Seeing Through Shadows

A former friend of mind (I say that because I've tried to contact him for years and he never returns my calls, etc.) once wrote that my mother "saw through shadows." He wrote that in an appreciation and acknowledgement in a book he and another acquaintance wrote. It was an English composition book, I believe. I always thought he was referring to her ability to understand issues that were complex and "foggy." But now, I wonder if he was referring to the fact that she helped him proofread the book even though she had cataracts and was "seeing through shadows."

This entered my mind tonight only because I'm seeing through shadows in my left eye. It hurts like holy hell and I don't know why. Blink drops don't do any good. I can't go to an ophthalmologist tomorrow because I have to leave town until Thursday. Shit. But now I wonder what my former friend meant. What did those words mean? My mother helped the two of them by proofreading their book; did she see through the shadows of meaning, or did she shee through the shadows of cataracts and still offer good advice to them?

I need to know this. I just do.

Scotch

I successfully cajoled my wife into going out for breakfast this morning. We went to The Deli-News, a very expensive deli. Two eggs, 2 pieces of sausage, some hash browns, and some toast for each of us...and a cup of bad coffee for me. $20. I'm not going to complain. I'm just not going back (at least not for breakfast).

Then, a full and productive day at the office.

Now, we're home and I'm drinking a Scotch and water...first time drinking one of those in my own house in 15 years or more. But I did have a few of them while I was visiting my brother in Mexico over the Christmas holidays...so it hasn't been long since I've imbibed in the good stuff.

Attitudinal Alignment

I'm going to go out today and enjoy it, despite the fact that I have to spend it at the office and then do errands I'd rather not do. I'm not going to let my attitude ruin my attitude. And just to prove it, I'm going to try to cajole my wife into going out to breakfast with me before we go into the office.

No Tengo Cajones Grandes

Just a few more days until I leave for Washington, DC. Monday, to be precise. I have as much interest in going to DC as I have in slitting my own throat...less, actually. And it's a long trip (relatively speaking, of course). I don't get back until late Thursday evening. And then I get to pick up the boatloads of work I did not do while I was out of the office. And then, the following week, I'm out from Tuesday through Friday. Only to return to even more bullshit.

I overheard someone speak tonight, on what I think was a reality show on television, about what's really important in life. And he gave advise that, as trite as it sounds, should be my marching orders. What he said, essentially, was this: "Don't put off what you want to do, not for another minute. For tomorrow you may die."

Why does it take me (and most of us) a lifetime to finally "get" it, only to find that it's too late to make the most of it?

If I had any balls, I'd walk in tomorrow and announce the closure of my business and my departure for an entire new life. But I guess I don't.

At the Moment

I spoke to a former boss today...he called me out of the blue. He retired on December 31 and is loving it. He said he has told his colleagues and former clients he'll be happy to have lunch or dinner or drinks with them and would love to visit with them by telephone, but he insists any such interactions must not include any conversations about the work he did or the associations he managed. I can relate so well to his restrictions. That's the aspect of retirement I most anticipate! Utterly erasing from my life everything about the day-to-day bullshit of dealing with clients and staff is so appealing.

Maybe I could do it...but I'd have to start dealing drugs or become a hitman specializing in right-wing fanatics to make enough money to pay my expenses, and that's definitely not on my radar at the moment. At the moment.

ABQ Connection

There are many things to like about Albuquerque. I just found three more. First, I just learned that, here in the Albuquerque airport (ABQ), they offer FREE wireless internet. None of the "for your convenience, you can get internet access at the low, low fee of $79.99 per hour" garbage here. It's free. No charge. Costless.

Second, to go with the free wifi, they have long tables with sturdy chairs...and just in front of the tables, on the wall, are dozens and dozens of plugs. So (if I had not packed my power cord), I would sit here for hours working on my computer.

Finally, they sell Fresca at the outlets in the airport.

