day. After several days of the same person being there to receive the food, the guy on the corner looked in the bag and groaned, "Tuna AGAIN?" Obviously he hadn't heard the one about the gift horse.
Most people these days turn away. They fall mainly into three camps. One group believes they are all con men and they should go get jobs, another believes that even if they are truly needy, its their own fault it happened so they need to go fix it themselves. Another group sympathizes with them but decides to give money to charities that can better discern between the truly needy and the lazy cons. I have seen both sides of this, having gone to Georgia State University in the late 70's in downtown Atlanta. Yes there are drunks, drug addicts and/or con men out there. And they prey off the sympathy of others, just like there are people who cheat the welfare system and live off the government. And few things rile me more than people who arrogantly believe and act like they are entitled. But I entered into a discussion of this with a friend of mine who was railing over the welfare state in this country and I asked him, "What percentage of the people on welfare are frauds, by your estimate?" I think he said about 40 percent. "So you want to punish the 60 percent who are truly needy and deserving in order to eliminate the frauds?" He didn't have an answer.
Probably my most memorable encounter up to the time of this story came at GSU one night as I was leaving the gym after an activity. A man approached me, one hand was bandaged and the other was holding some papers. The papers were used in the approach, they were from Grady Hospital and were about an injury to his hand, or at least that's what he told me, I didn't look too closely at them. After a brief conversation, it boiled down to that he needed a place to spend the night; it was winter and it was cold. I suggested the mission right around the corner but he said it was full and plus people would rob you there. He knew of a place over by Spring Street that was safe but they charged eight bucks a night and he didn't have it. I was watching and listening to him closely; his eyes were clear and he was fairly well spoken, not slurring. I took a leap of faith and offered him a ride over to the shelter. He told me he owed them for a night and they wouldn't let him in until he paid up his bill, so when we got there I gave him a twenty. After I gave him the money he turned to me and asked, "Do you read the Bible?" I was caught off guard. I was raised in a Baptist church and was currently teaching Sunday School. I stammered, "Uh, yeah!" He looked dead into my eyes and said, "Matthew 25:40..." and proceeded to quote the verse, in full and perfectly, to the stunned Sunday School teacher. He shook my hand, got out of the car and literally bounded up the stairs and into the shelter.....
Sometimes things happen in mere seconds with total strangers that haunt you for a lifetime. In the City of Angels, in that young woman's eyes, in just a flash of time, I saw desperation, embarrassment, humiliation and gratitude. I reached out with the fistful of coins and her hands were trembling so badly from the cold and rain that she dropped probably a third of them, but she still gave an embarrassed smile and said through chattering teeth, "Oh, THANK you!" As we were rolling I called out good luck to her.
"Out of work, out of my head,
out of self-respect, I'm outta bread,
I'm under-loved, I'm under-fed,
I wanna go home...."
I wish we had done more. I wish we had stopped, traffic be damned, and taken the time to try and help her out of her mess. But we didn't. No, I was driving. I didn't. And I have the image of her trembling hands dropping the coins burned into my brain forever.
I hope if she had LA dreams they finally came true. If not, I hope she made it home safely without having to compromise herself. I hope she got to the people who love her and they took her in and didn't judge. I hope for all of us that we don't punish the truly needy because of the frauds. I hope that we all will remember that when we give a cup of water it is in the Master's Name.
Matthew 25:35-39
For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in, I needed clothes and you clothed me, I was sick and you looked after me, I was in prison and you came to visit me. Then the righteous will answer him, "Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you something to drink? When did we see you a stranger and invite you in, or needing clothes and clothe you? When did we see you sick or in prison and go to visit you?"
Then came the verse the man quoted me, Matthew 25:40;
"The King will reply,'I tell you the truth, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers of mine, you did it for me.'"
Tuesday, February 3, 2009
C.B., or not C.B.? That Is The Question!
I recently re-established contact with an old friend after a six or seven year absence. She was unaware of our new profession, and in the process of catching up, she asked, "Do truckers still have CB's?"
