A nearby neighbour i don't know called when he saw my missing cat sign. He saw kitty by the side of the road. An orange one. Hoped it wasn't mine but....
It was dark when he called, and dark when i drove past. I couldn't see anything.
I got up this morning, walked to the end of my street (i'm the first house on the left, so the end of the street is close by), turned left, and directly across Mr and Mrs H's driveway, but on my side of the road, i saw a familiar shade of orange. It was Jim.
Thankfully, whoever hit him either had done so at the edge of the road or had kindly moved him.
Himself is away, and while i've got the hole dug, i can't bring myself to go collect Jim's body. I've a call into my kind neighbour up the street, who has helped me dispatch moles, voles, and chipmunks the cats have brought me. I've gotten a lot better about dispatching those myself, but i think i need help with this. He and his wife are out and about someplace, but i've left a phone message asking them to call me back.
Helluva way to meet a neighbour.
I am grateful for the closure.
I am grateful that this was a mercifully quick way to go.
I am grateful i made up the signs and that someone took the time to call me.
In some respects, it does not make the heartbreak easier, as it's always sad to say good-bye to a furfriend, but when i hear awful stories of unspeakable things, i am so very grateful Jim was spared that.
I'll never know why he ventured near that busy, busy road, as i yelled at him the two times i saw him venturing out on our much quieter street, and he'd run from the front yard into the back if a loud car or truck went past. I could drive myself crazy with maybes, but why bother? It's moot.
Thank you, Jim, for your sense of fun, forgiving and loving nature, and light.
Wednesday, October 9, 2013
Tuesday, October 8, 2013
Missing
MISSING CAT
Have you seen me?? I am an orange tabby, 1½ years old.
Thank you.
***************************************************************
I know Kipling wrote about giving dogs your heart to tear. Cats can do this, too, when they decide they need to go off on an adventure. sigh.
I know there's good hunting out there, and i know he can go nearly a half mile before he comes to a roadway if he sticks to all back yards. In my unkempt back yard alone, there's easily a hundred different places for him to hide. Now that the signs are up (they look like everything above the ***** and have my phone number on them) and i've talked to a few neighbours about him, i'll be glad to look foolish as he saunters in, completely oblivious to any worry. It sure beats heartbreak.
Have you seen me?? I am an orange tabby, 1½ years old.
My name is Jim.
Please call if you have seen me. My humans last saw me Friday night
04 October 2013, and are worried about me.
04 October 2013, and are worried about me.
Thank you.
***************************************************************
I know Kipling wrote about giving dogs your heart to tear. Cats can do this, too, when they decide they need to go off on an adventure. sigh.
I know there's good hunting out there, and i know he can go nearly a half mile before he comes to a roadway if he sticks to all back yards. In my unkempt back yard alone, there's easily a hundred different places for him to hide. Now that the signs are up (they look like everything above the ***** and have my phone number on them) and i've talked to a few neighbours about him, i'll be glad to look foolish as he saunters in, completely oblivious to any worry. It sure beats heartbreak.
Wednesday, October 2, 2013
Tempus fugit
I can scarcely believe it's been nearly a month since my last blog post. I've been busy. Burned out. And every post sounded so crabby i didn't finish any of them and abandoned them in the draft folder.
Summers here are glorious but fleeting. Himself wanted to help with taking the boat out of the water at the end of the sailing season, which, because of his work schedule would mean mid-September. I had wanted to keep Retrouvé in the water until early October, as September sailing here is usually quite spectacular. SFB would also be on hand to help, and he's a fount of sailing knowledge, so i reluctantly agreed to pulling her out on 22 September.
I sailed on my friend's schooner for that week and had a good time. The trip was a bit emotionally charged, as we had Joe's ashes aboard, and on the last day, after our
6-day trip was done, we sailed out with his widow, other members of his family, and friends to commit the rest of his ashes to the sea. During the 6-day trip, we took turns sleeping with Joe (which he would have loved, and made his widow laugh when we told her we were going to do that), and on a two occasions, we released some of his ashes, one at the lobster bake we had on an uninhabited island where we shot a bit of him from a rocket launcher, and on the morning of the last day, i played "Fiddler's Green" on my fife while one of our sailing friends dumped a cup o' Joe overboard. I know it sounds disrespectful, but if you knew Joe, you'd know he would have loved it. None of us could say anything, and i had planned on playing "Fiddler's Green" through three times. The first time to gather everyone, the second so Mike could dump the cup o'Joe, and the third time, to provide a segué between the solemnity of the moment, and to return to the task at hand. But by the last few measures second time through, my tears started flowing in earnest, and i knew i wouldn't be able to get through the third time. So i stopped after the second time round, and all of us cried.
Ruth was also very much missed on that trip, but she hadn't wanted any part of her brought aboard or buried at sea. She had decided to donate her body to science, hoping it might help them discover something to help someone else down the road.
Himself decided to stay home and work on a few house projects that needed doing, although he did sail with us for Joe's official sendoff to the sea. He got a lot done and had that air of satisfaction one gets when one is able to cross off an item from the to-do list that's been there too long.
SFB's wife also came aboard the boat for the service, after the sail, there was a reception in the dock house. Joe's sister, who was slated to take his sailing hat, had worn it from the time she arrived at the shipyard until after the sail. The hat had been tied to the box containing his ashes and had also made the 6-day trip with us. She was living on the West Coast and had sailed in her younger days. She regaled me with some of her sailing stories and asked me about Retrouvé. We could see her tied up at her mooring from the dockhouse so i pointed to her, and we talked sailing for a bit.
As i circled around talking to various small groups of people, i had come full circle and talked to Cappy. She had Joe's hat hanging between her shoulder blades, and i wondered why. She saw me look at it and explained that Joe's sister said that Joe had always sailed on the East Coast. Taking his hat to the West Coast with her was wrong. His hat belonged here, and she gave it to Cappy for as long as she wants to keep it.
SFB would come home with Himself and me and stay the night at our house, since he'd help us with Retrouvé next day. SFB's wife would drive home the hour or so to their house, and had plans with their granddaughter on Sunday. Before we ate supper, SFB and i gathered the few things i hadn't yet put in the truck: extra rope to tie down the stays to the mast on the way home, an extra pfd for SFB, the cross-tree that would serve as a rest for the mast, the tie-downs we'd use around the boat.
A documentary had recently come out about a boat that had been built nearby, and the boat created a bit of a stir as it was unconventional. I wanted to see the documentary as i had moved here full-time during one of the more heated chapters and was curious to see how the filmmakers would tell the story. For the most part, i'd say they did an even-handed job. At any rate, i was able to procure a copy of the documentary, and SFB wanted to see it, so the three of us watched it.
The day had been a long one, up early for sailing (SFB and me) or house stuff (Himself), the service for Joe had been emotionally draining, and we all found ourselves pretty tired by documentary's end. I had nodded off for a part of it, but i'd seen it before, and as i own a copy, i could see it again.
Our plan was simple. We'd get up next day, maybe needing to wait a little for the last of the rain to blow through, then take Retrouvé out of the water. High tide was at 1 p.m., so getting to the boat by 11 a.m. would allow us to take advantage of the tide.