I take these to be signs from the bright side that I should move here. Despite the snow from this morning. And in spite of the cost of gas. And regardless of the cost of housing. The food has already convinced me that I have a deep connection to the culinary subculture of the area (though I probably want to keep my connection just as distant as it is now). Now, I find that I have connections to their airport management team.

I feel a magical giddiness sweeping over me...this could be... No, I can't let myself get too caught up in the glory of the moment. Not now. Not today.

Frontier Restaurant and the World of Albuquerque

Awoke to a white Albuquerque, with plenty of snow still coming down. Ignoring that, we jumped in the car and went to the Frontier Restaurant , an old place with plenty of character in the University of New Mexico neighborhood. We had huevos rancheros, Frontier style (with a couple of over-easy eggs, red or green salsa (red for me, green for my favorite wife), beans, and several huge flour tortillas). The place is worth making a trip for...it's old and gritty, with no table service...order at the registers and pick up when your number is called. I love the place!

The other option was a place much further away; and it didn't open until 9:00 am, which I consider an affront to breakfastry. Maybe lunch.

We leave this afternoon around 5. Fortunately, thanks to my membership in whatever membership club this hotel recognizes, we got a late checkout (2 pm). So, we're off to explore Albuquerque.

Quick Trips & Uncle Sam's Insensitivity

Today started with a "free" breakfast at the hotel. Then, west on Highway 60 toward the Very Large Array radiotelescopes we visited during another visit. But after going only 36 miles west, the climate changed; snow, frigid winds, and slushy roads. I think the altitude changed by about 1800 feet, too, contributing to the weather.

So, back to Soccoro to visit the Mineral Museum. Then, lunch back at the Owl in San Antonio (where we had ordered green chile cheeseburgers yesterday, but were given burgers with no green chiles). Today, we got what we ordered and they were good. The waitstaff was utterly incompetent, though, and did not seem to be at all interested in representing the cheesy little dive in a more customer-pleasing way.

Then, north to Albuquerque, where we just got a room for the night and my wife instantly opted for a nap. I'm ready to explore, if she'll just get up.

I have been unable to stop myself from checking email and it's a good thing I have. Multiple issues surfaced that would have utterly ruined my Monday had I let them wait. On the other hand, I feel like I'm not on a break but, instead, just away from my office during work hours.

Why won't Uncle Sam let me retire early and give me full Social Security benefits? It's because he's a stinking bastard who deserves to have his throat slit and have "his" money emptied out of all the banks and put into mine.

New Mexican Tingo

Our first thoughts this morning were about breakfast. So we went to Cecilia's, a little Mexican place in Old Town. We both had burritos; machaca for my wife, carne adovada for me. I took photos; will post later. The place is worth the trip.

Next up: driving south. Maybe Soccoro, maybe Truth or Consequences, maybe south and west to Silver City. Too bad we're flying back Saturday.

I'm in the mood for a six-month road trip. But NOT in the Pontiac G-6 we rented last night after we got in. The car is a "full size" car; full-size if you're a starving dwarf.

We expect to have rain and snow most of the next two days. Such is life. I can live with it.

I feel good! I could engage in a dance with Australian wild dogs (the tingo), I feel so good! Hence the title (courtesy of my friend Ellie, who coined the meaning of the word (though I'm relatively certain tingo is also a Paraguayan tea...).

Feeding Lions

Last night, I had dinner with a group of people with whom I do business, plus the spouse of one of those people. The spouse, who I'd met several times before, had seemed like a nice-enough guy; not the sharpest person on the planet, but affable.

But my opinion of him changed last night when I brought up the Haitian earthquake and that I hoped large-scale humanitarian aid efforts would reach all the victims before it was too late. This guy responded that he believed the quake was god's vengeance on the people of Haiti for worshipping false idols! I was stunned. This guy and his wife CONSTANTLY talk about being "blessed" by god and about god's plans for them...and he thinks "god" is punishing Haitians for not believing in him!

