Cold Fusion (or Bonding in the Snow)...

Yesterday, following the 5 inches or so of snow we received the day prior, the kids and I headed to the local sled hill for some winter fun.

I used to LOVE sledding, but now that I'm older, less agile, and generally more fuddy-duddyish, I don't exactly race for my toboggan at the first hint of frost. Getting the kids bundled up properly, freezing my tuckus off, and climbing up what inevitably feels like Mt. Renier is not my cup 'o tea anymore. Still, remembering those days of racing down the slope by the local freeway off-ramp (yea, it was a simpler time), it would be remiss of me not to seize the opportunity to have some great fun with my kids while they are young and I'm still able to.

We stopped by Taco Bell for a bite then headed off to the sled hill right behind their school. It was busy, but not particularly crowded. Liam, of course, took off like a shot and was having a blast. Courtney was eager, but didn't want to go down alone. I went with her on 2 great runs, then let her try by herself. She was reticent, but willing. Of course, her first and only time down by herself, she wiped out and was inconsolable for 5 minutes. After that, she was content to play on the playground the rest of the time.

We were there for about 2 1/2 hours, finally packing it in as it began to get dark. We had an absolute ball. I got a few great shots on my nifty new camera...




...and some video...


I am so blessed to have such great kids and am overjoyed I didn't decide to sit like a bump on a log all day, playing with my new computer or watching TV. Sure, I'd love to live in a warmer climate, but how could I miss out on moments like these!?

Spring Feevah, Liam’s Triumph, Radio Playing & My Candy Store

A great weekend – no bones about it.

It all started Saturday morning. It was the Cub Scouts District Pinewood Derby race. Liam, having won his Pack’s Pinewood Derby a couple of months ago, qualified to run the District race. We got up good and early (for a Saturday, anyway) and headed to Berkley High School. Liam and Sonya had been up there the night prior to get him entered and have his car weighed and evaluated.

We get there about 10am and Liam darts to the display table, where all the Wolf Cubs are voting for the “Best In Show” trophy. The kids decide which car they like the best, avoiding voting for themselves. Afterwards we wait a bit for the race to start.

While we’re hanging there, we take a look at the Soapbox Derby car they have set up. Uh-oh, looks like I may have another project to look forward to. Anyway, after he gets all riled up about that, we grab a Krispy Kreme, popcorn and a pop from the local troop’s fund raising table and find a good spot to watch the race from.

Liam’s Killer Whale-shaped car named “Free Willy” did pretty well! Of the 6 or so races he ran, he generally came in 4^th of the cars he was pitted against. Unfortunately, as there were about 27 cars entered in his class, he didn’t quite make the ‘top 4’ cut for the finals race. As they are about to announce the winners, we started gathering our stuff. The announcer hands the mic to the contest administrator, and I notice she’s holding a trophy and Liam’s car! Liam had won Best In Show!

He was still disappointed that he didn’t make the finals run for performance, but I cheered him up, noting that he now has a trophy for speed in his pack and design in the district! Kudos on all counts! Also, not being one for “performance machines” myself, I personally would have been hoping for the Best In Show trophy.

That managed to cheer him up, so we headed to the comic store to celebrate and let him play some Arch Rivals on Chris’s full-sized arcade machine. I brought along a picture of Liam’s Optimus Prime cake from last week’s Akila Cake Bake, figuring if ANYONE would appreciate it, Chris the Comic Guru would.

While Liam’s playing his video game, I notice a new addition to Chris’s display cabinet: an original Generation 1 Soundwave Transformer with 3 tapes! It was in very ‘loved’ condition and obviously made some kid very happy for years, but it was pretty intact. Ah, memories. Soundwave was always my favorite. I showed Liam and he fell in love, too. He was disappointed not to walk home with it, but at $40 plus $10 a piece for the tapes, I wasn’t about to buy a collectible version for him. I promise him we’ll look online for later, less collectible versions with all the parts. Heck, *I* may even get one for myself!

The rest of the afternoon was spent just lazing around the house, doing a few chores, and appreciating the warm, sunny springtime weather while Sonya ran some errands: doors open, shades pulled up, tidying up the front lawn of the stray garbage and assorted junk that had laid dormant under the snow for months, etc., then I head to work at Ye Olde Video Store.

After work, the kids had gone with Grandma up to Flint for the night and Sonya was hanging with our good friend Leigh, so I decided to stop by the homestead of my new friend, Bob, and his weekly internet radio broadcast direct from his basement. I bumped into him at a local party store a couple weeks back while on a beer run and commented on his Battlestar Galactica pins on his jacket. We start to gab and I mention my quartet. He mentions his show and while he usually features local DJs and techno/trance stuff, he likes to keep things eclectic. Before you know it, he’s inviting the quartet and me on his show! He hands me a sticker for the website and we part ways.

A couple weeks later, I finally get around to checking out the site and waddya know, my good friend, Chris Rohn (fellow Northern Aurora Drum Corps alumni and local DJ extraordinaire) is a regular and designed the website! I IM him about it, he gives me Bob’s IM and next thing ya know, I’m invited to stop by anytime.