SFB was settling down in the guest room, DH and i were upstairs in our bedroom, and i fell asleep quickly. At some point, i heard SFB say, "emergency room," and Himself say to me, "I need to take SFB to the hospital." I said, "Okay," and stretched a bit. I could see Himself and SFB travelling a dark road.
About 15 minutes after that, i awoke and listened. Himself was not beside me. I was the only one in the house. It dawned that it hadn't been a dream. I really did hear SFB say, "emergency room," and Himself really did tell me he was taking SFB to the hospital. I waited for Himself to return.
SFB felt a huge pressure in his chest, and it worsened when he lay down. He has heart trouble, and he decided this seemed a bit serious as he couldn't lie down at all without feeling loads of pressure and could hardly breathe when he was supine. After telling me they were leaving, Himself had sped like a madman and got stopped by the police. Headlight and taillight out, and oh, he was speeding. Himself explained he was taking his friend to the hospital. The cop took one look at SFB and told Himself to get along, only not to drive so fast. He didn't accompany them, just turned around and walked away as Himself took off.
SFB wears contact lenses most of the time, but changes to glasses a little bit before bedtime. I hadn't recalled seeing him with his glasses on and wasn't sure exactly what time it was the last time i saw him and what time Himself had driven him to the ER. "Was SFB wearing his glasses?" i asked Himself. No, he hadn't been. Well, then, we'd need to take his contact lens stuff and glasses over. I'd drive this time as my headlights and taillights were functioning correctly. And, i didn't need to speed.
We arrived to find SFB still in the ER waiting for a room. He was reading his Kindle and wearing his glasses. We visited a while with him, and the nurse came in to talk with him. She didn't ask us to leave, and he didn't ask us to leave, so we stayed and heard her explain that they thought he was having congestive heart failure. Now SFB is not a complainer and i've never seen him afraid of anything, but i saw abject fear spread over his face. Only for an instant, and he said in a controlled voice, "My mother died from that." True, his mother died at 95 from CHF, and yes, SFB had heart trouble, but not CHF, and i could see him trying to come to grips with that. I also knew we couldn't leave him alone until he got a bit more settled. Or until his wife arrived.
Himself was nodding off and said he really needed to get home and go to bed. I was wide awake and said i'd take him home, which i did. I then returned. I remembered how frightened i'd been when i was in the hospital with my broken leg, and the blizzard made travel very difficult. The governer closed all the roads for everyone except for emergency vehicles, so i sat there alone, wondering how long my recovery would take, and if it would be a complete recovery. I didn't think i'd die, though, and while i didn't think SFB was going to die, and i couldn't do anything helpful, i could just wait with him. At least until he got a room. Or until his wife came.
The nurse came back into the ER cubicle where we were. She asked questions in a very low, soft voice. SFB has hearing loss, so i told her she'd need to speak up so he could hear. I was glad i could let her know that, because she wore a look on her face that indicated she thought he was not quite with it as his face hadn't registered any of her questions. Well, of course he didn't, you silly cow, i thought. He didn't hear you.
"So, you took Sleepyhead home?" she smiled to me, and nodded to the empty chair where Himself had been. I nodded. She left to go do something, and SFB asked what the beeping noise was. The monitor was beeping because a few of the ECG parameters were high. I could tell it bothered him, and i was explaining that a few were just over normal on the high side when Nurse returned. She saw his panicked look, went over to the monitor, and silenced the alarms. His blood pressure stats were updated every 15 minutes and he wanted me to tell him what the latest readings were.
He said that his wife might stop in. Since this wasn't the first time he'd had heart issues, she had a routine. If she could get some sleep, she'd do that for a few hours, then come in and stay all day. If she couldn't sleep, then she'd be on her way. Either way, i figured i wasn't leaving until i knew he settled down a bit and got a regular room or if she came. I just couldn't bear to leave him all alone.
Finally, they had a room ready. I carried his personal effects and once we got to the room, the new nurse who helped the first one who spoke with the low, soft voice asked me to wait in the family waiting room. He kindly got me a cup of tea, and i realized he thought i was SFB's wife. He told me things he'd tell a spouse not a friend, and i only got a word in when he went to take a breath. I explained i was simply a friend, that he was staying the night at our house to help us with taking our boat out of the water next day. That his wife lived an hour away, yes, he lived there with her, but rather than drive all the way home and back, it made more sense to stay the night with us.
And now, this.
I went into the room. SFB looked a bit better, his colouring had returned to more normal, and his breathing was a bit easier. He was a bit calmer, too, and we both relaxed. He asked what time it was. I looked at my pocket watch. It was nearly 4 a.m. He told me i ought to get home and get a few hours sleep. I felt a wave of fatigue wash over me. He was right. He also looked tired, and i said he ought to do the same. I gave him a peck on the cheek and hug, tucked in his blankets a bit, and left.
Himself was sound asleep as i crawled in next to him. I felt i had been asleep for about five minutes when i opened my eyes. It was quarter to nine. I got up, ate breakfast, and looked at the rain. The last hurrah of rain the weathermen predicted was a bit more steady than a hurrah. It looked positively gloomy outside. Well, they thought things would clear off by noon. That'd put us an hour behind the time we wanted to start, but we'd still be all right.
I thought about SFB. Snippets of the hospital conversation came back. Low voice Nurse saying that he was going to be there all day Sunday and most likely Monday, too for an echocardiogram. We had taken his toiletries and meds, the latter of which the nurse did not want us to leave there, as they would dispense all his meds. He had asked for his chargers for his phone and Kindle and told me right where to find them. I heartily dislike rifling through people's things, i always feel like an invader. As i got the chargers, i realized SFB had no clothes with him. I didn't find a pair of clean underpants but i didn't look through every single thing in his bag. I did discover a small bag of dirty underwear and socks that he had worn on the sailing trip. God, had that really ended only the day before? It felt like weeks. I could wash everything in the small bag, and his jeans. I also saw two shirts he had worn on the sailing trip and washed those, too. I rarely use a dryer, always opting for a sunny day to hang things on the line, but was glad i had the dryer option available, as the rain droned on outside. By the time the dryer was finished, Himself and i had a plan. We'd pull Retrouvé ourselves. SFB had walked us through before, and we were pretty sure we knew all the steps. I was most worried about backing up the trailer down the ramp and getting the boat on board that. Himself was most worried about lowering the mast. He assured me he'd be fine with the trailer; i assured him i knew we'd be fine with lowering the mast. So, we'd do it ourselves.
I stopped by the hospital to drop off some clean underthings for SFB. His wife was there, and she had brought some clean clothes. Of course she did. And her hospital bag. As she explained, she had all too much experience with SFB, her own parents, and SFB's mom. She thanked us for getting him to the hospital so quickly and for staying with him. That she'd be glad to help us with the boat, only not today. And of course, SFB would not be able to help. Of course he wouldn't. They had brought lunch for the both of them. We discussed the plan regarding SFB's car and who would be picking it up, what to do if by the time they came for the car, we were at the boat. And i suddenly felt very much out of place. I told her if she wanted to stay at our place, she was welcome to do so. She thanked me, said she preferred her own bed, it wasn't super far away, but thanks all the same.
As i drove back home from the hospital, i notice the rain had stopped. The grey glare made me squint, and Himself had gathered a few more pieces of rope to add to the collection for tying the stays to the mast for the trip home.