If I weren't sitting at a restaurant surrounded by clients, I think I would have expressed my opinion that this moron should be euthanised for even THINKING such thoughts. But I didn't. Instead, I pretended to be a "believer" and argued that a merciful god would not do such a thing. He spewed back the clap-trap that he had been fed at his deep east Texas black baptist bible-banger church. At every step of the way I refuted his arguments, but he kept responding with "well, what CAN'T be disputed is what god said about..." I gently reminded him that whatever version of the bible he was reading was 1) translated from the original language, quite probably by people who are not PERFECT in their understanding of both languages; 2) written, in the first place, by mortals who very probably embellished their stories a good bit; 3)subject to wildly varied interpretations of the VERY SAME WORDS, depending on who had the most to gain or lose from its message; and 4) contradictory from version to version, story to story, and message to message.

His preachers had filled his mind with this drivel at "Sunday school" and he was not buying my opinions. He was steadfast in his belief that Haitians are simply paying the wages of sin. I told him I was contributing to the relief effort because I didn't care about their religions or lack thereof, I simply felt compelled to show some human compassion toward people who desperately need help

When I got back to my hotel room, I wrote a vitriolic post on the topic on Facebook, but then decided this morning to remove it really didn't belong there. But it belongs here. And my nice Christian friend from last belongs in a cage with lions; my compassion does not extend to him.

Broken Pipes and Golden Cleaners

We got home about 4:45 this afternoon. As we neared our house and I saw water flowing along the side of the street, I wondered aloud to my wife, "I wonder where all that water is coming from?" Then, as I turned into the alley I saw that it was flowing from my backyard. And it was pouring out of my garage onto the driveway. And I knew. A water pipe had burst.

Last night's temperatures had dropped to the low teens, but so had they the night before and we didn't have any trouble. But today we did. We were only gone seven and a half hours (at the office, to my chagrin), but it was enough.

There were two inches of water in almost the entire northern half of the house. The carpets were soaked. As I stepped on the carpet that looked dry, I felt my foot sink into the carpet a couple of inches and water almost sprayed from beneath my feet.

I was able to turn off the water quickly, but the damage had been done. We got a plumber to come out relatively quickly to fix the broken pipe (for $225), but we still haven't heard from nor seen the people from Service Master (who ostensibly should have called us within an hour after our insurance company called them and should have been here within four hours). I guess a lot of people have the same issues and the company is busy. Until they come extract the water, we'll be sloshing around a very wet house.

The exterior wall of my house, in back where the plumber had to tear it up to find the broken pipe, is hideous and will need some expensive repair. Who knows how much time and money the carpets and related water damage will cost. Like the plumber (who spent less than an hour), I suspect the Service Master people will give me a bill that suggests they are golden.

Oh well, we still have a nice warm place to sleep tonight and eventually the water will disappear and all will be normal again. But forgive me if I complain just a little.

Dammit!

Over the Hill at 49

Today, I celebrated the last year of "youth" of one of my staff members. Her 49th birthday is tomorrow and she thinks it's her last year of youth. So I told her, yes, it's the last one. When you turn 50, I suggested, your bones quickly turn into powder and you begin drifting off to sleep at 6:30 pm. I think she actually thinks there's a switch inside us that is triggered at 50; it causes us to have dinner at 4:30 at Luby's Cafeteria and we climb into rocking chairs and ease into our much-needed 12 hours of sleep.

We'll see what she's like in a year.

Streams of Unconsciousness?

I was "friended" on Facebook, a few days ago, by someone with whom I went to high school. I asked her had been going on in her life for the last 38 years. She gave me some flip response, saying she would need to drink a cocktail or write her memoirs to get started, so I suggested that she get in touch with me the next time she swilled a cocktail or published her memoirs. She did not respond. Maybe my response was construed as unfriendly; but I just wasn't in the mood for games.

I intended to start the new year with a better attitude and a more friendly demeanor. Well, as I said in my last post, the year begins when I say it begins, so I still have opportunities to behave better.