So I pull up to his unassuming suburban pad, let myself in, and head to the basement. There are folks playing Wii, munching, gabbing, and having a grand old time. I’m told to get in the week’s picture for the site and spend the next hour just hangin’ and talkin’. Just before I head out, I manage to get on the air a bit, too.

Bob also gave me a tour of his abode. I gotta say, this guy is my Yoda in the ways of the Geek. Vintage computer systems, collectible toys and a plethora of odds and ends from the 80’s. He is my bachelor doppel gangar. My house would look just like this if I had no one else to worry about. I was quite impressed and had an absolute blast. Keep an ear out Saturdays about 8pm to http://www.ipmradio.com/ for the show (or anytime thereafter really, as they archive it on the site for your streaming convenience). It’s great stuff to have on at work (at a low level – they’ll drop the ‘F Bomb’ on occasion) and my quartet may be on next week or sometime else soon.

Sunday, with the kids gone, Sonya and I slept till nearly 1pm. WOW that was nice. We then got up and went to MicroCenter (my candy store) to get a microSD card for her and a cheap $7 headset with a mic for me. We spent WAY too long in there (not that I’m complaining) and left with our respective toys.

When we got home, we proceeded to clean up the backyard, which had been torn apart by her brother’s dogs as they’ve visited the past few months. The grass was torn to shreds, piles of excrement deposited, and gaping holes have been dug throughout. Worst of all, our 10’ inflatable pool has been destroyed. Now, we were the dumbasses who forgot to put it away last season, so we didn’t expect it to truly survive, but the dogs had managed to shed it entirely and it was strewn all over the yard like confetti, along with most anything else we were foolish enough not to put in the shed.

After picking up the tattered remains of our yard, raking it up, stepping down some of the worst of the holes and hills created by the canines, and spreading some grass seed, I grab some pizza just in time for the kids to return home.

After the kids are fed and in bed, I break out my new toy. I’ve been recording multitracks of myself for years with varying degrees of success. Some turn out remarkably well, some not. I now have a great program that allows me to edit the tracks within an inch of their lives, but it takes a LOT of work. I usually clip my tiny condenser mic onto a lamp on the desk, mute the output, and sing along with my headphones while hunched over the desk providing virtually no air support. This usually creates a lot of ambient noise and tuning issues.

Just to test it out, I plug in the new headset and try a simple tag: “When It’s Sleepy Time Down South”. In just a few takes I had something nearing professional quality. I could hardly believe it was me! I had to keep going.

For the next few hours I played around with “Who’s Sorry Now”, a tune from the chorus repertoire we had recently excavated. I did it a few times, as I was learning the other 3 parts on the fly, each time getting better and better.

If you want samples, e-mail me. I’ll probably be doing more of these as time permits and inspired by Paul Ellinger of Chordiology, I may try to do some ‘freestyling’ of more contemporary stuff to help me arrange.

Ohh the fun that awaits!

The weather has finally broken! Ain’t no stoppin’ my good mood!

(What’s that whistle? Sounds like a shoe dropping from a mile high…)

Wearing of the Green (and other such nonsense)...

Could the evil spell of the cantankerous Winter Warlock finally be losing is hold on us? Could it be that he may finally be bidding a long overdue retreat into his desolate, frozen crypt for the year?

This winter has been particularly long. Between the schizophrenic weather with record-breaking snowfall and several fake, all too brief thaws, stir-crazy kids in desperate need of outdoor activity, a desolate economic watseland stretching our resolve to the breaking point, and the world in general being in seemingly unending turmoil, we FINALLY come to the seasonal turning point for me and my family...

...Saint Patrick's Day!!!!

Easter is often looked upon as the symbolic beginning of Spring for most. Bright flowers (greenhouse grown, riddled with pesticides, then cut or potted), festively colored eggs (chemically dyed), and the Christian time of renewal (oddly enough, replete with Pagan iconography). While I like and appreciate Easter for all of its well-intentioned symbolism and faith-based sentiment, it's not Easter that symbolizes the beginning of Spring for me - it's St. Patty's Day.

Each year for the past decade or so, on the Sunday before St. Patty's Day, my family has headed down to Corktown in Detroit by the old Tiger Stadium for the annual Detroit St. Patrick's Day Parade. For some reason, for all of the parades that I can remember, the weather has always been spectacular. After 4 months of the cold, gray Michigan winter, the parade weather has always been bright, sunny, (relatively) warm and just down-right Spring-like, seeming to turn on a dime and go from blizzard the week before to near Utopian the day of. This year seems to be no exception.

Last week we got pummeled with snow, sleet, ice and a bit of rain, throwing temporal constants to the wind and making winter seem perpetual. Over the past couple days, as if Mother Nature wanted to be sure to get the last remnants of the ice patches (formerly thigh-high piles of snow) out of the way by the start of the parade, the sun has shone and the temperatures have crept up into the tolerable range. The outlook for Sunday: sunny and mid to upper 40's. Not exactly tropical, but a damned sight better that what we've dealt with for the last 1/3 of a year.