We said a prayer before leaving with the trailer. Himself had guided me back to it, attached it to the truck, and checked to make sure the lights were working. He reminded me not to take corners too closely (i tend to since i'm used to driving small cars with tight turning radii) and followed me to the public landing. I had driven over one curb and wondered if i had. It was a tight left turn from one small road onto another. No harm done, as the trailer was empty, but would have been a bit nervewracking with boat on it. I got in to Himself's car--while i was dropping off clean underthings to SFB he had gone to get a new taillight and headlight--and we drove to the shipyard where we'd get in Twig, the dinghy and row out to Retrouvé. I told Himself that as i drove over the one curb, it might be best if he drove the truck and trailer home, and i'd drive his car. I know he wanted to drive it because i've only driven with a trailer once before and need more practice. But, he didn't want to belabour the point, and we've been together long enough that there are times we each know it's better to say nothing and let our spouse come to the right conclusion. Saves a lot of argument or ruffled feathers. He thought we should perhaps drive home with the boat first, unhitch the trailer, and then drive back to the shipyard and pick up his car.
It took us a bit longer than it would have with SFB because a few times, we needed to think through the sequence of what needed to come next before we acted, and it felt as if the teacher had done what he could to teach us. It was now up to his students to use the knowledge he shared from his vast stores of wisdom and find our way. But, we were able to do everything we needed to do. We did it cautiously, carefully, and without disagreement or argument. Himself needed to readjust the trailer on the ramp one time. Retrouvé balked a little the first time but the second time, she slid onto the trailer easily. When it came time to drop the mast, i told Himself how i thought we should do it. He made a brillant suggestion that was a small tweak to my plan, which i immediately sensed was the perfect thing to do. We got the mast down easily. As he was securing the cross-tree to the stern, he wanted to tie some of the rope from the cross-tree to a forward stanchion, but the rope was too short. He had two pieces that toegether would be enough. He asked if i could tie some sort of knot that wouldn't come undone. I could, and tied a carrick bend. Those mornings sitting with The Marlinspike Sailor as i ate my breakfast and played with two pieces of rope hadn't been in vain.
We checked everything. Himself is more right brained than i am, so he could get the self-feed part of the tiedowns to work perfectly, but he couldn't remember exactly how we had used them in the spring. I remembered, and we had Retrouvé ready to go. We drove a little way, then Himself got out and as SFB had done, shook the boat back and forth to make sure nothing rattled too much. Nothing had.
My job was the same as it had been in the spring. I was to look behind and alert the driver if anything looked as if it were working loose. Nothing did.
We got home, unhitched the trailer, and went to fetch Himself's car. I had told him i was supposed to go out to supper with a knitting friend who was taking the next trip on my friend's schooner. We had agreed to the dinner plans several weeks before, that felt like years before. Himself could come, and he'd never met Hope, so this would be fun. The first mate was also going to be joining us, and as all four of us could fit in the truck, we headed to a very nice Italian restaurant on the other side of town to find it...closed. We went to another eatery next town over, one that Himself and i like very much. Hope and the first mate had never been. We sat in a booth, toasted to a fine sailing season and success with retrieving Retrouvé ourselves. Our conversation wandered all over the place, and we ended up telling Hope and the first mate about SFB. They both knew him, Hope had sailed with him several times, and the first mate had only just met SFB on our 6-day trip, but had heard about him from others so knew a bit about him before he had chance to meet him. He asked when visiting hours were over. I said i thought 8:30 p.m. We had finished our meal and paid the check. It was now about 8:10. He thought we should stop by on our way back, as we went right by the hospital.
And so we did. I knew where the room was even without breadcrumbs, and SFB brightened when he saw my face. He was alone, as all family had left about an hour or so before. He suspected Himself was with me, but was surprised to see two others besides troop in as well and was quite touched to see us all.
He wanted to know how it went with Retrouvé. We told him all was well with that. He asked about the schooner, and the first mate mentioned a small job he took care of that SFB knew needed doing. Hope talked a bit about the upcoming trip and how the next time she sailed, she wanted SFB to be there, too. We stayed about 15 minutes and after hugs all around, we left, dropping off Hope and the first mate wishing them fair winds. Himself got into his car, and we both drove home.
The day felt 77 hours long. The cats greeted us warmly, and we made an early night of it.
Life. Death. Lighting Chinese lanterns one night after anchoring and calling the one i released Ruth. Spreading a cup of Joe on the sea. Doing house repairs. Taking what we learned from one more experienced and doing it ourselves. I thought of the Little Prince. How he had to leave his body behind because he was so full of knowledge and his body was simply too heavy. I thought of how comforting it would be to get back to my usual daily routine. Predictable. Boring. Not blog worthy in the least. But, oh, so very welcome.
Summers here are glorious but fleeting. Himself wanted to help with taking the boat out of the water at the end of the sailing season, which, because of his work schedule would mean mid-September. I had wanted to keep Retrouvé in the water until early October, as September sailing here is usually quite spectacular. SFB would also be on hand to help, and he's a fount of sailing knowledge, so i reluctantly agreed to pulling her out on 22 September.
I sailed on my friend's schooner for that week and had a good time. The trip was a bit emotionally charged, as we had Joe's ashes aboard, and on the last day, after our
6-day trip was done, we sailed out with his widow, other members of his family, and friends to commit the rest of his ashes to the sea. During the 6-day trip, we took turns sleeping with Joe (which he would have loved, and made his widow laugh when we told her we were going to do that), and on a two occasions, we released some of his ashes, one at the lobster bake we had on an uninhabited island where we shot a bit of him from a rocket launcher, and on the morning of the last day, i played "Fiddler's Green" on my fife while one of our sailing friends dumped a cup o' Joe overboard. I know it sounds disrespectful, but if you knew Joe, you'd know he would have loved it. None of us could say anything, and i had planned on playing "Fiddler's Green" through three times. The first time to gather everyone, the second so Mike could dump the cup o'Joe, and the third time, to provide a segué between the solemnity of the moment, and to return to the task at hand. But by the last few measures second time through, my tears started flowing in earnest, and i knew i wouldn't be able to get through the third time. So i stopped after the second time round, and all of us cried.
Ruth was also very much missed on that trip, but she hadn't wanted any part of her brought aboard or buried at sea. She had decided to donate her body to science, hoping it might help them discover something to help someone else down the road.
Himself decided to stay home and work on a few house projects that needed doing, although he did sail with us for Joe's official sendoff to the sea. He got a lot done and had that air of satisfaction one gets when one is able to cross off an item from the to-do list that's been there too long.
SFB's wife also came aboard the boat for the service, after the sail, there was a reception in the dock house. Joe's sister, who was slated to take his sailing hat, had worn it from the time she arrived at the shipyard until after the sail. The hat had been tied to the box containing his ashes and had also made the 6-day trip with us. She was living on the West Coast and had sailed in her younger days. She regaled me with some of her sailing stories and asked me about Retrouvé. We could see her tied up at her mooring from the dockhouse so i pointed to her, and we talked sailing for a bit.