My experience with CB radio started, like most people, in the 1970's. I got one around 1975, and since I was driving a VW Rabbit, my handle was "Bugs Bunny." Of course, the song "Convoy" and the movie "Smokey and the Bandit" reflected the explosion of popularity of the things, and I enjoyed having it in the car for a couple of years, learning the lingo and such.
But then, along with the rest of the country, my infatuation died, and it went back to be mainly the domain of the trucking industry. And a major shift occured when the government deregulated the airwaves. Which meant you didn't have to have a license to operate a radio and there was carte blanche on what you could say on the air.
Donna and I got into trucking in March of 2005. We did without a CB for nearly two years. I kept thinking it would be good to have one, but kept putting it off. Then we got our new truck in December of 2006, and a little later I took the plunge. So I hooked up the radio while at home and we took off across the top end perimeter of Atlanta to go to a pickup, and I flipped the switch for the first time in thiry years. Immediately a highly irritated southern voice came screetching over the air. "That G.D M.F.'n Gordon cut off Junior yesterday and cost Junior the G.D.M.F.'n race!" Whoa! This language was illegal thirty years ago. Gotta love deregulation! This rampage lasted several more minutes and I turned it off. I came to find out that no one used the old "10" codes anymore, and if anyone used "good buddy" it was to refer to a man of, shall we say, an alternative lifestyle. And thats pretty much how it was for the next two years. It was helpful when there were weather and traffic issues, but the polite friendly voices that I heard in my teenaged years were replaced by racist, misogynistic, ignorant, right wing, gun lovin' nut jobs with giant amps that could, and did, blast anyone with dissenting opinions off the air.
And the guys who do stay on the air continually resent those who pop in when there are traffic problems. We got caught in a bumper to bumper jam in Virginia once and pulled off to get fuel. I left the radio on and listened to one guy roar at every driver who came on the air asking what the problem was, "Go back to yer XM and let IT tell you what the problem is you #$#%%^^$#@^***!!!! And this went on for at least half an hour, at least fifteen or twenty times.
I went about three weeks once without turning it on at all. I decided to see what was going on out there, and was greeted immediately, the very second I turned on the radio, by someone announcing this jewel: "Yeah, I even sucked my own d*** one time!" Well, nothing had changed, I thought, as I reached up and flipped it off again.
So when my friend asked the question, "do truckers still have CB's?", the above was the story I related to her. And I immediately began to think about blogging the story about the death of civility on CB radio, indeed the demise of civilization itself,
and then....
A couple of weeks ago Donna and I were on a run where we had to drive 75 miles of twisting, turning, Pennsylvania two lane blacktop through a National Forest in a snowstorm in the middle of the night to get to a delivery. Our GPS instructed us that we had arrived at our location, but it wasn't there (another blog about technology for another day). What WAS there was a PA DOT station where they were loading salt and sand into trucks, one of which had its headlights on, facing into the roadway. We went creeping slowly by, looking for anything close to a factory, and I heard a voice, "Whatcha doin' big truck?" I had left the CB on, squelched low, and had forgotten about it. Donna and I looked at each other. "Is he talking to us?" Donna asked. "Whatcha lookin' for, big truck?" came over the air again. I grabbed the mic and told him the name of the company we were trying to find. "You got about five or six more miles to go, it'll be up on the left next to the railroad tracks, just pull into the first dock you see. You carryin' powder?" Obviously a local. Well we chatted a couple of more minutes and he wished us well and we thanked him and we continued on our way.
And so then I had to re-think this blog entry. Where I was poised to bury CB radio, I must now praise. Like nearly everything in life, it is a mixture of good and evil. And all groups have that mixture: Black and white, rich and poor, republican and democrat. The problem is that the evil tends to be the loud ones, the ones with "giant amps" blowing everyone else away, the ones that get all the attention (usually thanks to the media) and who we point to when condemning that group. The truth, however, is that no one group or person is all good or all evil, and our eyes must remain open to the possibility of good in any and all situations and peoples, no matter what our predjudices and prior learning experiences lead us to believe.