There was some success yesterday when I did not tell the president of a client association to back off and shut up. That's progress. I simply suggested to her that I could get my job done better and in a more timely manner if she would spend her time talking to someone else...but I really was more diplomatic than that.

Yesterday I wrote the first few paragraphs of a prospective autobiography, in which I will describe what it was like planning and then carrying out a behavioral modification program on a guy who caused some undeserved grief for a relative. The key is making it all look like an accident; and I will.

Tonight, dinner included the world's best salsa, chips, and canned sardines in salsa picante. Not a particularly healthy meal, but tasty.

UT is playing Arkansas tonight; I'm proud I actually got the teams right. One of the teams will win and there will be joy and despair across the city tomorrow. Why this is, I do not know.

Dos mil y diez o veinte diez

Whatever it is, it's 2010. A new year. A new decade, or maybe one year shy of a new decade. An opportunity to mark the beginning, or the end, or both.

I don't yet have any New Year's resolutions, at least none that have any basis in reality. But I will. And when I do, they will be significant. Very significant. Things will be different. I will be different. And different will be good. Very good.

In the interim, I'll devote my time to getting my wife's eye infection, or whatever it is, behind her so she can start the New Year feeling better and in a better frame of mind. After all, the New Year begins when you decide it does and not a minute sooner. Our New Year may begin January 4 or January 20 or March 29. When it does, it will be the start of a spectacular New Year.

I hope you who read this have a spectacular New Year, as well, whenever it began...or begins.

Happy New Year

2009 is coming to an end in just under eight hours and I'm looking forward to a spectacular new year in 2010, the year that good things will happen for my friends and family and the year that proves to me that there's a very, very good reason to enjoy the company of people who matter.

Happy New Year, everyone! Be safe, be happy, and have a year in which the meaning of prosperity become clear...and while I hope it includes money, take prosperity any way you can get it!

How to Have Good Time in Mexico

Unproductive Lethargy in Mexico

I've been having a hell of a time sleeping the past few nights. Night before last, I woke up at 2:30 and drifted off just about sunrise, but woke up again around 8:00 am so I got only about five hours sleep. Last night, I went to bed early again, but again was awake by 2:30 and finally got up before 5:00 am. It's 5:30 now and I just poured my first cup of coffee.

My sister in law should be arriving home shortly after her red-eye flight from Portland to Guadalajara. She'll be surprised to see her sleepy-eyed brother-in-law awake and waiting for her.

Yesterday, my wife and my brothers and I drove to Chapala and wandered around the malecon (waterfront walkway) for a bit, then my oldest brother and my wife and I headed over to the central marketplace (my other brother tends to wander off in search of conversations with Mexicans, displaced Americans, and social Canadians). After buying some grapefruit, kiwis, avocados, and various other stuff, we met up with my wandering brother and ambled over to a little corner restaurant where we all had traditional Mexican food (e.g., enchiladas, flautas, tacos, etc.) and where my oldest brother and I managed to douse me with a cerveza India (though it dried out before long, I can smell the beer in my jeans that I threw on awhile ago).

A stop at a rostizado yielded a nice roast chicken that served as dinner last night. The same stop made it convenient for us to go to the Super Lake market for more groceries. And that very same stop made it quite convenient for us to wander through a liquor store, where my brother bought wine for the upcoming New Year's Day party and I bought a bottle of tequila and a bottle of rum to partially replace some of what I have consumed since arriving here in Ajijic.

For some reason, I've not felt like doing much of anything since arriving here. I've just wanted to sit back and relax. I don't feel like going out to see the sights as a tourist, I don't feel like driving to interesting little Mexican towns to see another perspective on Mexican village life...I just feel like sitting on my ass and doing nothing. My wife has been very reasonable so far and has allowed my laziness to prevail. I hope she continues to allow me to be lethargic; I can feel again today that I am going to feel just the same. The lack of sleep doesn't help, I'm sure.

