Two Nights (Part one)

My youngest daughter just received an “A” in her college folklore class. Her semester final exam was a project entitled “Tales of My Father: an Oral Tradition”. She told her class my “Two Nights” story.

Day One

I was honestly looking forward to my very first two-week summer drill commitment when I joined the US Army Reserve. I was interested in seeing how different it would be after recently completing three years of active duty in the Army. I was slated to teach advanced CPR and lifesaving techniques at Fort Devens, Massachusetts.

Our platoon sergeant at Ft. Devens was a genuinely scary Sergeant First Class named Crow. I’d heard things about “Crazy Sgt. Crow”, none of them good things. He was 100% Choctaw Indian, had a crew cut and an odd way of tilting his head that made him look like a bird. He was 100% muscle and had a tendency to stare intently.

He also seemed to think we were back in basic training. We got up at 5:30 in the morning and did two hellish hours of PT (Physical Training) with Crazy Sgt. Crow leading the way, followed by a 3 mile run….definitely NOT the way I had planned to spend my “summer vacation”.

After my first long day was finished, I was ready for a drink. I didn’t have a car, so I walked to the front gate of the base and asked if there was a bar nearby. The front gate guard told me about a club called the Wagon Wheel “just down the road”.

So I walked down the road.

And walked…

And walked…

I walked three freakin' miles before I found that place.

That first beer never tasted so good.

A group of four girls were pointing at me and giggling. “Did I pass you on the road? Did you walk all the way from the base here?”

Why, yes, yes I did.

For some reason they thought this was pretty amusing, and introductions were made all around. They invited me to sit with them.

The bar had live music and I danced with each of my new friends. I was having a pretty good time, even if my muscles were a bit sore.

Returning from a quick trip to the restroom, I happened to look over to a dark corner of the bar.

Sitting there, alone at a two-seat table next to the pool table, was Crazy Sgt. Crow.

Now, if I hadn’t had four beers in the past hour and been dancing non-stop, I might have just ignored him.

But I had had four beers and my mind works in devious ways.

I went back to my newfound lady-friends and asked them to follow me. We went over to Crazy Sgt. Crow’s table and I introduced him to them, and them to him.

Seeing the look of outright panic in his eyes was the highlight of my night (so far). It seemed Crazy Sgt. Crow had more than a few major anxiety issues around women.

One of the girls asked Crazy Sgt. Crow to dance and he shot me an evil glance…nope, sorry Sarge, I didn’t put her up to it. I watched as she basically dragged her “prisoner” out onto the dance floor.

I’d have given a month’s salary for a video camera, watching him attempt to dance…Life did not get much better than this.

About this time I felt a poke. I turned around and saw that it was a local townie guy holding a pool cue. He'd poked me with his cue!

“You guys shouldn’t be here…you have your own clubs on base”.

Hey, I’m just here to have a few beers and dance, there are plenty of women here for everyone, buddy.

“We don’t like you dancing with our women”.

I laughed at him, and noticed a bit late that he had five, count ‘em FIVE, guys standing behind him.

He started to blather on again, and I turned to ignore him.

He swung the cue. I saw it coming, and tried to twist out of the way. The stick still glanced off my shoulder blades.

All hell broke loose about then.

I stepped on the end of the guy’s pool cue so he couldn’t swing it again and got a single good swing in, connecting solidly on his ear.

That was the last good swing I got in.

His buddies jumped me and knocked me to the floor and began punching and kicking the hell out of me.

Recognizing a bad situation, I basically “tucked” on the floor, protecting my head and ribs.

In an absolutely surreal moment, I opened my eyes in between stomps and kicks…and there was Crazy Sgt. Crow, about four inches away from my face, staring at me with that all-too-familiar birdlike tilt.

“Needs some help?”

Uh…yes.

Now, most bar fights are over in a minute or less.

The next minute, however, seemed to be a blur. I’ve replayed this minute over and over in my head countless times but it still is a jumble.

Crazy Sgt. Crow cleaned house.

He grabbed two guys by their hair and smashed their heads together with such force you could hear the “thwock” sound above the noise of the band (smack two coconuts together very hard, the sound is similar). They went down, lights-out.

He grabbed another long-haired guy by the hair, and Mr. Longhair twisted violently away, which was a big mistake…Crazy Sgt. Crown was left with a handful of hair in his hand. Longhair started shrieking in pain, which got virtually everyone’s attention in the bar.

Another guy tried to tackle the sarge, but the sarge basically played matador and pushed him to the floor as he bulled by. Crow then STOOD on him.

I’m still on the floor, my pride bruised but my ribs intact and watching this guy on the floor next to me…maybe 5 feet away, turning red because someone is standing on him.

The other two turned and ran.

As is so often the case, the bouncers showed up after the fight was essentially over. One of the girls we were with explained what happened to the bouncers, and our “competition” was summarily ejected from the place.