As i circled around talking to various small groups of people, i had come full circle and talked to Cappy. She had Joe's hat hanging between her shoulder blades, and i wondered why. She saw me look at it and explained that Joe's sister said that Joe had always sailed on the East Coast. Taking his hat to the West Coast with her was wrong. His hat belonged here, and she gave it to Cappy for as long as she wants to keep it.
SFB would come home with Himself and me and stay the night at our house, since he'd help us with Retrouvé next day. SFB's wife would drive home the hour or so to their house, and had plans with their granddaughter on Sunday. Before we ate supper, SFB and i gathered the few things i hadn't yet put in the truck: extra rope to tie down the stays to the mast on the way home, an extra pfd for SFB, the cross-tree that would serve as a rest for the mast, the tie-downs we'd use around the boat.
A documentary had recently come out about a boat that had been built nearby, and the boat created a bit of a stir as it was unconventional. I wanted to see the documentary as i had moved here full-time during one of the more heated chapters and was curious to see how the filmmakers would tell the story. For the most part, i'd say they did an even-handed job. At any rate, i was able to procure a copy of the documentary, and SFB wanted to see it, so the three of us watched it.
The day had been a long one, up early for sailing (SFB and me) or house stuff (Himself), the service for Joe had been emotionally draining, and we all found ourselves pretty tired by documentary's end. I had nodded off for a part of it, but i'd seen it before, and as i own a copy, i could see it again.
Our plan was simple. We'd get up next day, maybe needing to wait a little for the last of the rain to blow through, then take Retrouvé out of the water. High tide was at 1 p.m., so getting to the boat by 11 a.m. would allow us to take advantage of the tide.
SFB was settling down in the guest room, DH and i were upstairs in our bedroom, and i fell asleep quickly. At some point, i heard SFB say, "emergency room," and Himself say to me, "I need to take SFB to the hospital." I said, "Okay," and stretched a bit. I could see Himself and SFB travelling a dark road.
About 15 minutes after that, i awoke and listened. Himself was not beside me. I was the only one in the house. It dawned that it hadn't been a dream. I really did hear SFB say, "emergency room," and Himself really did tell me he was taking SFB to the hospital. I waited for Himself to return.
SFB felt a huge pressure in his chest, and it worsened when he lay down. He has heart trouble, and he decided this seemed a bit serious as he couldn't lie down at all without feeling loads of pressure and could hardly breathe when he was supine. After telling me they were leaving, Himself had sped like a madman and got stopped by the police. Headlight and taillight out, and oh, he was speeding. Himself explained he was taking his friend to the hospital. The cop took one look at SFB and told Himself to get along, only not to drive so fast. He didn't accompany them, just turned around and walked away as Himself took off.
SFB wears contact lenses most of the time, but changes to glasses a little bit before bedtime. I hadn't recalled seeing him with his glasses on and wasn't sure exactly what time it was the last time i saw him and what time Himself had driven him to the ER. "Was SFB wearing his glasses?" i asked Himself. No, he hadn't been. Well, then, we'd need to take his contact lens stuff and glasses over. I'd drive this time as my headlights and taillights were functioning correctly. And, i didn't need to speed.
We arrived to find SFB still in the ER waiting for a room. He was reading his Kindle and wearing his glasses. We visited a while with him, and the nurse came in to talk with him. She didn't ask us to leave, and he didn't ask us to leave, so we stayed and heard her explain that they thought he was having congestive heart failure. Now SFB is not a complainer and i've never seen him afraid of anything, but i saw abject fear spread over his face. Only for an instant, and he said in a controlled voice, "My mother died from that." True, his mother died at 95 from CHF, and yes, SFB had heart trouble, but not CHF, and i could see him trying to come to grips with that. I also knew we couldn't leave him alone until he got a bit more settled. Or until his wife arrived.
Himself was nodding off and said he really needed to get home and go to bed. I was wide awake and said i'd take him home, which i did. I then returned. I remembered how frightened i'd been when i was in the hospital with my broken leg, and the blizzard made travel very difficult. The governer closed all the roads for everyone except for emergency vehicles, so i sat there alone, wondering how long my recovery would take, and if it would be a complete recovery. I didn't think i'd die, though, and while i didn't think SFB was going to die, and i couldn't do anything helpful, i could just wait with him. At least until he got a room. Or until his wife came.
The nurse came back into the ER cubicle where we were. She asked questions in a very low, soft voice. SFB has hearing loss, so i told her she'd need to speak up so he could hear. I was glad i could let her know that, because she wore a look on her face that indicated she thought he was not quite with it as his face hadn't registered any of her questions. Well, of course he didn't, you silly cow, i thought. He didn't hear you.
"So, you took Sleepyhead home?" she smiled to me, and nodded to the empty chair where Himself had been. I nodded. She left to go do something, and SFB asked what the beeping noise was. The monitor was beeping because a few of the ECG parameters were high. I could tell it bothered him, and i was explaining that a few were just over normal on the high side when Nurse returned. She saw his panicked look, went over to the monitor, and silenced the alarms. His blood pressure stats were updated every 15 minutes and he wanted me to tell him what the latest readings were.
He said that his wife might stop in. Since this wasn't the first time he'd had heart issues, she had a routine. If she could get some sleep, she'd do that for a few hours, then come in and stay all day. If she couldn't sleep, then she'd be on her way. Either way, i figured i wasn't leaving until i knew he settled down a bit and got a regular room or if she came. I just couldn't bear to leave him all alone.
Finally, they had a room ready. I carried his personal effects and once we got to the room, the new nurse who helped the first one who spoke with the low, soft voice asked me to wait in the family waiting room. He kindly got me a cup of tea, and i realized he thought i was SFB's wife. He told me things he'd tell a spouse not a friend, and i only got a word in when he went to take a breath. I explained i was simply a friend, that he was staying the night at our house to help us with taking our boat out of the water next day. That his wife lived an hour away, yes, he lived there with her, but rather than drive all the way home and back, it made more sense to stay the night with us.
And now, this.
I went into the room. SFB looked a bit better, his colouring had returned to more normal, and his breathing was a bit easier. He was a bit calmer, too, and we both relaxed. He asked what time it was. I looked at my pocket watch. It was nearly 4 a.m. He told me i ought to get home and get a few hours sleep. I felt a wave of fatigue wash over me. He was right. He also looked tired, and i said he ought to do the same. I gave him a peck on the cheek and hug, tucked in his blankets a bit, and left.
Himself was sound asleep as i crawled in next to him. I felt i had been asleep for about five minutes when i opened my eyes. It was quarter to nine. I got up, ate breakfast, and looked at the rain. The last hurrah of rain the weathermen predicted was a bit more steady than a hurrah. It looked positively gloomy outside. Well, they thought things would clear off by noon. That'd put us an hour behind the time we wanted to start, but we'd still be all right.
