Surviving a New England Winter

Up to his nuts in snow

So this has been an interesting winter in New England. We already have about three feet of snow on the ground and they're predicting another blizzard this week - dumping another foot of snow.

My front walk looks like a luge.

Early in the season, I bought a cover for my shiny stainless grill. It lasted exactly 1 day before it split and dissolved into a puddle around my grill.

Before the next storm, I went to Home Depot and bought a heavy duty tarp. I thought I was pretty clever (the tarp cost $8). I tied it around my shiny stainless grill and smiled, incredibly pleased at the pretty blue shroud.

When the storm was over, as I was shoveling, I was almost blinded by the sun reflecting off my shiny stainless grill.

*sigh...

I figured it probably flipped off and was under the snow close to the grill. So, in a fit of pissed off redheaded pique, I shoveled a space about 4 feet wide around the shiny stainless grill - no pretty blue tarp.  It is apparently somewhere in the half acre of back yard, under three feet of snow.

*big sigh...

And now, they're predicting another foot of snow.  So, today I decided I am not spending another dime on grill covers - and I improvised.

Trash bags 'n duct tape

Universal truth - Duct tape is like the force - light on one side, dark on the other and it holds the universe together.

Make a Promise

Merry Christmas!

On December 16th, during a routine visit, my doctor informed me that he found a lump in my left breast.  I didn't want to ruin the holidays for the family so I kept it to myself and was scheduled for a mammogram and diagnostic ultrasound - after the New Year - how stoic of me.  No time for tears, the holidays are busy times.

They say you should have your first mammogram at age 40 - I was busy.

All through my 40's I found excuse after excuse to avoid it - I was just too busy.

Every once in a while, I'd do a self-exam. - pressing in concentric circles - and anytime I felt something unusual, I'd quickly switch to check the other boob - my rule of thumb was as long as I have a matching set, I'm good.

Very scientific. Who needs a medical degree - I'd know if something was wrong - right?

So, yesterday I went to the hospital and had my very first ever mammogram. It wasn't comfortable, but it's not painful. These boobs were ironed horizontally and vertically.  Then they were drenched in a gallon of goo and ultrasounded thoroughly.  I watched the screen as if I knew what to look for.

When it was over, I asked the Radiologist, "Well, did you see anything?"

"The doctor's going to look at these now and then she'll talk to you about what your next steps will be." .

I realize that's a stock answer but those are some terrifying words.  And then she left me alone.

Did you know...

Over the next 20 minutes, I  tried to recall all of the women I knew who'd been touched by breast cancer - the aunt in Florida who had a mastectomy about 10 years ago, a friend who had a lumpectomy. Both still here, both survivors.

Then, I remembered Judy.  We met as co-workers when I was in my early 30's.  Judy was about 15 years older - a vibrant, funny woman with an infectious laugh. You couldn't find two more different women.  Judy was a southern black woman raised in South Carolina - now a single Mom raising her teenage children in a small apartment in downtown New Haven.  I was a young white suburban wife living the dream as a new homeowner and the mother of a toddler.  We shared the same last name and quirky sense of humor - we bonded instantly.

Judy was diagnosed with Stage 4 breast cancer while still in her 40's.  By the time they found it, it had spread to her lungs.   The last time I saw Judy, she told me she knew the lump was there for a few years.  She didn't feel sick, so she ignored it.

She was too busy.

By the time she began to feel sick, it was too late -  6 months later, she was gone.

And now, I was trying not to panic as I waited - wondering how long this thing had been inside me while I'd been too busy.

When the Radiologist came back, she was smiling. "You're all set - we reviewed the mammogram and the ultrasound and we didn't find anything."

That's when the tears came.  And being the perennial optimist, I asked, "Are you sure?"

She laughed and said "Yes, we're sure - we're very sure. You're all clear."

Ladies -

We put so much effort into taking care of everyone else, that we often set aside our own needs for the sake of family, husbands and children.  But the very best thing we can do for them is to take care of ourselves.