The Annual Corktown Saint Patrick's Day Parade, held along Michigan Avenue between the Lodge Freeway and the old Michigan Central Depot train station is a spectacular, festive celebration of everything Irish, Detroit, Spring, and just plain fun. The feel is almost like Mardi Gras, with costumes, music, beads, baubles, and treats being thrown from every passing unit, and of course, a drink in almost everyone's hand. Despite the traditional presence of a myriad of alcoholic beverages, the scene is remarkable family-friendly. Being held always on a Sunday afternoon, most folks tend toward moderation (if not at least keeping friendly respect for the 'sobers', families, and designated drivers). The crowd is boisterous and lively without being rowdy, and it's a safe, fun time for all.

For those of you who have never been, a few tips for your first time:

• Come early.
  The parade starts at 2pm sharp (after church with time enough to get the corned beef boiling), but don't wait till the last minute. The parade route isn't hard to find a spot, but parking usually is. You're likely to find a spot within 3-4 blocks of the parade route, regardless, but you may spend time winding around every block in search of it while you are constantly maneuvered by police around the parade and marathon routes. Besides, there's lots of great people-watching to do, the bars open at noon, and Corktown has some absolutely GORGEOUS architecture to admire as you wanter the local streets. Get to one of the bars early enough and you may score some beads, buttons, or other swag.
  
  
• Bring a flask of your favorite Irish drink/cocktail.
  Not the whole damned bottle or a full case of beer. Just enough to sip on, keep yourself a bit warmer, and maintain a mellow attitude and shit-eatin' grin. Popular favorites include Irish whiskey, Irish cream, Guinness, Harps, Smithwick's, Killian's Irish Red (if you must - it's not Irish, but made by Miller in Milwaukee), or best yet, prepped Irish Coffee in a thermos. We usually bring hot chocolate for the kids. Be sure to put the hot chocolate in a notably different container than the Irish Cream and don't mix them up!
  
  
• Bring a camera.
  There is SO much variety in the parade units, you'll be sure to want some snapshots. The weather is always so bright and sunny (a wonderful happenstance, knock wood) and the groups and floats so colorful, that any picture you take is bound to turn out publish-worthy, if not near iconic.
  
  
• Wear green!!!
  Obviously. You may be subjected to a light pinch by drunken college girls if you don't.
  Hmm... Come to think of it, some of you may want to leave the green at home, after all.
  
  
• Leave room in your pockets for some stuff.
  You'll be coming home with beads, candy, maybe even a Danish or two (wrapped, of course) thrown from the groups in the parade.
  
  
• Warm up your pipes.
  And brush up on your Irish drinking songs. Inevitably the crowd will break into singing one of the songs piped out by a passing band, community group, or float. Don't worry about how you sound. Most of them won't remember tomorrow morning anyway. ;)
  
  
• Go to one of the local bars (Nemo's is best) after the parade.
  And on St. Patty's Day proper. The huge tent Nemo's has up in their parking lot will be full of colorful characters, friendly faces, and the best Irish Folk band in the area, the Balduck Mountain Ramblers. The Ramblers are there from noon until the last Leprechaun has spent the last of his gold on both parade day and St. Patty's. Learn the words to "The Unicorn Song", "Black Velvet Band" and "Danny Boy"- you'll hear them a lot (much to the band's chagrin).
  
  
• Find Me!!!
  I'll be camped out around Nemo's, most likely, and right by the street. While my cell phone may be out of commission, I shan't be hard to spot. Just look for my kids scrambling for candy and beads, my white Irish sweater, and ever-present Red Chucks.

This is the best parade in Detroit - hands down. The Thanksgiving Day Parade may have giant balloons and bigger floats, but is too cold, too crowded, and too early in the day. The Labor Day parade is warmer, but too politically charged, often too hot, and rather boring. This parade has everything, plus a great afterglow.

If you're thinking of going, drop me a line and we can gather in the same spot, hang out, and catch up! If you're a barbershopper, be prepared to sing a few tunes! We may even be able to get up on stage at Nemo's and give the poor guys in Balduck Mountain Ramblers a break! Given they'll be singing for about 18 hours over 2 days, they're usually more than happy to let someone else hop on stage while they grab a beer!

Corktown St. Patrick's Day Parade
Sunday, March 16th, 2008
2pm
Along Michigan Ave., between the Lodge Freeway
and Michigan Central Station
(by Old Tiger Stadium)

For some great pictures of last year's parade, go see my sister Valerie's Flickr set here: Corktown St. Patrick's Day Parade 2007

So how was YOUR Christmas, Paul? Part 3

Forgive me, readers, for I have sinned. It’s been 8 days since my last blog…

Okay, it’s been a while and I have other things to blog about, so I’ll just give the (somewhat) abbreviated version of the remaining parts of what I like to call “Worst…Christmas…Ever!".

Had my left 2 wisdom teeth extracted the day after I got the remains of my car from the impound. Got up at 7am and grabbed breakfast at McD’s. Had the wrong time in my head for the appointment, so I spent an extra half-hour of excruciating anticipation in the waiting room before getting things going. The actual extraction and subsequent stitches for one of the holes were quick and (relatively) painless, but as usual, the waiting and the Novocain shots were the worst. He explains the possibility of “dry socket”, where the clot becomes dislodged or never forms at all, creating infection, severe pain, and necessitates more surgery. (GULP!) This inspires the over-cautious reactionary in me for the next several days.

After a bit of wrangling about billing, I’m given scripts for Tylenol 3, amoxicillin, and Motrin and sent on my way. I hit the drug store for the prescriptions and head home with gauze in my mouth.