I thought about SFB. Snippets of the hospital conversation came back. Low voice Nurse saying that he was going to be there all day Sunday and most likely Monday, too for an echocardiogram. We had taken his toiletries and meds, the latter of which the nurse did not want us to leave there, as they would dispense all his meds. He had asked for his chargers for his phone and Kindle and told me right where to find them. I heartily dislike rifling through people's things, i always feel like an invader. As i got the chargers, i realized SFB had no clothes with him. I didn't find a pair of clean underpants but i didn't look through every single thing in his bag. I did discover a small bag of dirty underwear and socks that he had worn on the sailing trip. God, had that really ended only the day before? It felt like weeks. I could wash everything in the small bag, and his jeans. I also saw two shirts he had worn on the sailing trip and washed those, too. I rarely use a dryer, always opting for a sunny day to hang things on the line, but was glad i had the dryer option available, as the rain droned on outside. By the time the dryer was finished, Himself and i had a plan. We'd pull Retrouvé ourselves. SFB had walked us through before, and we were pretty sure we knew all the steps. I was most worried about backing up the trailer down the ramp and getting the boat on board that. Himself was most worried about lowering the mast. He assured me he'd be fine with the trailer; i assured him i knew we'd be fine with lowering the mast. So, we'd do it ourselves.
I stopped by the hospital to drop off some clean underthings for SFB. His wife was there, and she had brought some clean clothes. Of course she did. And her hospital bag. As she explained, she had all too much experience with SFB, her own parents, and SFB's mom. She thanked us for getting him to the hospital so quickly and for staying with him. That she'd be glad to help us with the boat, only not today. And of course, SFB would not be able to help. Of course he wouldn't. They had brought lunch for the both of them. We discussed the plan regarding SFB's car and who would be picking it up, what to do if by the time they came for the car, we were at the boat. And i suddenly felt very much out of place. I told her if she wanted to stay at our place, she was welcome to do so. She thanked me, said she preferred her own bed, it wasn't super far away, but thanks all the same.
As i drove back home from the hospital, i notice the rain had stopped. The grey glare made me squint, and Himself had gathered a few more pieces of rope to add to the collection for tying the stays to the mast for the trip home.
We said a prayer before leaving with the trailer. Himself had guided me back to it, attached it to the truck, and checked to make sure the lights were working. He reminded me not to take corners too closely (i tend to since i'm used to driving small cars with tight turning radii) and followed me to the public landing. I had driven over one curb and wondered if i had. It was a tight left turn from one small road onto another. No harm done, as the trailer was empty, but would have been a bit nervewracking with boat on it. I got in to Himself's car--while i was dropping off clean underthings to SFB he had gone to get a new taillight and headlight--and we drove to the shipyard where we'd get in Twig, the dinghy and row out to Retrouvé. I told Himself that as i drove over the one curb, it might be best if he drove the truck and trailer home, and i'd drive his car. I know he wanted to drive it because i've only driven with a trailer once before and need more practice. But, he didn't want to belabour the point, and we've been together long enough that there are times we each know it's better to say nothing and let our spouse come to the right conclusion. Saves a lot of argument or ruffled feathers. He thought we should perhaps drive home with the boat first, unhitch the trailer, and then drive back to the shipyard and pick up his car.
It took us a bit longer than it would have with SFB because a few times, we needed to think through the sequence of what needed to come next before we acted, and it felt as if the teacher had done what he could to teach us. It was now up to his students to use the knowledge he shared from his vast stores of wisdom and find our way. But, we were able to do everything we needed to do. We did it cautiously, carefully, and without disagreement or argument. Himself needed to readjust the trailer on the ramp one time. Retrouvé balked a little the first time but the second time, she slid onto the trailer easily. When it came time to drop the mast, i told Himself how i thought we should do it. He made a brillant suggestion that was a small tweak to my plan, which i immediately sensed was the perfect thing to do. We got the mast down easily. As he was securing the cross-tree to the stern, he wanted to tie some of the rope from the cross-tree to a forward stanchion, but the rope was too short. He had two pieces that toegether would be enough. He asked if i could tie some sort of knot that wouldn't come undone. I could, and tied a carrick bend. Those mornings sitting with The Marlinspike Sailor as i ate my breakfast and played with two pieces of rope hadn't been in vain.
We checked everything. Himself is more right brained than i am, so he could get the self-feed part of the tiedowns to work perfectly, but he couldn't remember exactly how we had used them in the spring. I remembered, and we had Retrouvé ready to go. We drove a little way, then Himself got out and as SFB had done, shook the boat back and forth to make sure nothing rattled too much. Nothing had.
My job was the same as it had been in the spring. I was to look behind and alert the driver if anything looked as if it were working loose. Nothing did.
We got home, unhitched the trailer, and went to fetch Himself's car. I had told him i was supposed to go out to supper with a knitting friend who was taking the next trip on my friend's schooner. We had agreed to the dinner plans several weeks before, that felt like years before. Himself could come, and he'd never met Hope, so this would be fun. The first mate was also going to be joining us, and as all four of us could fit in the truck, we headed to a very nice Italian restaurant on the other side of town to find it...closed. We went to another eatery next town over, one that Himself and i like very much. Hope and the first mate had never been. We sat in a booth, toasted to a fine sailing season and success with retrieving Retrouvé ourselves. Our conversation wandered all over the place, and we ended up telling Hope and the first mate about SFB. They both knew him, Hope had sailed with him several times, and the first mate had only just met SFB on our 6-day trip, but had heard about him from others so knew a bit about him before he had chance to meet him. He asked when visiting hours were over. I said i thought 8:30 p.m. We had finished our meal and paid the check. It was now about 8:10. He thought we should stop by on our way back, as we went right by the hospital.
And so we did. I knew where the room was even without breadcrumbs, and SFB brightened when he saw my face. He was alone, as all family had left about an hour or so before. He suspected Himself was with me, but was surprised to see two others besides troop in as well and was quite touched to see us all.
He wanted to know how it went with Retrouvé. We told him all was well with that. He asked about the schooner, and the first mate mentioned a small job he took care of that SFB knew needed doing. Hope talked a bit about the upcoming trip and how the next time she sailed, she wanted SFB to be there, too. We stayed about 15 minutes and after hugs all around, we left, dropping off Hope and the first mate wishing them fair winds. Himself got into his car, and we both drove home.
The day felt 77 hours long. The cats greeted us warmly, and we made an early night of it.
Life. Death. Lighting Chinese lanterns one night after anchoring and calling the one i released Ruth. Spreading a cup of Joe on the sea. Doing house repairs. Taking what we learned from one more experienced and doing it ourselves. I thought of the Little Prince. How he had to leave his body behind because he was so full of knowledge and his body was simply too heavy. I thought of how comforting it would be to get back to my usual daily routine. Predictable. Boring. Not blog worthy in the least. But, oh, so very welcome.
Tuesday, September 3, 2013
Bra shopping, an update
Readers may remember an earlier blog post where i mentioned just how insufferable it is to find a bra that fits properly. Well, on Monday, i must have inadvertently slipped through a wormhole into a parallel universe, because on a whim, i stopped in a department store i rarely frequent, and went to the ladies undergarment section. I picked two bras that looked like they might work for me.
The first one fit perfectly, the second, not as well.
Shocked, i went back out and picked up two more like the first, but in different colours, and two more that were by the same manufacturer but not an underwire style.
They all fit. Well.
I didn't need them all, but i did select three and put the rest back.
I'm quite certain that now i found some that fit so well, i'll either lose or gain tremendous amounts of weight, so that they'll be ill-fitting in no time.
Still, that foray through the wormhole was nice.
I may just write the manufacturer a thank you note.
The first one fit perfectly, the second, not as well.
Shocked, i went back out and picked up two more like the first, but in different colours, and two more that were by the same manufacturer but not an underwire style.