I have a son whom I adore. And I plan to be around to embarrass him for many years to come. I make this promise to him and I advise all of you Ladies to do the same for the ones you love.

I love you, Son O'Mine - and because I love you - I promise to take care of me. 

Make that promise - and keep it.

Happy New Year!

The Universe was testing my patience.

I have never been a patient person.

However, I have found that even at this age (I prefer the term "seasoned" rather than "mature"), I am capable of learning.

This week, the family plan on our phone contract was due to expire. So, Son O'Mine and I discussed this and decided to form a smaller "family plan" with just the two of us. Since our phones were both due for upgrades, we took a spin to Best Buy last Saturday to test drive some smart phones (our previous phones were semi-smart).

Like Johns at the Bunny Ranch, we looked them all over, and he decided on the Iphone, while my heart was taken with the Samsung Galaxy. OK, decision made.

Next we headed over to the Verizon store where we originally set up  the family plan two years ago. The day after a new Iphone release, it was understandably busy - so we waited - patiently.

When it was our turn, we were told they cannot change the plan there. We have to call a special secret phone number - actually my ex had to call since he was the only authorized user on the account. And - he had to call with me in the room - he would release our two numbers at which point I had to grab the phone from him, claim those two numbers and set up my new account. If not, we would most likely lose our numbers.

Could they make this more difficult?

You want what?

Well, the ex was at a football game. Over FroYo, Son O'Mine and I decided that we'd just go back to Best Buy and upgrade our phones - we still had a week to straighten out the service plan.

Back to Best Buy we went - chose our phones, and the girl began to enter all the data into her computer. Over, and Over, and Over again. Apparently, the Verizon database was trying to upgrade three phones instead of only two and it kept giving her errors. So she called over a manager (Megan - my new BFF) and she began the process again.  She called Verizon on her cell phone for assistance. She shut down the computer and restarted. Called Verizon again. We all moved across the store to the Customer Service computer and began again. Called again. At this point, she was speaking to a Supervisor at Verizon who couldn't help. The Sup eventually disconnected the call and would accept no further calls. (Have I mentioned that Verizon has hands-down the absolute WORST customer service in the world?)

How badly do you want that phone?

So... after 3 1/2 hours, and a valiant effort by Megan, we left Best Buy - with our old phones. Three and a half hours in which I did not swear, I did not raise my voice, I did not lose my shit.

You're welcome, Best Buy. 

Sunday morning, Son O'Mine took his father hostage and we called Verizon's special secret phone number to release - claim - the rogue phone numbers. Done.

Back to Best Buy we went, Megan actually met us at the door and we began the process all over again. As she was ringing it up, I saw her eyes widen - Sweet Mother of God, what now???

She leaned over the counter and whispered to me - "Your phone just went on sale this minute - for half price!!"

I can only believe that this was the Universe's way of rewarding me for not having a melt-down the day before. Or perhaps it was because Thursday was International Talk Like a Pirate Day and it was a test of my "Argggggggggh" reflex.

I was unBearably patient - and it paid off.

Go figure.

A sighting in Connecticut

"It might seem crazy what I'm about to say."

So the other day, a strange, nondescript gray minivan pulled into my driveway. Since I wasn't expecting anyone and our neighborhood is infested with Jehovah's Witnesses, I did what any normal, mature adult would do.
I slipped into Ninja mode, dropped to the floor and crawled under the windowsill to scope it out.
The van had no signage on it, so that narrowed it down - either someone looking for directions or Jesus was off the leash again.
From my vantage point under the window, I saw a skinny dude with a tall hat and a neon green vest get out of the van and jog up my front walk.
As I stumbled to the front door, I heard a *thump* on the porch.  I opened the door just as he jumped back into the van and drove away.
I opened the door and looked down and that's when the magnitude of what I'd just witnessed hit me. 

Drone Droppings

That's right. 

I had just seen with my own two eyes, the mysterious and elusive Amazon Drone! 

This is epic. This is the technological equivalent of Bigfoot, Yeti and the Chupacabra. This is like the Terminator only better.