A splendid time was had by all for the remainder of the evening. I won’t bore you with the details.

5:30 a.m. came all too early the next morning.

Our platoon grumbled and moaned as we assembled for two hours of physical hell.

Crazy Sgt. Crow was in a happy mood, which unnerved more than a few of my fellow soldiers.

“Jensen? We had some fun last night, didn’t we? Doesn’t get much better than this!” He cackled at me.

He was wrong.

Very, very wrong.

End Part One.

I've got the Backup/Restore Blues

From bitter experience, I have learned to always...ALWAYS.....back up important data. When my laptop's hard drive went to the great bit bucket in the sky yesterday, I was ready. I bought a replacement, fired up my restore program, and waited...

10% restored....50% restored.....95% restored....95% restored....95% restored...

Mr. Restore Program seemed quite stuck at 95%. Where is the problem? Hmmm....missing my Toastmaster club records (almost 3 years worth). Well, that's annoying, I'll go to last week's backup.

Still missing. Three weeks back: still missing.

What the heck?

Then a sudden horror dawned upon me...in the interests of efficiency, I'd moved my Toastmaster meeting management program and the folder with all my club records to my laptop's desktop over a year ago.

What I didn't realize is that years ago I'd set a parameter in my backup program to specifically EXCLUDE stuff on my desktop (which used to be icons and other trivial unneeded stuff).

So now I'm looking at least a solid week's worth of re-entering data at night.

Remembering Celeste

Over on Facebook, I've joined a group called "Chamblee High School Memorial", a group formed to remember those from my high school that have passed away. One of the memorials was to Celeste Marley, who passed away in an accident in 1977. I never understood the phrase "laughing until tears come out of your eyes" until I met Celeste.

Let me explain:

I took third-year French class with Celeste. The class was mostly juniors and seniors, with the exception of one eighth-grade phenom, a very tiny boy named Eric who had spent his childhood growing up in France. Third year French is mostly conversational, and the following exchange was the highlight of my year: (Note: entire conversation is in French)

Teacher: How are you this morning, Celeste?
Celeste: I am very happy, my little friend has come to visit this morning!
Teacher (slightly confused, then looks over at little Eric): Your friend came to visit?
Celeste: Yes, my little friend visits me once a month. Sometimes I don't like it when my little friend comes to visit, but I was very very happy this month.
At this point, I'm laughing, so the teacher turned to me
Teacher: Robert, is something funny?
Me: No, no, I was happy when Celeste's little friend came to visit this month too! Very, very happy!
(Celeste is giving me dirty looks now)
Teacher: Why is that?
Me: Celeste was afraid her little friend would not visit her for a long time!
Teacher: I see. Do you visit Celeste's house also?
Me: Sometimes I do, but not when her little friend is visiting.
Teacher: And why not?
Me: Because she never wants to play with me when her little friend has come to visit...
Celeste (interrupting): *ahem* I never want to play with you even when my little friend is NOT visiting.

Only now, after three minutes of conversation does the French teacher suddenly get the inneundo....I watched the light bulb go on over her head and she turned seven shades of scarlet. The entire class breaks out in laughter, I'm laughing so hard I have tears rolling out of my eyes and the French teacher is spluttering nonstop in French at me for almost a minute.

I miss Celeste.

The End of The Road

On January 1st, 2010, I will have come to the end of the road. Literally. My body has betrayed me.

I have always enjoyed running (except in Buffalo NY during the winter of course, but that's the exception). I've been overweight for years but I have a large frame that easily absorbed the punishment of the additional weight...I went 31 years between knee injuries, for example.

Around June of this year I had gotten my blood pressure and blood sugar under control, dropped 70 pounds and was in the best shape I've been in in almost 20 years. I was breaking personal records lifting weights at the gym and running mile after mile on the golf cart paths here.

But then, inexplicably, I began slowing down...and this was not due to old age. I literally had my running stride shorten from 42 inches (I'm six foot four, have long legs) to 36 inches, to 32 and finally 29 inches. My legs refused to stretch any further...they didn't hurt, they just...wouldn't...stretch.

I tried increasing my pre-run stretching from 10 to 15 to almost 20 minutes, with no improvement. I swung a 25 pound kettlebell to stretch my hamstrings, nothing doing. Finally, I went to my doctor. He suggested I see an orthopedic doctor with a sports medicine specialty.

Long story short: one of the two ankles I broke in 1978 has so much calcium buildup on the upper joints that my right ankle only has half the mobility it should (it "locks" now at 90 degrees). This has forced me to take almost twice as many strides as most people when running....

...and this excessive number of steps, while making my musculature in my legs incredibly strong, has worn out BOTH of my hip joints. Bone is grinding on bone on each side.