They all fit. Well.
I didn't need them all, but i did select three and put the rest back.
I'm quite certain that now i found some that fit so well, i'll either lose or gain tremendous amounts of weight, so that they'll be ill-fitting in no time.
Still, that foray through the wormhole was nice.
I may just write the manufacturer a thank you note.
Thursday, August 22, 2013
Too. damn. early. And yet...
I ran errands over my lunch break yesterday. I stopped at a local department store, which resembles a throwback to earlier department stores, as it has clothing, shoes, housewares, toys, and some foodstuffs for sale. I picked up some food items, and on my way towards the back corner of the store to the foodstuffs section, i saw an endcap display with Christmas cards. I groaned.
And, completely surprising myself, picked up a box.
At checkout, i remarked about how it seemed way too early.
Both the cashier and bagger nodded in agreement.
"Yet, here i am buying them all the same, so what does that say about me?"
They both smiled and said nothing.
Too. damn. early. Just hope i can find the @#($#( box when i'm ready to fill out and send the cards.
And, completely surprising myself, picked up a box.
At checkout, i remarked about how it seemed way too early.
Both the cashier and bagger nodded in agreement.
"Yet, here i am buying them all the same, so what does that say about me?"
They both smiled and said nothing.
Too. damn. early. Just hope i can find the @#($#( box when i'm ready to fill out and send the cards.
Tuesday, August 20, 2013
Tea for the tillerman--actually a tiller for this tea gal
I do look at things on Craig's List* from time to time, just to see what's out there. Most of it is either out of my price range or drek.
But, occasionally, something really grabs my attention, and i follow up either with an email or a phone call. Many times, the initial phone call or email is met with, "Sorry, that item sold." Occasionally, however, i get lucky. It's how i met my down-the-street, around-the-corner neighbour, as he was selling his boat and had listed a lot of the boat paraphanalia on Craig's List. I got a few small fenders that have come in handy for my dinghy and a wonderful portable chart table that i've yet to use "for real" on the water, but i can see that time coming soon.
And so it was a few weeks back, when SFB and i went for a sail, that he noticed my tiller needs replacing. I realized at the beginning of the sailing season that i should most likely sand off all the old varnish and start again, rather than just slap on a few more coats and call it good, and vowed i'd do that as a winter project. But, it's beyond not only another coat slap, but also the sand the varnish off as well. SFB pressed into the knob end of the tiller, and the wood is soft. Soft enough that he made a hole, showing rot quite clearly. He suggested using the tiller from the midpoint back, and it should be okay for the last bit of this sailing season.
I decided to take a look and see if i could find a replacement. The shop that made the original one closed up earlier this year after its owner died. Remaining stock was scooped up by several marine outfitters, some charging a bit more than the original owner, and some charging an arm and a leg more. I thought of asking our neighbour up the street, the one who loves woodworking and car projects, if he'd consider making me a new tiller from the huge branch that fell off the old maple tree out front. There's still the fattest part of the branch that we didn't cut up, and that might do. It would be neat to have a new tiller from an old stalwart. Himself had the same idea, about asking Mr Woodworker up the street, but he hadn't thought of using the branch. He liked that idea.
Mr Woodworker is one of those nice chaps who'll say yes, even if he doesn't really want to do something, if he sees you clearly need the help. And, i don't want him to have to feel he must say yes, so i'm mulling over how to ask. I want him to say yes because he'd like to do it, but because he feels compelled. Or is that impelled? Well, you get my drift.
I looked at Craig's List last evening, just to see if anybody had a tiller that might do the trick. Turns out, one looked a bit promising. I called, the man kindly measured it for me, and the length sounded about right. A little long, which was fine by me, as we could always cut off an inch or two. He advertised the price of one dollar and said in the description to make an offer.
I'd seen other such listings where i guess they have to put some price, so they put in a really small one. If this one were actually not rotten, i could see where it could get him a few bucks. I checked ebay. Used tillers between $50 and $150. Some of the new ones i saw online were in the $120 range. I decided in my mind that my top offer would be $25.
He gave me his address, asked if i knew where it was, as it was about an hour away from me. I didn't, although i knew the main street in the town, and i could use mapquest to get directions. We agreed to meet at 5 pm today. I printed out the directions.
I ended up having some last minute work things to do, so i was late in getting underway. I called, apologized for the tardy start and said that i'd be there closer to 5:30, would that be all right? Turns out it was and worked out better for them, he said, as they had a to run an errand.
I arrived just before 5:30. I saw a "For Sale by Owner" sign, and in the garage were a number of items that had either been in a yard (boot) sale or were being prepared for one. As the garage door was up, i walked in and knocked on the door leading to inside the house. Most people i know use their front doors only as emergency exits. An older man answered, i introduced myself, and he bade me to go around to the front door. There on the shady porch was the rudder and tiller. I had thought to bring my measuring tape. Yep, a few inches longer, and a skinnier than the tiller on Retrouvé, but it'd work all right. The hardware attaching it to the rudder was in good shape, although i have no use for it. Definitely worth the $25, i thought.
I told the man i thought it'd meet my needs. He asked my offer and i said, "Twenty-five dollars."
"Oh, no," he said, and i braced myself for him to say he wanted fifty. "That's too much money."
I'm sure i did a double-take. "Um, okay. Fifteen?"
"No, still too high. How about ten?"
"Ten? Ten's fine by me," i said, and i gladly handed him a ten dollar bill.
"After all, you came all this way," he said and smiled.
It's all relative, i suppose. I told him i had a friend who lived about halfway between us, and i'd stop for a quick visit on the way back home. So, worth the trip.
He smiled and handed me a new book he wanted me to read about real hope. How if i were interested at all in religion, i'd be glad to read this book. I thanked him and accepted the book. I said how we could all use some real hope. I have my own ideas about religion, will discuss it when asked, but i find that i can say more about my religion by the example i set than by any words i can say.
I drove back, and the friend i visited on the way back was SFB. He and his wife both looked at the new-to-me tiller. SFB mentioned how the hardware was nice and could easily fetch what i paid at the marine consignment store. His wife and i discussed our recent Scrabble games on Facebook. The last game we played against one another, she was almost assured a victory, but in my last move, i bingoed (used all 7 letters) and used a triple word score, to add 92 points to my score, pull ahead, and win.
Work is going at a frenetic pace, and i was having a bit of a frazzled day, but the drive on a late summer's day was a nice one, the tiller will be a durable stand-in for quite some time, and i was able to have a nice visit with friends.
Well, my tea is finished, it's late in my corner of the world, and i'm glad to be ending this blue moon day on such a happy note.
*Craig's List is an online bulletin board of sorts where people more or less local to you are selling or wishing to trade all kinds of stuff.
But, occasionally, something really grabs my attention, and i follow up either with an email or a phone call. Many times, the initial phone call or email is met with, "Sorry, that item sold." Occasionally, however, i get lucky. It's how i met my down-the-street, around-the-corner neighbour, as he was selling his boat and had listed a lot of the boat paraphanalia on Craig's List. I got a few small fenders that have come in handy for my dinghy and a wonderful portable chart table that i've yet to use "for real" on the water, but i can see that time coming soon.