They took something that originally looks like this:

Prototype

And they camouflaged it to look like this:

Happy Drone

So keep your eyes peeled and listen for the clapping.  You just might spot him too.

This has all the makings of a blockbuster reality show.  I need to organize a drone-tracking team.

"I hear claaaaaaaaaapping..."

Faking Football No More

For the past 30 years I faked football.

You see, I married into a family that enjoys sports. Correction: they do not enjoy sports, they obsess over sports. In all those years, I can't recall more than a handful of conversations that didn't revolve around football, softball, baseball, basketball or someotherkindofball. And those conversations that were about other topics quickly turned into a sports analogy followed by "did you see that game...?"

And we're back to sports.

So I learned to fake it.

When my 9 year old son played football it was relatively easy to fake it. There are very specific rules that Moms of football players must follow.

• Once he has the uniform on absolutely no touching. Don't fix his hair, don't tuck his jersey in and under no circumstances do you tie his shoelaces. 
• Absolutely no public displays of affection.
• Refrain from vaulting over the other spectators to jack up the kid who tackled your baby. 

At this stage, you don't need to know the rules of the game, you only need to learn the Mom dance:

• Keep your eyes on your own kid at all times 
• When he falls down - you stand up.
• When he gets up - you sit down. 

And that's all you need to know to be a successful football Mom. 

Luckily for me, when he hit high school, Son O'Mine's focus turned to Art School and I no longer had to do the Mom dance every Sunday afternoon. 

Unfortunately, his father did not lose interest. Coaching became his obsession. And I do mean obsession.  All football, all day, all week, all year round.  And the Coach's wife isn't just watching one kid - no, she's expected to remember every kid, his number, what position he plays, his life history, his shoe size and what he had for breakfast.  Sweet Mother of God, now I had to actually pay attention to the game. And as soon as the game was over, he would recap every friggin' minute of the game in excruciating detail.  In our home, there was no such thing as football season. As soon as the last game was over, he would be working 24/7 planning plays and recruiting players for the next year. 

I think it's some bizarre genetic brain mutation  - This man could recall with perfect clarity, every play of every game he'd ever seen or played in the past 50 years, yet he could never remember where the hell he left his glasses. Go figure.

This year, I did not watch one football game all year. Not from the bleachers or the couch, live or televised. Not interested, don't care. Really, Really don't care.

But tomorrow,  I will be watching a bowl game - The Puppy Bowl. Penguin cheerleaders, puppy tailgaters, kitty half-time. It doesn't get any better than that. 

You'll never believe what I saw this weekend...

Trick or Treat!

So this past Saturday, Son O'Mine and I went on a bus trip to Salem, MA.  It's something we've talked about for a while now, and the scheduling finally worked so we could make it happen. So for those of you who've considered going, here are some tips:

1. If you're going for the first time, the Saturday before Halloween is probably not the best idea unless you enjoy waiting in line for everything. 
2. For first timers, a bus trip is the way to go. There is a shit-ton of traffic in and around Salem so hop on the bus, bring your NOOK or tablet and chill. It took us about 45 minutes to travel a few miles from the town line to where the action was. 
3. Wear comfortable shoes. You will do a lot of walking. And some of the sidewalks are wonky, wavy brick so leave the heels at home. 
4. Buy the discount exhibit ticket combo (Pirate Museum, Witch Village, Wax Museum, etc). Once you go through one of them, you're bound to want more. Save a buck or two.  (FYI - I am a self-professed weenie when it comes to gory scary things, so if I can emerge without trauma, so can your 7 year old)
5.  Each exhibit has its own gift shop - almost all carry the same touristy junk. The most interesting booty was found in the artisan tents set up in front of the Peabody. If you appreciate hand-made jewelry (I do) you'll find some beautiful pieces (I did) and you can chat with the artists. 
6. Don't be afraid to wander. It's pretty easy to find your way around the town and sometimes you have the most interesting adventures when you stray from the path. 