After gathering the kids, we went to Christmas Part Deux at my grandfather’s place. Aside from not being able to eat anything with the gaping holes in my jaw still bleeding, it was fun. We leave and Sonya drops me at work at the video store. Yes, I worked the register, with gauze in my mouth, after oral surgery. I’m an idiot.

About 9, Sonya calls me at work (she doesn’t do that usually unless it’s an emergency). Apparently, someone broke into her parents’ house in Detroit and ransacked the place. Sonya was rushing down to help and, thus, wouldn’t be able to pick me up from work for a while. After explaining my situation to the boss, I’m let go early to catch a ride with a coworker who was just leaving, so I could stay home with the kids and not give them another late night. I managed to get the kids in bed without killing them, despite having had a downright shitty week, a sore jaw, holes in my mouth that wouldn’t stop bleeding, and doped up on a trilogy of meds.

The next day, we all went back to Sonya’s parents’ house with Leigh to help clean up a bit more. Bless her heart, Leigh is always there to help out. Thankfuly, there wasn’t much of obvious value at that house. It seems they hardly took anything: a few DVDs, a jar of change, but not much else. Odd and almost frustrating, considering they took the time and effort to kick in 2 doors, empty every drawer, and even take a lamp to the empty second floor to inspect up there. Even the silver was still there. We cleaned up for a couple hours, then wrapped up and had diner at Mexican Village afterwards. I hadn’t eaten in roughly 36 hours and was still bleeding a bit. At the behest of virtually everyone and despite not actually feeling very hungry, I order a side of beans and rice. I finish the beans and a bit of the rice.

The next day, I check my voice mail to find a message from the auto shop. Just as I had feared, the car’s a loss. Sonya still wants to ask some questions, hoping the guy was basing that prognosis on more repairs than were needed to get it moving and (relatively) legal, drawing the process out further. I have yet to retrieve the car, but I expect in the end, I’ll be calling Charity Motors to have it hauled away for parts and some meager tax deduction.

I went onto my credit union to look into a loan for my next car. My credit’s pretty f*cked up right now, so with a co-signer, I may be able to afford some $2500 beater to get me through the next couple years. I’ll probably end up in another late 90’s Ford. Eh, no biggie. I’ve had 3 other Ford sedans in my day. They’re comfy, fairly reliable, get decent gas mileage, and are relatively cheap and easy to repair – especially compared to the Isuzu. Still, I will miss having an SUV. I know they’re not economical or politically correct, but it was comfy, spacious, and I liked having a higher vantage point on the road. It fit me like a glove.

New Year's was quiet and peaceful. We were invited to 2 parties, but given the impending snow storm and the absolutely hectic and shitty week we've all had, Sonya and I decided to just stay home. Sonya's parents came for the kids, as they had plans for the next day to go to the opera with their grandfather to see Hansel & Gretel (which Liam apparently was absolutely thrilled with and extremely well behaved for. I have a 7-year-old boy who likes opera. I'm a good Music Dad and he's got a great music grandpa).

Sonya's brother, Jeremy, joined us and we spent the night munching, drinking, and watching the tube. We set off a few leftover bottle rockets at midnight, watched a couple movies (well, THEY watched - I hadn't eaten much over the past several days, so the drinks I had hit me hard and I passed out quickly). I was just glad to toss out the old year and start fresh.

Thus endeth 2007 and the "Worst...Christmas...EVER"!

So how was YOUR Christmas, Paul? Part 2

Let’s see – where did we leave off?

Ah yes, Christmas Day.

Christmas Day started off – and remained – relatively normal. Exceedingly so, in fact, given the events of the previous night. About noon, Liam gingerly, but eagerly, enters our room and whispers with glee, “Santa came!!!”

At this point, Sonya and I have managed about 6 hours of relatively decent sleep (Sonya less so, with pain shooting through her chest and back with every toss and turn), so I throw on my robe and head to the living room. As I gather myself, Liam rouses his sister and they both rush to the tree. As usual, the presents from Santa are displayed prominently on top of everything else, unwrapped: glow-in-the-dark Speed Stax for Liam and Christmas Day Barbie for Courtney - just what they asked for. I revel in their faces for a few moments, then explain to them that they shouldn’t open anything else until mom is up and moving. Between the gifts from my family the previous night that were rescued from the car and Santa’s treasures, they have enough to keep busy while I run to the drug store and get Sonya’s prescriptions filled.

When I return with the best Christmas Gift I could have gotten Sonya – drugs – the kids tear into the pile. Usually, Sonya and I will spend a bit on each other and get a few things. With money so tight this year, we skimped on each other to make sure the kids got a good haul. Sonya and the kids did get me the newest volume of Family Guy, however. The kids tore into box after box, exclaiming with utter delight at each new item, be it fun like a toy or practical like new Spider-Man & Dora hats and gloves.

After a few hours, we head to Flint in our only remaining mode of transportation (Sonya’s Prism) for Christmas with her folks. Dinner was supposed to start at about 3, but given the events of the previous night, things were set back a couple of hours. We arrive about 4ish to find Sonya’s father’s cousins already there. Not wanting to waste their time, we hold gift opening off until after dinner, when they have left.