And so it was a few weeks back, when SFB and i went for a sail, that he noticed my tiller needs replacing. I realized at the beginning of the sailing season that i should most likely sand off all the old varnish and start again, rather than just slap on a few more coats and call it good, and vowed i'd do that as a winter project. But, it's beyond not only another coat slap, but also the sand the varnish off as well. SFB pressed into the knob end of the tiller, and the wood is soft. Soft enough that he made a hole, showing rot quite clearly. He suggested using the tiller from the midpoint back, and it should be okay for the last bit of this sailing season.
I decided to take a look and see if i could find a replacement. The shop that made the original one closed up earlier this year after its owner died. Remaining stock was scooped up by several marine outfitters, some charging a bit more than the original owner, and some charging an arm and a leg more. I thought of asking our neighbour up the street, the one who loves woodworking and car projects, if he'd consider making me a new tiller from the huge branch that fell off the old maple tree out front. There's still the fattest part of the branch that we didn't cut up, and that might do. It would be neat to have a new tiller from an old stalwart. Himself had the same idea, about asking Mr Woodworker up the street, but he hadn't thought of using the branch. He liked that idea.
Mr Woodworker is one of those nice chaps who'll say yes, even if he doesn't really want to do something, if he sees you clearly need the help. And, i don't want him to have to feel he must say yes, so i'm mulling over how to ask. I want him to say yes because he'd like to do it, but because he feels compelled. Or is that impelled? Well, you get my drift.
I looked at Craig's List last evening, just to see if anybody had a tiller that might do the trick. Turns out, one looked a bit promising. I called, the man kindly measured it for me, and the length sounded about right. A little long, which was fine by me, as we could always cut off an inch or two. He advertised the price of one dollar and said in the description to make an offer.
I'd seen other such listings where i guess they have to put some price, so they put in a really small one. If this one were actually not rotten, i could see where it could get him a few bucks. I checked ebay. Used tillers between $50 and $150. Some of the new ones i saw online were in the $120 range. I decided in my mind that my top offer would be $25.
He gave me his address, asked if i knew where it was, as it was about an hour away from me. I didn't, although i knew the main street in the town, and i could use mapquest to get directions. We agreed to meet at 5 pm today. I printed out the directions.
I ended up having some last minute work things to do, so i was late in getting underway. I called, apologized for the tardy start and said that i'd be there closer to 5:30, would that be all right? Turns out it was and worked out better for them, he said, as they had a to run an errand.
I arrived just before 5:30. I saw a "For Sale by Owner" sign, and in the garage were a number of items that had either been in a yard (boot) sale or were being prepared for one. As the garage door was up, i walked in and knocked on the door leading to inside the house. Most people i know use their front doors only as emergency exits. An older man answered, i introduced myself, and he bade me to go around to the front door. There on the shady porch was the rudder and tiller. I had thought to bring my measuring tape. Yep, a few inches longer, and a skinnier than the tiller on Retrouvé, but it'd work all right. The hardware attaching it to the rudder was in good shape, although i have no use for it. Definitely worth the $25, i thought.
I told the man i thought it'd meet my needs. He asked my offer and i said, "Twenty-five dollars."
"Oh, no," he said, and i braced myself for him to say he wanted fifty. "That's too much money."
I'm sure i did a double-take. "Um, okay. Fifteen?"
"No, still too high. How about ten?"
"Ten? Ten's fine by me," i said, and i gladly handed him a ten dollar bill.
"After all, you came all this way," he said and smiled.
It's all relative, i suppose. I told him i had a friend who lived about halfway between us, and i'd stop for a quick visit on the way back home. So, worth the trip.
He smiled and handed me a new book he wanted me to read about real hope. How if i were interested at all in religion, i'd be glad to read this book. I thanked him and accepted the book. I said how we could all use some real hope. I have my own ideas about religion, will discuss it when asked, but i find that i can say more about my religion by the example i set than by any words i can say.
I drove back, and the friend i visited on the way back was SFB. He and his wife both looked at the new-to-me tiller. SFB mentioned how the hardware was nice and could easily fetch what i paid at the marine consignment store. His wife and i discussed our recent Scrabble games on Facebook. The last game we played against one another, she was almost assured a victory, but in my last move, i bingoed (used all 7 letters) and used a triple word score, to add 92 points to my score, pull ahead, and win.
Work is going at a frenetic pace, and i was having a bit of a frazzled day, but the drive on a late summer's day was a nice one, the tiller will be a durable stand-in for quite some time, and i was able to have a nice visit with friends.
Well, my tea is finished, it's late in my corner of the world, and i'm glad to be ending this blue moon day on such a happy note.
*Craig's List is an online bulletin board of sorts where people more or less local to you are selling or wishing to trade all kinds of stuff.
Monday, August 12, 2013
Manners
Maria asked a question about whether a restaurant owner was in the right for posting a photo of a table destroyed by a family with badly behaved children. I started to make a comment, but it ran too long, so i’m making it a blog entry instead.
I am a former server, and badly behaved kids or adults in restaurants have always irked me. The worst experience i had involved a six-year old brat who was so bad (how bad was she?) that every patron at every table around theirs clapped when this party with the brat left.
As a server, i couldn't say much, since i waited tables in the days where the customer was always right, but as a customer, i have had a thing or two to say. The most memorable to date was when we were seated at an outside table. The restaurant was a yuppified burger place that grew from a bar. To our left was a table with a mother and her two kids, about 8 and 10, a boy and girl. The kids clearly felt this meal out was a real treat and were very excited. Looked over the menu and told Mom with bright eyes what they'd like to have. There were about four tables to our right. The one on the end was newly in use with a family who had come from a kid's baseball game. The dad had picked the table, the mom was getting something out of the car, and Johnny Slugger, ran from the car towards the outside seating area. He saw Dad wave to him, and yelled at the top of his lungs as he went past our table. His yell went directly into my ear. Dad wasn't more than 16 feet away, and the kid stopped at our table and insisted on yelling at the top of his voice. Something in me snapped and i, able to match him decibel for decibel yelled, "Unless someone is trying to kill you, there's NO reason to yell this loud when other people are trying to eat their dinner and have a conversation!"
Here, Johnny Slugger turned to look at me, mouth agape. Dad got up and swaggered towards our table. He was about 6'4". He yelled at me, how dare i yell at his son, as he was only five. I replied that at five his son was school aged and if he didn't understand how not using his inside voice in this situation was appropriate, that spoke more to poor parenting than it did to anything else. That how i had as much right to be able to sit outside and enjoy a nice meal with my husband without some brat screaming in my ear and some inept parent upset because i found this sort of behavior entirely unacceptable.
Here, the dad realized i was NOT going to back down. I didn't give a rat's ass that he towered over me by more than a foot. I must have given him what my friends call "the look." Several have told me how frightening it is. As i’ve never seen it, i can’t say what it looks like. Only that it seems to stop people in their tracks. Loudmouth Larry still stood watching me, mouth agape.
"Shut your trap, you're letting flies in," i said to him. He obediently closed his mouth.
The father then looked embarrassed, realizing that i didn't give a toss. That the other diners were looking at him, wondering what he would do. I felt extremely alert and in a nanosecond thought of several different things to do if needed.