Son O'Mine and I had a great lunch at a bar called "In a Pig's Eye" on Derby Street.  It's a bit of a walk, but worth the trip. And on the way back, we passed this place:

'Nuff said

Tell me you could pass this place and *not* take a picture.  I dare you. It's not every day you see one of these in neon. And we passed another one on the way out of town.

Apparently it's a chain.

"Let go or be dragged"

When I was a child, I lost all of the people closest to me within the space of one year.  Consequently, I've always had a difficult time letting go of people.  Even those who were toxic and hurtful and damaging. I clung to them fiercely because my biggest fear was being left alone.
Over the past several weeks I have reconnected with some old friends that I'd lost touch with.  They reminded me that my personhood isn't lost, she's simply been buried for a long time. 

The Me I once was

Yes, that was me at age 26. She was an individual - a person. She was bright and loving and strong and wild and brave. Most of all, she was fearless.  And I miss her.

I see now that what I once believed was a safety net, was actually an anchor dragging me down.  Because I was too afraid to let go.

So this is me... letting go. 

It may take me a while to dig my way out, but I intend to fly.

She can shove a plant through concrete

With all the changes going on in my life lately, I haven't been doing as much (well, none at all) gardening as I did last summer. I planted a few things, but nothing close to the gardening frenzy I slipped into last year.  Each day as I leave for work, I glance to the right of the porch, hoping for a sign that the concrete-busting columbine is reappearing.

But, so far, nothing.

Yesterday, the masochist in me decided it would be a good idea to spend a couple hours in the scorching heat, weeding the shade beds I planted last year. Today, when I went out to weed the front walk, I found this little beauty smiling up at me.

Hellooooooo!

I like to think it's MMN (Mistress Mother Nature)'s way of showing her appreciation. But then again, it could just be her way of saying "Take care of my babies, or I'll shove a plant up your crack."

Either way, message received loud and clear.

Yes, Ma'am.

A sign of Spring

Of all the plantings in my garden, this one blossomed before any other. The sight of it made me smile and  hit me like a warm hug. 

She loves me

She is still there... no matter what. And that brings me a sense of security and hope for the future. No matter what, life goes on. 

So even though I probably won't be living here next year, I will still tend to the garden as long as I am here. Hopefully, whoever lives here next will do the same. 

If not, they will just have to be whipped into shape by Mistress Mother Nature. 

Straight up - hold the Snark

Top Shelf - Straight up 

This is perhaps the most difficult post I've ever had to write. I'm so much better at the funny, snarky bites. But I need to say this without sarcasm or jokes.

Here it is, the unvarnished truth.

Sparky and I are splitting up. Things came to a head back in January and after almost 30 years together, we've decided to divorce. Those of you who know me well know that I am a fiercely private person. I do not wish to air (or have aired by others) my dirty laundry in public. Quite frankly, only the two of us truly know the truth and those of you who've heard stories have only heard one side.  There are two sides to every story and the truth generally lies somewhere in the middle.

Out of respect for my son, I'm not going to publish details of our marriage or it's demise here.  It's really no one's business but ours. Let's just say that this is the best thing for all of us.

As for me, after the dust settled, I was forced to take a good honest look at my life and admit that I haven't been happy for a very, very long time.  The initial feelings of panic and devastation passed quickly and were replaced by a huge sense of relief.  Pretending things are perfect takes an enormous amount of energy.

To my friends and family, I'm sorry. I'm sorry I lied to you for so many years. I'm sorry I didn't allow myself to trust enough to ask for help. I hope you know that I kept everyone at arm's length not because I didn't trust you - I didn't trust that I was deserving of your love or friendship.  I am learning to reach out (baby steps) and have found the support and love of my friends is there - was always there. I was just too afraid to ask. I owe you all (especially you, Laura) my eternal gratitude and love.

To my son, I'm sorry that I couldn't give you the perfect life I so wanted for you. However, every day when I look at you and see the strong, loving, creative and brilliant man you've grown into, I know that despite the fact that your father and I failed each other, we can take pride in the knowledge that we were successful as parents.  Despite our faults, we have managed to raise an amazing son.