My experience with CB radio started, like most people, in the 1970's. I got one around 1975, and since I was driving a VW Rabbit, my handle was "Bugs Bunny." Of course, the song "Convoy" and the movie "Smokey and the Bandit" reflected the explosion of popularity of the things, and I enjoyed having it in the car for a couple of years, learning the lingo and such.
But then, along with the rest of the country, my infatuation died, and it went back to be mainly the domain of the trucking industry. And a major shift occured when the government deregulated the airwaves. Which meant you didn't have to have a license to operate a radio and there was carte blanche on what you could say on the air.
Donna and I got into trucking in March of 2005. We did without a CB for nearly two years. I kept thinking it would be good to have one, but kept putting it off. Then we got our new truck in December of 2006, and a little later I took the plunge. So I hooked up the radio while at home and we took off across the top end perimeter of Atlanta to go to a pickup, and I flipped the switch for the first time in thiry years. Immediately a highly irritated southern voice came screetching over the air. "That G.D M.F.'n Gordon cut off Junior yesterday and cost Junior the G.D.M.F.'n race!" Whoa! This language was illegal thirty years ago. Gotta love deregulation! This rampage lasted several more minutes and I turned it off. I came to find out that no one used the old "10" codes anymore, and if anyone used "good buddy" it was to refer to a man of, shall we say, an alternative lifestyle. And thats pretty much how it was for the next two years. It was helpful when there were weather and traffic issues, but the polite friendly voices that I heard in my teenaged years were replaced by racist, misogynistic, ignorant, right wing, gun lovin' nut jobs with giant amps that could, and did, blast anyone with dissenting opinions off the air.
And the guys who do stay on the air continually resent those who pop in when there are traffic problems. We got caught in a bumper to bumper jam in Virginia once and pulled off to get fuel. I left the radio on and listened to one guy roar at every driver who came on the air asking what the problem was, "Go back to yer XM and let IT tell you what the problem is you #$#%%^^$#@^***!!!! And this went on for at least half an hour, at least fifteen or twenty times.
I went about three weeks once without turning it on at all. I decided to see what was going on out there, and was greeted immediately, the very second I turned on the radio, by someone announcing this jewel: "Yeah, I even sucked my own d*** one time!" Well, nothing had changed, I thought, as I reached up and flipped it off again.
So when my friend asked the question, "do truckers still have CB's?", the above was the story I related to her. And I immediately began to think about blogging the story about the death of civility on CB radio, indeed the demise of civilization itself,
and then....
A couple of weeks ago Donna and I were on a run where we had to drive 75 miles of twisting, turning, Pennsylvania two lane blacktop through a National Forest in a snowstorm in the middle of the night to get to a delivery. Our GPS instructed us that we had arrived at our location, but it wasn't there (another blog about technology for another day). What WAS there was a PA DOT station where they were loading salt and sand into trucks, one of which had its headlights on, facing into the roadway. We went creeping slowly by, looking for anything close to a factory, and I heard a voice, "Whatcha doin' big truck?" I had left the CB on, squelched low, and had forgotten about it. Donna and I looked at each other. "Is he talking to us?" Donna asked. "Whatcha lookin' for, big truck?" came over the air again. I grabbed the mic and told him the name of the company we were trying to find. "You got about five or six more miles to go, it'll be up on the left next to the railroad tracks, just pull into the first dock you see. You carryin' powder?" Obviously a local. Well we chatted a couple of more minutes and he wished us well and we thanked him and we continued on our way.
And so then I had to re-think this blog entry. Where I was poised to bury CB radio, I must now praise. Like nearly everything in life, it is a mixture of good and evil. And all groups have that mixture: Black and white, rich and poor, republican and democrat. The problem is that the evil tends to be the loud ones, the ones with "giant amps" blowing everyone else away, the ones that get all the attention (usually thanks to the media) and who we point to when condemning that group. The truth, however, is that no one group or person is all good or all evil, and our eyes must remain open to the possibility of good in any and all situations and peoples, no matter what our predjudices and prior learning experiences lead us to believe.
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