Ultimately, the father tried to slink back to his table. He and Loudmouth son were very quiet. They were moved to an inside table (the manager had come outside to witness the last part of the exchange), and the father said to me with a whine, "Well, i hope you're happy--we're moving to an inside table."
I replied, "I'll be happier still to learn i've sustained no hearing loss."
The manager went back inside, presumably to show the relocated party its new table.
The kids at the table to my left were wide-eyed. Himself wanted to dive under the table.
I looked at those kids, and said, "I'm sorry to have added to the disturbance. I noticed that both of you have such nice table manners, and it seems a shame no one seems to notice how well behaved you are, but they notice the loudmouth. I'll be sure to use my inside voice from here on out. Again, i'm very sorry."
The mother smiled, and the kids said that was okay, they thought he was a loudmouth, too, and were glad i said something. How kids like him give all kids a bad name. Out of the mouth of babes…i told them i agreed with them.
The manager came back out and approached our table. He asked me what happened. I provided the facts, and how my ear was still ringing (and it was). The manager then asked if perhaps the problem was that i didn't like kids.
I smiled and said, "If that were the case, i'd have asked for another table at once, as we were seated right next to a table with two children," and here i pointed to the table on my left. The manager looked at them a bit dazed. Clearly, he had overlooked them. "However,” i went on, “these children have demonstrated nothing but excellent table manners. (Here, both kids beamed.) So clearly, my issue is not with children, my issue is with unacceptable behavior. I've demonstrated that perhaps too amply. I have apologized, my apology was accepted, and we have moved on."
Here, the manager looked over at the two kids. They both nodded solemnly. The little girl spoke. “She did say she was sorry, and we said okay. Actually, she used her inside voice all along, except for when that kid screamed in her ear. He was REALLY loud.”
The manager then mumbled well, if there wasn’t anything else…I did ask if our server could perhaps refill my water glass. He seemed glad that the request was a simple one, one that could get things back on track.
The server smirked as she refilled my water glass. She apologized for the boy’s bad behavior, and i said it wasn’t her fault. She asked if we liked the food. We did and said as much.
I haven’t thought about that incident in a long, long time. In writing it out now, i wonder if that’s the first time either of those kids had a stranger who was an adult apologize to them for her behavior. It did change me. Any time now i’m at a restaurant where i see well behaved kids, i always make it a point to tell the parents in front of the children how i appreciate their good manners. Zig Ziegler was right. If we spent half as much time catching people doing something right (and telling them) as we do catching them doing something wrong, the world would be a much better place.
I am a former server, and badly behaved kids or adults in restaurants have always irked me. The worst experience i had involved a six-year old brat who was so bad (how bad was she?) that every patron at every table around theirs clapped when this party with the brat left.
As a server, i couldn't say much, since i waited tables in the days where the customer was always right, but as a customer, i have had a thing or two to say. The most memorable to date was when we were seated at an outside table. The restaurant was a yuppified burger place that grew from a bar. To our left was a table with a mother and her two kids, about 8 and 10, a boy and girl. The kids clearly felt this meal out was a real treat and were very excited. Looked over the menu and told Mom with bright eyes what they'd like to have. There were about four tables to our right. The one on the end was newly in use with a family who had come from a kid's baseball game. The dad had picked the table, the mom was getting something out of the car, and Johnny Slugger, ran from the car towards the outside seating area. He saw Dad wave to him, and yelled at the top of his lungs as he went past our table. His yell went directly into my ear. Dad wasn't more than 16 feet away, and the kid stopped at our table and insisted on yelling at the top of his voice. Something in me snapped and i, able to match him decibel for decibel yelled, "Unless someone is trying to kill you, there's NO reason to yell this loud when other people are trying to eat their dinner and have a conversation!"
Here, Johnny Slugger turned to look at me, mouth agape. Dad got up and swaggered towards our table. He was about 6'4". He yelled at me, how dare i yell at his son, as he was only five. I replied that at five his son was school aged and if he didn't understand how not using his inside voice in this situation was appropriate, that spoke more to poor parenting than it did to anything else. That how i had as much right to be able to sit outside and enjoy a nice meal with my husband without some brat screaming in my ear and some inept parent upset because i found this sort of behavior entirely unacceptable.
Here, the dad realized i was NOT going to back down. I didn't give a rat's ass that he towered over me by more than a foot. I must have given him what my friends call "the look." Several have told me how frightening it is. As i’ve never seen it, i can’t say what it looks like. Only that it seems to stop people in their tracks. Loudmouth Larry still stood watching me, mouth agape.
"Shut your trap, you're letting flies in," i said to him. He obediently closed his mouth.
The father then looked embarrassed, realizing that i didn't give a toss. That the other diners were looking at him, wondering what he would do. I felt extremely alert and in a nanosecond thought of several different things to do if needed.
Ultimately, the father tried to slink back to his table. He and Loudmouth son were very quiet. They were moved to an inside table (the manager had come outside to witness the last part of the exchange), and the father said to me with a whine, "Well, i hope you're happy--we're moving to an inside table."
I replied, "I'll be happier still to learn i've sustained no hearing loss."
The manager went back inside, presumably to show the relocated party its new table.
The kids at the table to my left were wide-eyed. Himself wanted to dive under the table.
I looked at those kids, and said, "I'm sorry to have added to the disturbance. I noticed that both of you have such nice table manners, and it seems a shame no one seems to notice how well behaved you are, but they notice the loudmouth. I'll be sure to use my inside voice from here on out. Again, i'm very sorry."
The mother smiled, and the kids said that was okay, they thought he was a loudmouth, too, and were glad i said something. How kids like him give all kids a bad name. Out of the mouth of babes…i told them i agreed with them.
The manager came back out and approached our table. He asked me what happened. I provided the facts, and how my ear was still ringing (and it was). The manager then asked if perhaps the problem was that i didn't like kids.
I smiled and said, "If that were the case, i'd have asked for another table at once, as we were seated right next to a table with two children," and here i pointed to the table on my left. The manager looked at them a bit dazed. Clearly, he had overlooked them. "However,” i went on, “these children have demonstrated nothing but excellent table manners. (Here, both kids beamed.) So clearly, my issue is not with children, my issue is with unacceptable behavior. I've demonstrated that perhaps too amply. I have apologized, my apology was accepted, and we have moved on."
Here, the manager looked over at the two kids. They both nodded solemnly. The little girl spoke. “She did say she was sorry, and we said okay. Actually, she used her inside voice all along, except for when that kid screamed in her ear. He was REALLY loud.”
The manager then mumbled well, if there wasn’t anything else…I did ask if our server could perhaps refill my water glass. He seemed glad that the request was a simple one, one that could get things back on track.
The server smirked as she refilled my water glass. She apologized for the boy’s bad behavior, and i said it wasn’t her fault. She asked if we liked the food. We did and said as much.
I haven’t thought about that incident in a long, long time. In writing it out now, i wonder if that’s the first time either of those kids had a stranger who was an adult apologize to them for her behavior. It did change me. Any time now i’m at a restaurant where i see well behaved kids, i always make it a point to tell the parents in front of the children how i appreciate their good manners. Zig Ziegler was right. If we spent half as much time catching people doing something right (and telling them) as we do catching them doing something wrong, the world would be a much better place.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)