And that, my friends, is what's going on.  We're still in the process of working out all the details (amazing how much stuff and business you accumulate in 28 years) but things are moving along in a relatively civilized manner.

One thing is not negotiable.

I get custody of the Bear.

/snark on

Sorry for the lapse... I was on a secret mission

My apologies for the long silence -

BUT....

I have some news...

I HAVE A JOB!!!!!

Hallelujah!!!

Funny how life works out. I spied the job posting on Indeed.com (Great site!). It was a position with a local non-profit organization that I'd actually done business with at one of my previous jobs.  The idea of working for them had never crossed my mind but it just seemed to jump out at me from the list. 

Ah, what the hell.

So, I shot them my resume and a cover letter, got a call the very next day and interviewed the day after that. The next day I had an offer.

I started my new position two days after I filed for my last available week of unemployment benefits. 

And right after the transgender blizzard (Nemo aka Charlotte) dropped a few feet of snow on us.

Trans-storm Tootsies

This storm was relatively gentle on us - we didn't lose power and were able to dig out without much drama although it did take 7 hours to clear our driveway and walk with the snowblower.  But I think I would've walked the 8 miles to work in that snow if I had to.

I always believed that everything happens for a reason and this job with this particular organization coming at this particular time... was destiny.

It's a small office populated with people who are positive and supportive and respectful of each other and the customers.

I have an office to go to, a job to do that is challenging and fulfilling and I am surrounded by genuinely nice folks.

I am beary, beary happy.

Forget Politics - Help your neighbors

I like to think this is Sandy

We lucked out in this part of CT. While Sandy raged all around us, those of us who live in the central part of the state made it through relatively unscathed. Our family lost power for less than a minute and we sustained no damage.

The same can't be said of those in coastal CT, NY and NJ where the storm surge caused devastation. And now, we're looking at a Nor'easter heading in our direction this week.

We are a community. Whether a town, a city, a neighborhood, a country... or a planet. We are all linked together by our humanity.

Here are just a few ways to help via the Red Cross:

Donate to the Red Cross online,  HERE

Donate $10 via text - it couldn't be easier. Just text REDCROSS to 90999 and the $10 donation will be added to your next phone bill.

Donate by phone:

Call 1-800-RED CROSS (1-800-733-2767)

1-800-257-7575 (Español)

If you can't give money or items, go to your local Red Cross location and inquire about giving blood. That doesn't cost you a thing.

Here's a site  for residents of Rockaway, Breezy Point and Broad Channel to get information and assistance. If you live nearby and have power, go HERE and see what you can do to help.


Show your humanity - find a way to help.


 With the elections coming up, I for one am tired of all of the negative political posturing. We're up to our asses in Radio, TV and print ads, lawn signs, mailings and phone calls, rhetoric, lies and Bullshit. So I propose that we all take a day off from politics.

Tomorrow, for just one day, let's forget politics and focus on our fellow citizens.

Do something. Do one something to help another person.

Mitt and Barak can take care of themselves for one day.

Frankenstorm is coming!

Trick or Treat!!

Last year, Halloween came and went while those of us who live in New England were without power for a week under two feet of snow.

This year, we put up our spooky decorations early only to hear that now, Hurricane Sandy is heading our way... for Halloween.

Crap.

So, as we're all taking down anything that can fly away, the Bear put on his costume.  I thought this was a wildly optimistic move on his part until I saw this:

 Smart Ass Bear

Now I see that this is an editorial statement.

Take that, Sandy. 

No Power Exchange here - it's all about HER

Every time I get a little full of myself and forget who holds the power,  Mother Nature reminds me she calls the shots around here.

I love hydrangeas so a few years ago, I planted a couple at the front corners of my house. Each year they get more lush and full, and I see a few more blooms. This year, they were looking great - one flowered towards the end of the summer and the other was not far behind. I was thrilled.

And then I made the mistake of bragging that my hydrangeas looked better than the neighbor's.