It doesn't help, either, to open email to find "emergencies" requiring my response. I cannot just leave the office. I guess I could, but that would send a message to clients that I'm not ready to send.

It's still a good hour or more from daybreak, so I'll sit back and have another cup of coffee and mull over what I'll do to make myself feel productive on another day when I'm lethargic and in the mood to be lazy and unproductive.

Alacrán--Edited

It wasn't long after we went downstairs on the day after Christmas that we were regaled with a story about a newly discovered alacrána and her doce bebés. That's right, a mama scorpion, carrying twelve baby scorpions, had been found in the "work room" of the B&B where we were staying. It's a shame my lack of photographic skills, coupled with inadequate equipment and other such troubles, made it impossible for me to present a better photo. Suffice it to say it was interesting.

This event occurred in Ajijic, Jalisco, Mexico. Which is where I am sitting right now, looking out over the verdant landscape of my brother's back yard, over another Mexican home just south of us, and across to Lake Chapala.

Scorpions be damned! I like it here!

A Clear Lens

Reading something painful and personal and absolutely real can cause tears to well up in your eyes and quickly flood onto your face and down the front of your shirt. Reading those words can take your breath away.

It's pointless to try to stop the flood. There's no use in trying to breathe. Those real words conspire with your own humanity to tear down defenses against the ravages of time.

The painful side of reality, the side we never want to see, is as real as the bright side. If we can witness happiness and joy and be moved by them, can't we witness pain and fear and loss and allow ourselves to be moved by them, too?

My friend whose brother died last week wrote something painful and personal and absolutley real. Read it here and be prepared to witness the painful side through a brilliant, clear lens.

Mexico!

I'm getting excited...just a few more days until we go to Mexico! I'm going to try to forget life's little annoyances for a few days so I can be the very cool, unflappable guy I was meant to be. Who meant it, I don't know. But it was meant. I mean meant to be.

Poetry is an Emotional Experience

Finally, after many months, I bought and downloaded Leonard Cohen's latest collection, his Live from London album from his most recent world tour.

It's exceptional. Now, as I listen to Sisters of Mercy, I recall how fortunate I was to have been able to see him live in Dallas earlier this year.

His poetry, put to music, is an emotional experience.

It Doesn't Feel Right

I spent the whole day today dealing with things like returning my newly-purchased car to the dealer, looking at other options for cars, etc. But my mind wasn't in it. Instead, I was thinking about my friend who lost her brother unexpectedly the other day. He was working out after work and collapsed and could not be revived.

He was young. It was utterly unexpected. And it must have come as the most horrific shock and godawful tragedy to my friend and her family.

While she must know that all of her friends are ready to rally around her, it's probably hard for her to know what she needs from them and it's just as hard for her friends to know what she needs.

Personal tragedies quickly uncover the flaws in our relationships and the gaping holes in our knowledge about our friends. How do we help? Is offering a should enough, or should we insist on being that shoulder? What's too intrusive and what's not sufficiently emphasized to make it seem real and honest?

I wish I knew the answers and I wish I knew the right time to ask the questions. Maybe there never is a right time to ask the questions. Maybe you just know the answers or you don't.

And how the hell could I have spent my day dealing with my damn car, when a friend is dealing with the death of her brother? I suppose reality says I'm 1800 miles away and can't be physically there to help and should not beat myself up for that. But it doesn't feel right, somehow.

Cars are pains in the ass...

I know. I drive a lot. And I like having a comfortable car. But cars can be a pain in the ass. Take the 2007 Toyota Avalon I recently bought. It needed some touch-up paint on the front bumper and the hood, so the dealer that sold me the car retrieved the car from me (as part of the sales deal) the Monday after the Friday I bought it. After the painting was done, the salesman was in the process of delivering it to me when he sideswiped some High Occupancy Vehicle lane marker uprights, scraping the left side of the car.