We have a lovely meal of roast beef, a myriad of side dishes, and the Ferris’s traditional Christmas Pudding, and have a wonderful time chatting and just relaxing. After the cousins leave, we open gifts. I got the big item on my “not-necessary-but-greatly-desired” list of a 160GB external hard drive, and spent much of the rest of the evening transferring media from my overstuffed laptop to my new toy while Sonya naps on the couch. We stay a bit later than usual and eventually head home, content that the whole world has NOT gone topsy-turvy and there is some stability left in our lives.

Thursday, I have a dental appointment. I have a mess of cavities and a laundry list of work to be done, but the major problem I need dealt with is a wisdom tooth that had decayed to a hollowed-out cavern. For some reason, Dr. Jay insists on dealing with another cavity first. So I spend a half-hour in the chair while he does his thing.

I must make this clear: I HATE DENTAL APPOINTMENTS! I’m a good patient and can keep my cool, regardless of the discomfort or downright pain I’m in. I’ve always had good dentists and it’s never as bad as I build it up to be, but between the prolonged shot of Novocain, the piercing sound of the drill, and having sensitive teeth to start with, I have to spend a good half hour in the car calming myself down before I even walk into the office. I sat in the chair, closed my eyes, and went to my inner “happy place” while he poked, prodded, and (shudder) drilled. This one was particularly deep, so he wants me to be aware of it, as it may still become infected and may need to be redone at some point. I make an appointment for 2 days later (Saturday, 8am) to get my wisdom teeth extracted.

Friday, I leave work a few hours early to try and get my car towed from the impound lot to a repair shop (at Sonya’s insistence) to see if it’s at all salvageable. This should be simple. Go in, pay the $212 in towing and various other fees (for a totaled car - what a racket), call AAA and have it towed to the shop that was recommended to me, right? WROOOOONG!

I was hoping to do this alone to avoid long discussions about every little detail about the car with Sonya and not have to wrangle antsy kids, but Sonya insisted on coming along and Liam wanted to see the car. After finding the rather hidden offices in a less-than-ideal part of Detroit, I walk in – cash in hand – to bail out my battered and beaten old friend. Of course, the car isn’t THERE, it’s at their OTHER lot, 5 miles away. Sonya’s mom joins us, we get clearance from the main office and head to the storage lot to unload anything of value that may remain in my mobile second home.

Once we see the car and survey the damage in the daylight, we find several things missing – most notably, my trombone. After a litany of profanity that would rival Lenny Bruce, we unload everything else and head back to the lot's office to complain about the missing instrument. Thankfully, after 20 minutes of the guy checking paperwork, he finds it safely tucked in the office. Still, I’m missing a huge box of AA batteries and my MP3 player (which didn’t work particularly well these days, anyway). At this point, I just don’t care. I just want the ordeal over with so I can get to work by 6.

We drive back to the main office. They say if we can get the tattered remains of my poor car off the lot today, they can drop some bullshit $40 listing fee, otherwise, it’ll be that, plus another $15 storage charge. We call AAA, tell them they’ll need all the bullshit insurance and licensing paperwork required to even ENTER their precious lot, and they say a truck will be out in 45 minutes – 15 minutes before they close at 6pm. Just in time, but still making me late for work, so I call to alert my employer to my delay.

I send Sonya with the kids to her mother’s house in Detroit, just a few miles away, rather than have her and the kids stay, restless and bored out of the gords. I sit at the towing office and wait…and wait…and wait. It’s now 5:55pm and the staff is packing up. I call Sonya. She says AAA just called her to say it’ll be another half hour before a truck can get there, missing my window, costing me an extra $55 in fees, the time I missed from work at both jobs, and the past 4 hours of my life. Thankfully, one of the gals at the office (Maxine, bless her heart) opted to stay a bit late to help me out.

The tow truck shows up about 6:40, we get the paperwork all set, and tow my battered “Fortress of Solitude” to the repair shop in Melvindale. By the time it’s all done, it’s 8:30. I call work, who says just to stay home tonight and be ready to work my sales magic the next day.

"No problem," I think, "I'm just having two wisdom teeth extracted at 8am!"

Coming up next: Part 3 - Oral Surgury, Fear of the Dry Socket, More Christmas, Anti-Santas, and a bleak Automotive Prognosis.

So, How Was YOUR Christmas, Paul? Part 1

“So, Paul, how was your Christmas?”

“Oh, not bad. Saw family, watched the kids open presents, dealt with family drama, totaled my car nearly killing myself and family, spent Christmas Eve in the police station and hospital, nearly went broke, had oral surgery, didn’t eat for 2 days, in-laws’ house got broken into and ransacked. Pretty uneventful…”

This will go down in history as the Christmas from Hell in my family. I must append that statement with gratitude to God that we’re all alive and (relatively) well despite it all, but Murphy’s Law was in FULL effect all week. Want the full story? Okay, you asked for it. Buckle up, kiddies, it’s a bumpy ride…

Christmas Eve started about the same as always. I got off work a couple hours early and headed home to help Sonya get the final touches finished and kids ready so we could head out to Ida and spend Christmas Eve with my side of the family. The gathering is usually a high point of the season for me, as it represents a certain amount of stability and tradition over the years. I have spent the majority of my Christmas Eves with the same gaggle of about 15-20 family members for most of my life. I was excited and happy.