RIP Hydrangea

That night we had an early frost.

And yet... that Pink Columbine that magically appeared in my garden this summer is freakishly healthy.

Look at me I'm GREEN!!!

It's like she's rubbing my nose in it.

Dear Stop & Shop...

I think we should see other people. 

I tried to be sympathetic because I was sure you were just going through a midlife crisis. I was patient while you underwent a complete makeover with new colors, shorter aisles and flashy displays.  

I understand - it’s not easy getting older. We all get to that point where it feels like life is passing us by.  

So I was willing to go along with the sexy new look if it made you feel better about yourself. Then came the gradual withdrawal. At first it was a couple of self-checkout lines. Then SCAN-IT popped up at every entrance.  

 

“Do it your damn self.”

 

But now it’s just getting downright weird. This week when I was shopping, I found this sad little display in the middle of the Pet Food aisle.  

Is this some secret grocery code?

That’s right – canned pumpkin.  

I could not make this up

I figure either Dementia has set in… or you’re fucking with me.  

Either way, this relationship is over. I’m tired of being taken for granted. You don’t seem to care whether I’m around or not.

 

I need to move on and find someone who values me.

 

Oh, who am I kidding? You're close and convenient and we have a history.

 

God help me - I just can't quit you!

 

Stevie Wonder needs backup

I think the birds are having parties in my garden at night.

 I gave them birdhouses and nest-building-yarn and I've been careful not to use toxic chemicals around the yard. The only thing I asked was that they stay out of the vegetable garden. As a gentle reminder, I hired Stevie Wonder as a bouncer.

Stevie Wonder on the job

Now I'm thinking Stevie may need some backup.

Lately, I've noticed suspicious litter all around the outside edge of the garden.  I don't actually see the birds do it, but the evidence is there every morning - bird droppings all around the outside of the fence.

So far they haven't been eating the vegetables (although Sparky thinks they snatched his blueberries despite the wickedly brilliant bird cage he built) but they're getting closer.

The next thing we know, they'll be smoking and drinking and making s'mores in our firepit.

Punks.

So I think we need to get some additional security.

Back off, you feathered freaks!

Oh yeah.

There she is...

Linda Hamilton

Injected, rubbed and restrained... and spent.

The slut.

There is a body in my trunk...

Well, I drive a Jeep Cherokee so I don't actually have a trunk. But there is a space behind the back seat - and there is currently a body in it.

A dead body.

Dead, dismembered and drained.

Her feet are in a separate bag...

I didn't know her before her untimely demise, but I suspect she is a Hamilton.

 Note the strong family resemblance

Sparky and his BFF (My Sister-Wife, Geno) used to roast pigs in a huge oil drum in Geno's backyard.   Everyone else loved to watch the pig spin while drinking copious amounts of beer and tequila but since I don't drink all that much, the sight of a corpse rotisserie-ing all day in a rusty oil drum was less than appetizing.

Then, I discovered La Caja China!

I saw Roberto kick Bobby Flay's butt in a Pork Shoulder Throwdown and I was sold. I had found THE PERFECT CHRISTMAS GIFT for my husband.  (We've been married 27 years - I ran out of great gift ideas around 15 years ago, so this was a true Christmas miracle.)

I knew it was a hit when Sparky assembled the box in the middle of my living room on Christmas Eve. Since then, there's been no stopping him. Several times a year, Sparky whips out his Caja China and cooks up a pig.

It's a big production, mind you. He restrains the pig spread-eagled on a rack, injects the pig with secret juice, then he rubs the pig all over with coarse salt and spices...

'Scuse me... had a little "50 Shades of Pork" moment there...'

Anyhow, a friend of Son O'Mine is having a party tomorrow and he asked Sparky to roast a pig. So,  at this very moment, he's out there restraining and injecting and rubbbbbbing...

I'm going to watch.

Hey, I'm old... I take my thrills wherever I can.