After the took the car back to repair the damage, I decided I did not want that car. I wanted another one...same model, same general mileage (40K), same pristine condition. They balked, but agreed. But after almost 3 weeks, they could not find one. So, today I go back to the dealer, pick up a check for what I paid them and got for my trade-in, and leave.

And then I start over. Do I look for a similar car? Do I do without for awhile, renting when I really need one, or jump into it again and quickly get another vehicle of some kind? I don't know. We'll see. I probably won't try to get another one like it. As much as I like the luxury, it's a dull-handling beast. I don't know. We'll see.

Cars are pains in the ass. But I'm not complaining. The dealer could have been a horse's ass. In fact, the dealer has been very accommodating. It's quite unusual for me to have anything but utter disdain for car dealers. This is a new experience.

Joan Armatrading

I have tremendous regard for Joan Armatrading. She is a fabulous singer and a wonderful proponent of peace.

Damn

Damn. Just damn. Damn. Damn. Damn. Just damn. I shouldn't complain...considering what most of the people in this world are facing right now. But my selfishness allows me to say, just one more time, damn.

Here's to the people who can't worry about a damn thing because they are starving. My little upsets are meaningless. And so are yours. We're so damn spoiled, and it's time we owned up to it and thought about how we can transer a little of our wealth to people who are clinging to the edge of survival.

It's hard to release my little problems. But "hard" for me is nothing for most people on this planet. They need to know where their next meal is coming from.

Home is Where the Internet Is

It just hit me. I like people on the Internet more than I like people in real life. Not always, but generally.

For one thing, the Internet people with whom I interact are smarter...much smarter...than most of the real people I deal with regularly. For another, they have tastes similar to mine. They tend to have deep love affairs with food and they tend to enjoy spicy food, though not always. And they like books. And words in general. There seems to be a greater number of poets and writers and READERS amongst Internet people than real people.

Internet people in my Internet life tend to be dramatically more progressive/liberal than real people. Especially more so than real people in Texas.

For years, I've been mulling over where to move in retirement, or in preparation for retirement. You know, a place where an introvert like me (believe it or not) could make friends who share many of my interests. And then I realize, it's been right in front of me all along! I just need to move to the Internet! How stupid of me to have been so blind to this for so long.

On My Mind

I'm trying to keep my mind on my car hassles because the other thing weighing on my mind is my sister...she's in the hospital again with heart pains. She went in very, very early yesterday morning and was admitted late yesterday afternoon. This is the umpteenth time she's had to be taken to the hospital by ambulance in the past several months and it's very upsetting. I'm concerned that the doctors are not finding the true cause for her heart problems each time she goes in. One time, it's said to be unrelated to the heart and, instead, related to breathing difficulties. But another time it has to do with the buildup of fluids and the need to keep that process in check. And then it has to do with medications (like nitroglycerine pills) not relieving pain when they should. I question whether they are not doing all they can, and should, because she is not covered by expensive private insurance.

These episodes emphasize to me the fact that we're all mortal. My own heart bypass surgery a few years ago brought home quite clearly to me that my heart could stop beating at any time. But somehow I feel more in control of my own life than I feel about my family members' lives. The fact that I have ignored my doctor's orders with respect to diet and exercise suggests I'm an undisciplined idiot, but that's another story.

I feel rather helpless just waiting to learn whether my sister is going to be OK. And I get worried that the doctors might say she won't be OK. And then the thought of losing her pops up and is horribly painful. And I don't even know her last wishes, which would make that possibility even more painful. For the record, for any family member who reads this post, my "last wishes" are these (actually, as a practicing atheist I don't have any preferences, personally, but as a matter of practicality): Burn me and be done! Celebrate life and tell stories about mine!

All of my brothers and sisters need to document their "last wishes," if they have any, if for no other reason than to make life a bit easier on everyone else when their time comes.

Back to something less somber, though frustrating in its own way.

I've given the car dealer another week to find a replacement car for me. I was fully prepared to have to get my lawyer personally involved, but the dealer surprised me (maybe because the dealer really, truly believes the car I bought but which was scraped up on one side while it was being delivered is really a super deal).