Earlier, while I was at work, my mother called me to ask for a ride, as my grandfather and uncle were heading up early and she felt she needed a nap first. I said it’d be tricky with the whole family in the car, and we wanted to take Sonya’s compact instead of my gas-guzzler to save some gas money. Nonetheless, I told her to call me if she couldn’t make other arrangements. By 4pm (our anticipated departure time) I hadn’t heard from her, so I gave her a call. She’d decided not to attend.

This would make the second family holiday in a row she had decided to skip for whatever reason. I was livid. After calling my sister to see if she had left yet and relay the news, she said she was almost to Ida already. She was deciding to turn around, as our mother’s withdrawal from family events had gotten her too pissed to enjoy Christmas. I told her to keep going, grab a drink to calm down, and that I would bring our mother to Christmas, come Hell or high water. I then drive out to Bloomfield Hills to talk my mother into attending.

When I arrive, she’s sitting in her recliner (one of only 2 places in the house one ever finds her) talking to my sister on the phone. After a little additional encouragement, she decides to go and spends the next hour and a half getting herself showered, dressed and ready. As she’s extremely overweight, diabetic, asthmatic, etc., these things take her a long time and there’s no rushing her.

We finally hit the road about 6, pick up Sonya and the kids, and head out to Christmas Eve. I’m fairly pissed at this point, because since Sonya wants to leave at 9:30 at the latest to get the kids in bed, it means only about 2 hours of festivities and curtailing my drinking to maybe 1 beer – 2 with a big meal, maybe.

We still manage to cram a lot of fun into 2 hours. My cousin Lori digs out the dinner makings for us to reheat and I have a good meal. Wonderful comfort food like turkey, mashed potatoes, stuffing, squash, rolls – good traditional stuff. We watch the kids open their gifts from the family we won’t see later in the week, sing some carols, and chat. It was everything I love about Christmas Eve with my family – just truncated a bit.

About 10pm, we hit the road. It’s drizzling a bit, but nothing major – or so I thought. After a few minutes, everyone but me is asleep in the car. About 10:30pm, we get to Outer Drive or so on I-75 and hit a patch of black ice. The car skids to the left median wall, bounces like a pinball across the freeway to the right shoulder wall, hits a small abandoned car, sending it flying about 30 yards on the ice, and comes to a stop with kids screaming and all aboard frightened and confused.

I look around the car’s interior to assess Sonya and the kids’ conditions. Sonya is okay, but startled, Liam is wide-eyed and crying, and Courtney’s face is bloody, but she’s conscious and alert. Panicking, I attempt to get out of the car and help Courtney from her door. Sonya stops me, reminding me it’s not safe and proceeds to clean Courtney up with a spare napkin. Just a bloody nose – nothing broken or teeth missing. However, as Sonya is contorted around helping Courtney, another, larger SUV barrels at us on the same trajectory we took and careens into us at full speed. It hits our back corner, spinning around us, and landing in front of us. If Sonya hadn’t stopped me from getting out of the car, I’d be dead.

Sonya calls her parents in Flint and our dear friend, Leigh, who both immediately jump in their cars to come to our rescue, while I call 911 and am told to wait for the State Police. Meanwhile, we’re all sitting in my totaled car, unable to move, watching car after car skid out around us. Liam is in the back seat, praying, “God, I don’t care about presents! I just want us to all get home alive!” We saw at least 7 other cars narrowly miss us in the HOUR we waited for the State Police – who, despite a SECOND 911 call, NEVER SHOWED UP! Thankfully, the Lincoln Park Police, who just happened to be driving by, saw the pile-up and closed the freeway, got EMS out, and helped as much as they could. It was not their jurisdiction and they shouldn’t have had to, but they weren’t going to leave people helpless in a crash zone. God bless them.

After some debate with EMS about the seriousness of Sonya’s back and neck pain and whether she should go with EMS to the hospital or just wait for our ride to drive us to the ER on our own, she is finally put in the ambulance and taken to Oakwood Hospital. I pile the kids and whatever toys they could carry into one of the officers’ police cars to go to the Lincoln Park Police Department. By the time we get everything situated, both of our cell phones are dead. We get to the Police Station and an officer is nice enough to plug my phone into a squad car to charge, as I only had my car charger with me. Meanwhile, the kids have calmed down and are both simply grateful that we’re all alive. They play with the toys they brought while I try and tame the mood further – for the kids AND myself – by playing some Christmas tunes on my ukulele.

I get the phone back after about 20 minutes and call the in-laws and Leigh. Leigh is a few minutes away and comes to pick us up. I swear, as she opened the door to the police station, I could see a cape around her neck, fluttering majestically in the breeze – our own personal superhero.

Leigh gathers us up and after getting some directions from the officers at the station, we head to Oakwood Hospital to check on Sonya. We get there and are directed to her room. She’s been there an hour with no attention form a doctor. She’s still in pain, but the initial exam seemed not to indicate any serious injuries (i.e. nothing broken, bleeding, or punctured). We all hang around until her parents arrive, trading off visits to the room to observe the 3-visitor limit. When her parents arrive about 2:30am, we decide it’s best to get the kids home and in bed and try to regain some normality to the holiday.