Bear Nekkid Bird Sanctuary

SF Homes in Wooded Setting

When I was a new bride, I was a collector. For some reason, I felt compelled to accumulate groups of things - handcrafted things like birdhouses and hand-thrown pottery. Pretty things but not particularly useful and a pain in the ass to keep free of dust. Luckily, I have the attention span of gnat so these collections never grew to the hundreds or thousands, just enough (I thought) to make a statement.

Until recently, the birdhouses were displayed above my kitchen cabinets. Since Sparky retired, we've been doing a lot of work on the house and the yard and I've been in this "Re-use, Recycle or Dump" mode. In my zeal to de-clutter the house as we renovate,  some items have migrated outdoors.

The shade gardens in front of the house needed... something.

As you know, we New Englanders love us some yard ornaments. Yes indeedy, we do.

So rather than go the way of flamingos and Mary-on-the-halfshell, I decided to relocate the birdhouses outdoors.  We mounted the houses on some beautiful old weathered fence posts and I have to admit, I'm pretty pleased with the way they turned out.

Bird Condos -  Great Amenities, Low HOA Fees

Now, I didn't actually expect birds to use these since they're placed so close to the house.  My thought was that they would be purely decorative. The birds, however, had other ideas. Someone is currently renovating this Bait Shack directly in front of my Living Room window.

Cozy Single Family - Under Renovation

I came home one day last week and found a Chickadee about to enter the birdhouse with a bright blue string clutched in her beak.  Since I love to decorate, I decided to help her with the reno project. I pulled out my knitting bag and tied scraps of bright purple and blue yarn to various trees in the yard.

Apparently, Mistress Mother Nature is pleased because the next day, I was gifted with this:

Another single perfect bloom

Although, someone else is NOT so happy because I found the corpse of a baby bird on the top rail of my garden fence.  I felt like the guy in The Godfather who found the horse's head in his bed. I suspect it's the Subterranean Pythons...

This is war.

Independence Day

Decked out for July 4th

Today is the 4th of July and Americans all over the world are celebrating their independence. Here in the Greene household, we celebrate a little more this year.

As some of you may know, in addition to coaching Football, for the past 20 years Sparky also worked full time as a Correction Officer in a maximum security prison. As of July first, he is officially RETIRED.

A lot is said of those who fight in foreign wars for the freedoms we enjoy, and yet, rarely does anyone acknowledge the selfless service of those who protect us here at home. We're all aware of the soldiers who race to battle with guns and grenades but what of those men and women who walk each day unarmed among society's most violent criminals with nothing more than a small body alarm to protect them.

These are the people who form a line of defense between us and those who would hurt or kill us for no reason other than we have something they want.

And yet, there are some who resent the "20 years and out" policy. They feel that these state employees somehow get a "free ride" on the taxpayer's dime.

Make no mistake about it, Correction Officers EARN that retirement.

20 years of working a rotating schedule - 5 days on, 3 days off.

Overtime is not an hour here and there - it's a full 8 hour shift on top of your normal shift. That's 16 hours straight - sometimes voluntary but it can be (and often is) "ordered" when necessary.

20 years of working every holiday. No holidays, no snow days because they are  "essential personnel."

20 years of going to work every day in a freshly pressed uniform only to have inmates hurl all manner of bodily secretions at you - this is just one form of assault - many are HIV+

20 years of daily verbal abuse - being called every racist, ethnic or sexual slur imagineable - you cannot respond in kind - that would be unprofessional.

20 years of being locked behind bars with the most dangerous humans on the planet - and knowing that to them, you are nothing more than a target. (Sparky was well respected in the prison and yet he was assaulted twice.)

Correction work takes its toll on those who work there and the families who love them. It changes people. It's not easy to maintain your basic faith in humanity when you spend 8-16 hours a day bearing witness to the horrors that humans are capable of inflicting on themselves and one another. It's easy to become jaded and cynical, and it's not easy to turn that off when you get home.

Sparky's 20 years are done. Ever since he made the decision to go, I've noticed a change in his demeanor. Each day his smile comes more readily and he laughs more easily.

Today we celebrate Sparky's Independence Day.