When I called yesterday, ready to give them a lot of grief and insisting that I have a check in hand immediately, the guy said they were fully prepared to give me a refund, but because the title paperwork, etc. had all gone through, it was more complicated than simply writing me a check. They had to go through the process of transferring the title back into the dealer's name, undoing sales tax records, etc., etc. He said it would take more than a few hours. I said I needed a car immediately, something more upscale than the loaner and he readily agreed, saying he needed the loaner back, anyway, because it had been sold. He said he would provide me with a nicer loaner and I agreed and caved a little, saying I'd give them one more week to find my ideal car (my attorney had suggested this...but also told me to send them a certified letter to document all the facts so far). But after that week, I told him, if I had no new car, I'd want the money in hand, no more waiting.

So, the car they gave me as a loaner is the car I bought...but the guy insisted that I was under no obligation to keep it, it was just one of the few cars available to give me. I haven't seen it in the light of day yet, but it did look very nice last night when it was delivered. And they had put a new set of tires on the car (I'm convinced it could not have passed inspection without them...and it now has a brand-new inspection sticker). I'm sure they want me to change my mind about keeping it. After driving it last night, I could see that happening. But I will wait and see what they find for me. And this morning, the certified letter will be winging its way to the dealership.

Where is Grumpy Old Man?

I periodically follow the belligerent rants of an aging (75 years and counting) ex-pat blogger who has lived in Spain with his Scandanavian wife for many, many years. He is far more militantly left-wing than I and I sometimes find his posts over the top...but they're heart-felt and they're from someone who has seen the American presence worldwide from two very distinctive and opposing perspectives. In spite of his lengthy strings of profanity and his misspellings and hsometimes too "black and white" point of view, I enjoy reading his comments. Beyond that, I've enjoyed listening to the music he's placed on his blog to accompany his diatribes. He's the guy who introduced me to Liam Clancy, the last of the Clancy Brothers who recently died.

Well, as I recall, the last post of his I read was posted November 10. He usually posts a few times each week, so several weeks without posts is alarming. Then, a few days ago, I tried to reach his site and could not reach it. He has not responded to at least two emails I have sent to him and I'm getting concerned.

On the off-chance anyone who reads this knows him or knows why his site has disappeared, I'm asking that you tell me. You can contact me at kneeblood@gmail.com. I would like to know he's just been unceremoniously kicked off his hosting platform for awhile. I'd rather that be the reason I can't reach him than anything else.

Help? Help? Really?

I spent this weekend waiting for the phone to ring. I was waiting to be called to the scene of a fire, where I would dispense food and drink and compassion to families whose home had been damaged or destroyed in a fire. This was my first "on call" weekend as a volunteer with a relief organization.

My first call came just 8 hours after my volunteer "duty" period started. At 2:15 am, I was jarred out of bed by what I thought was the phone ringing; but it was the phone's email alert, not the phone. I read the message, telling me in a cryptic code that four adult males were involved in a single family house fire in South Dallas. Then, moments later, I got a message telling me the "incident number" for this fire, a number I would need to use if I filled out forms giving some sort of aid to the victims of the fire.

Finally, the team leader called me and told me where to meet him and the third member of the team, where we would all get into the agency's well-equipped emergency vehicle and drive to the scene of the fire. I arrived at the designed parking lot at 3:00 am and the agency vehicle arrived moments later. Then, the three of us drove to the scene of the fire. Along the way, the team leader commented that this was a "bad" part of Dallas, a comment I couldn't dispute. It was a poverty-stricken area that had a reputation in the media as being a haven for gangs and drugs and a place where violence was relatively common. The talk made me a bit nervous, but I thought, "who's going to mug relief volunteers?"