Leigh piles us in her car again, while Sonya’s parents stay with her in the ER, waiting for the x-ray results. We drive home and, not surprisingly, the kids fall asleep on the way. Leigh drops us off, helping to get our salvaged presents and the kids in the house and settled to bed. This wonderful woman woke up in the middle of the night on Christmas Eve, braved driving in the dark in unfamiliar territory (2 of her biggest phobias) to come rescue us in our darkest and most frightening hour without a second thought. If that isn’t the definition of a true friend and hero, I don’t know what is. God bless you, Leigh.

I spent the next 2 hours wrapping presents, calling the State Police to get the whereabouts of the remains of my car, and calling Sonya to get updates on her condition. Sonya gets home about 5:30 with a pronounced slowness to her movement and prescriptions for a muscle relaxant and an anti-inflammatory. The prognosis is still good. They didn’t find any breaks and she SHOULD be fine in a few day – or so they seemed to think. We sort out the details of the presents and wrapping for the kids’ stuff and hit the hay about 6am.

A very heartfelt and enormous "God Bless You!" to our personal super hero, Leigh McLaughlin and the Lincoln Park Police Department, without whom we might not have made it to Christmas Day!

God willing, this is the LAST of the drama for the year.

Heh. Yea, RIGHT!

Coming up next: So, How Was YOUR Christmas, Paul? Part 2

Driving In A Winter Wonderland...

Here I sit in the Train Station in Windsor, waiting to pick up a colleague of the dolts at my work and the train is running an hour late due to this pre-Christmas pummeling by ol’ Mother Nature. The wi-fi connection here is about $12/hr, so what do I do instead? Blog. Only thing there seems to do to pass the time, as I seem to have left my ukulele at Blockbuster.

The kids have the day off at school, but as I have to do crap like this to bring home the proverbial bacon, I don’t get to enjoy it with them and bake cookies, see Santa, go sledding, and do all the fun “snow day” stuff I’d like to with them. Snow days in this part of the country are rare, as we hardy Michiganders regard snow with a certain degree of apathy. We’ll get a foot of snow, grumble and complain a bit after the awe of its beauty have faded, then haul out the snow blowers and shovels and dig ourselves out to go about our business. The municipalities seem to usually get their act together pretty quickly and, as most of the area seems to drive gas-guzzling SUVs (myself included – I know, bad liberal!), a good dumping of the white stuff doesn’t deter us for long.

I’m always amused by friends from similar parts of the country who have relocated to warmer climates and their frustration at their respective new communities’ reactions to snow. Most seem simply aghast at how entire urban regions can virtually shut down at the slightest trace of snow. I used to think that way until I was caught in a winter storm on the East Coast, attempting to journey back to the Mitten State.

I was staying with my dad in Jersey for a few months in the winter of ’93. A friend had planned a huge formal party for Valentine’s Day in a pathetic, over-the-top attempt to win back his ex-girlfriend. Motives aside, it sounded like it was likely to be a great party and enough impetus to make me finally decide to brave the 10 hour drive and come home to spend the Hallmark Holiday with Sonya.

The day of my departure, there was a big winter storm predicted. The weather forecasters had been ranting and raving about several inches of snow. My obvious reaction, being a Michigander with all of 3 winters behind the wheel under my belt was, “Pffft! Snow!!? C’mon! You guys don’t KNOW snow!”. So, naively, I set out at the beginning of the storm, determined to show these Central East-coasters a thing or two about how to handle the roads in, what they deemed to be, a “massive” snow-maker.

All was fine for about 2 hours. I drove cautiously, but purposefully amidst the piling precipitation and was making reasonable time, all things considered. Then it finally occurred to me: When East Coasters talk of large snow accumulation, not only are the road crews NEVER ready for it, but they aren’t talking about our white, fluffy, cold, Northern snow. Noooooo. They’re talking about the wet, heavy, SLUSHY stuff that creates a 4 inch deep film of translucent treachery on the roadways. As I began to slow my speed a bit more to accommodate the increasingly bad driving conditions, I started to go around a curve – that is, my FRONT end did, anyway. The tail end of my car continued on the previous trajectory, spinning my car a full turn-and-a-half, resulting in my facing the WRONG WAY on the interstate.

You can guess what happened next. Yup. I got in a head-on collision on the freeway. As catastrophic as that sounds, my momentum was still going the correct direction and the other driver was slowing down as best he could. Thankfully, my grandfather had instilled the seatbelt rule in me very well, so the worst that I suffered was bumping my head on the steering wheel and ending up with a nice shiner for a few days. The other driver’s airbag deployed, so he had nary a scratch on him. A State Trooper wasn’t far behind, so he stopped to make sure all parties were okay, surveyed the situation, and chalked it up to no one’s fault – just bad road conditions. He was going to see this kinda stuff all day.

The other driver was none the worse for wear. I apologized repeatedly, but he dismissed me with a smile, saying that it was a company car, and I just got him the day off work, as he wanted in the first place, and proceeded to thank ME!