We arrived at the scene of the fire to find at least two fire trucks and several firemen, plus three black men wrapped from head to toe in blankets. We introduced ourselves and the team leader began asking questions: Did the men have IDs? (no) Did they have any bills, etc. that had their names and that address on them? (no) Did they have keys to the house? (no) They had reasons for their answers, but their answers suggested that they either did not really live there (they claimed the guy with the key left earlier) or they were not the primary residents or that they only crashed there temporarily.

Inside, we found smoke and a bit of fire damage to a hall closet, lots of water and "gunk" on the floor, and two empty bedrooms...no beds nor other furniture. The kitchen was dirty but barren of food. A clothes washer was half-full of green, smelly water. The occupants, who had come back in side by the time we looked around, were all lounging on the only furniture in the house: two recliners and a sofa. About the time we saw them, a woman arrived; she had been inside an ambulance outside, receiving treatment for smoke inhalation, but she was obviously OK by the time she came back in the house.

The leader explained that the agency's policies provided relief only for lost shelter, food, and clothing. He explained that the house was livable because there was only a litte bit of damage, and that there was no food that could be replaced and that the people obviously had some clothing (what they were wearing, I suppose). So, he said, the only thing we could provide would be some snacks and drinks. The occupants were not thrilled, but they seemed not to have expected much from us; they seemed (to me) to expect that no one would give them any real assistance.

I can't help but acknowledge that the victims of the fire may have been, and probably were, squatters. They had no money, no food, and no clothing other than what they wore on their backs and had wrapped around them. According to relief agency policy, they did not qualify for replacement food or clothing or shelter. But I felt like I was watching bureaucracy in action when I watched the team leader explain that we were unable to do any more than provide them with snacks and something to drink. I was tempted to reach into my wallet and give these people $50or $100 just so they could have a little bit of comfort. But I didn't. I was home and in bed just after 5:00 am, smelling of smoke but comfortable and warm and dry. When I got up later, my wife cooked bacon for me before I had to leave for a meeting.

The next call came about 15 minutes after I went to bed the next evening. Again, it was a house fire, but this time it was much closer to home, only about 12 miles away. And it was in a neighborhood that is undergoing a transition from small homes built in the 1940s to behemoth replacements built after the smaller homes have been razed.

The second call involved a duplex that had caught fire while the occupant, a renter, had been out of town but was on the way back. A neighbor called him to ask if his dog was with him; when the guy said it was, his neighbor said good, but your house is on hire. The damage at this place was more signficant, involving walls and the floor, which had been torn and sawed up by the fire department, making it impossible to get to the kitchen. The single guy who lived there said he could stay with friends that night and, since he had been traveling, had clothes with him. But he said he could use some help with food, since he had been saving his money for his move...his trip was to Colorado, the location to which he was arranging to move. Again, the team leader asked questions and essentially settled on not giving the guy anything, but he changed his mind and gave him a $50 debit card for food.

In private conversations afterward, the leader said the relief agency was in business to replace losses and get people on their feet, not to hand out money.

The victim's next door neighbor came out and asked for support, too. His place had some smoke odor, but nothing else. I had no problem with the decision to tell him "no."

One thing that struck me about these episodes was the enormity of the paperwork burden the relief agency places on volunteers' shoulders. While I understand the need to avoid abuse, the paperwork is akin to governmental bureaucracy on steroids.

Fortunately for me, the phone did not ring again on Sunday or Sunday night. I was afraid it would. I found I was emotionally jarred when the phone rang. I didn't want to hear it again. But after all was said and done, I wondered if this volunteerism is for me. I felt like my role would become one primarily of fighting off swindlers with volumes of rules. Do I want that? How else can I help people?

Hell, I'll just go back to dealing with my as-yet-unreturned and unreplaced car. I'm on the hook to drive the loaner at least until Thursday. Maybe then I'll get a replacement or push the button and insist on a check and the return of my old car.

Anti-Feebility

I will not tolerate getting old and feeble before I retire. I won't put up with it. It will be dealt with in the most severe manner. If that means I have to retire before January 1, 2010, then so be it. I won't put up with it, do you hear me?!