My car, unfortunately, wasn’t as lucky as I. The front 2 feet looked like pug dog. I had it towed to the nearest auto place. Now, any of you who have driven the PA Turnpike know that there is NO SUCH THING as the “nearest” anything. The first 5 miles of free towing don’t do much good on that stretch of road. So I spent 45 minutes in the cab with the toothless tow-truck driver, gave the auto shop my contact info so they could contact me with an estimate (which I had no illusions of being anything I could afford) and walked in the miserable weather to the train station. From the train, I took a cab to the bus station. From the bus, I had a friend drive me back to my dad’s.

All tolled, it took about 6 hours and almost every penny I had saved for the trip just to get me back to where I started. As my friend pulls in front of my dad’s place to drop me off - broke, exhausted, demoralized, and sporting a shiny black eye - he says, “Hey, today’s Anthony’s birthday and some folks are going to play pool. Wanna come?”

I stare at him with an overwhelming look of incredulity, pause for a moment, think, and say…”Sure! Why not!” I had just had one of the worst days of my life so far. I might as well end it on a positive note!

Since then, I have learned to respect the local forecasters a bit more. They still overreact, but they know the response times of their localities a lot better than I. Winter weather is nothing to mess with. One of the hard lessons every teenage driver has to come to terms with, I suppose.

The rail crew is battening down the hatches for the train’s arrival now. I’m not looking forward to getting back into the US with a Canadian citizen with a heavy Slovakian accent in my car. If you don’t hear from me in 4 days, assume I’m enjoying the fresh air and warm climate of sunny Cuba! Gitmo, here I come!

Buckle up, folks. We’re in for a LOOOOOONG winter!

Mother Nature's a teasing little bitch...

Everybody in Michigan by about mid-March is about ready to strangle themselves with the drawstring of their quintuple-insulated parkas. Even though this winter got a very late start, it doesn't change the fact that we have absolutely had it with the cold, slushy roads, and salt-covered everything casting a pale and morbid fog over everything we see. The worst part of March in Michigan is the annual Spring Tease – and here it is.

Yesterday, it was 72 degrees and sunny. Happens almost every year. Sometimes it'll even last a week or so, but then comes the bitter reality – Mother Nature's is a teasing little bitch. In the span of a day or 2, the temperature will drop about 30-40 degrees and we'll be stuck with what seems another interminable bout of winter, as if to say, "You dumbasses! You live in MICHGAN! You think you'll get off THAT easy?"

The worst part of it is when you just can't seem to enjoy the beauty of the tease, either because you can't fit it into the brief time given to the drop of idyllic weather, or because you know what's coming. Yesterday was one of my days working both jobs. I got to appreciate the weather for exactly 30 minutes – 5 minutes on the way to work, 5 minutes grabbing a pack of cloves, and 20 minutes going from one job to the next. The rest of the time I spent either in the dungeon-like, sunlight-deprived shop of Custom Music cleaning and servicing tubas, or behind the register at Blockbuster Video. Even worse was that I just couldn't seem to fully "get" that Spring Fever I so longed for and which should have been unavoidable.

Usually when the weather takes even the most brief turn from the deep-freeze, I get a touch of the spring fever. The smell of the ground thawing, the sound of the birds – hell, even the smell of diesel fumes can get to me on a day like that (you drum corps folks know what I mean). I get a cartoon-like lilt in my step and every breath I take is a deep, hearty gulp akin to drinking one's favorite beer from a never-ending, free tap.

I just couldn't get it, even in the brief time I had to nuzzle against Mother Nature's ample bosoms, because I made one, fatal mistake – I checked the forecast. Yup, by checking weatherbug, I found that Mother Nature's ample bosoms were nothing more than a Kleenex-stuffed bra, covering up the proverbial cold witch's tit: soft and warm perhaps, but not comforting. The next day would be 20 degrees colder, then another 10, then another 5…with snow. Ugh.

I suppose I shouldn't complain. I recall a winter about 13 years ago when the wind chill dipped to -52 degrees. Every major university in the Lower Peninsula closed for the first time in roughly 3 decades (except, of course, Wayne State – a commuter school, no less). This winter has been relatively quite mild, starting late and rarely hitting daytime highs below the teens. Still, I really only appreciate cold weather when it's accompanied by a good amount of snow on the ground, and only then around the Holidays. Come Valentine's Day, I need some sunshine, a nice long drive, and the radio blasting some classic rock with the windows down – preferably without my hands freezing to the steering wheel.

It will be over soon, I know. Old Man Winter is gasping his last breaths while he begs for mercy as Spring slowly increases her grip on his frail throat. Still, it can't come a minute too soon. I want to grab some Taco Bell, walk with Sonya and the kids to the park, and have a picnic as the kids play on the swings. I want to sit on the porch with Sonya, sipping a beer, listening to the kids giggling uncontrollably as they ride their bikes up and down the sidewalk. I want to drive with all the windows down, the radio up, and the scent of mud, lilacs and roses sweeping away the scent of salt and stale cigarette smoke from the interior of my car. I want that. I NEED that.

This tease of Spring tease we had makes me feel like a kid on Thanksgiving: getting a first taste of the holiday season, watching the Christmas parade, seeing the catalogs in the paper advertising the holiday wares, and staring down the barrel of Christmas, but not there yet. The anticipation is killing me, but I know it's coming – and soon.