The ortho doc gave me a Faustian choice:

• give up running and save what is left of your hips for another 20 or so years,
• or run for another year or so and get your hips replaced before you're 53. Of course, once you have artificial hips, you can no longer run.

Bottom line: my running days are effectively over. I've reached the end of the road, literally.

He told me that most people in my situation take up cycling, but the "wear pattern" on my hips would make it hard to pedal a bike, so he suggested getting a recumbant bike. I'm not to enthusiastic about that idea.

I'm still coming to grips with this, but this has put me in a profound funk. I have decided to make a clean break and "retire" from running on January 1st after one final 4 mile run on December 31st.

New year, new decade, new exercise regimen.

Anyone want to buy a pair of almost new New Balance running shoes, size 13? They're only a month old!

Life is too short to carry a grudge

Gayle and I had been friends for a very long time. Three years ago, we had a serious argument about some catty remark she'd made about my wife. I was very offended and basically shut her out of my life. Tonight, I thought about her for the first time in a long time and decided that life was too short to carry a grudge. So I did what most people do in this day and age: I looked her up on Facebook. I sent a "friend" request to her, and included a note that said that after all we had been through together, it's really dumb that we weren't on speaking terms.

I got a response back within an hour.

It wasn't what I expected.

The response came from her son, Anthony. He hadn't realized his mother even had a Facebook account. Her email was being forwarded to his email, he explained, as she had passed away in June 2008 unexpectedly. He'd tried to contact me then, but his email to me had been returned as "undeliverable" (I'd gotten a new email two years ago).

Life really is too short to carry a grudge.

I feel awful.

The Fire Down Below

One thing I am NOT proficient in is mechanical repairs.

Two weeks ago, we bought a dorm refrigerator for my college-bound youngest daughter. Unfortunately, it leaked in our garage, shorting out the electrical system on our golf cart and the charger it was hooked up to.

I was looking at over $600 in repairs. I made the decision that, mechanically incompetent or not, I'd try and rewire the golf cart myself. How hard could it be?

Not too hard, as it turned out. I spent Sunday rewiring the harness and using a 12 volt auto charger to "jump start" the 6 volt golf cart batteries two at a time. Tested my handiwork out with a quick spin around the neighborhood and went to bed happy and smug.

I decided to take the cart to Lake Peachtree at the crack of dawn this morning to run around the lake. I was three miles away from my house when I smelled the unmistakeable odor of ozone and burning wiring.

Uh Oh.

The instrument panel flickered twice on the cart and I lost all power going up a somewhat steep hill.....and began rolling backwards.

Double Uh Oh.

Did I mention that the brakes on our cart weren't the greatest in the world?

Triple Uh Oh.

I am literally STANDING on the brake pedal and finally coast to a stop at the bottom of the hill....and I realize my rear end is uncomfortably warm...

I yanked off the padded seat to see that the wiring harness had become disconnected from the battery array and was gapping and smoking and putting on an awesome display of 36 volts of direct current "lightning" to the battery post.

I tried to pull the wiring harness away from the battery, and got quite a jolt of current through my body for my troubles. Burned the heck out of two fingers. Was not happy.

Decided to let the cart cool down for a few minutes, then went back to assess the damage.

I was shocked to see that the post on the battery (where the wires connect to) had MELTED, there was nothing left but a puddle of solder!!

It was a long walk home.

Gee, Aren't You "Special"?

Today I had to take my oldest daughter to a doctor's appointment up in Marietta, GA. She was not a happy camper. It was pouring down rain. Hoping to cheer up Little Miss Gloomy, I treated her to lunch at Marietta's legendary Big Chicken restaurant.

She was in a bad mood, I was too. I had made the mistake of running this morning, and then it rained. For some reason, rain and running make the six bones I broke in my left leg in the Great Parachute Mishap of 1978 hurt like crazy, and I limp very noticeably when that happens.

While we were eating, a long white bus pulled into the parking lot and about 20 to 25 special needs people entered the restaurant, along with about a dozen attendants. They were having the BEST time, they were in awe of being inside the Big Chicken!! It was great seeing a group of people enjoying themselves like they were, and they all settled down into seats around us.

Well, my daughter wanted a refill on her drink so like a good father I took her empty cup and began limping up to the Coke machine for a refill. I had taken about five or six steps when I felt someone grab me gently but firmly by the right elbow. It was one of the attendants for the special needs group. He looked at me, smiled and said "We're going to sit over here today, okay?"

Okay?

Then in one cosmic cataclysmic moment we looked at each other and our eyes simultaneously widened as we both realized.....

Him: Oh my God, this limping guy is NOT IN OUR GROUP!
Me: Oh my God, this guy thinks I'm IN HIS GROUP!

He turned red, I turned red and we both laughed, embarassed...

....but not as hard as my daughter, who had watched the situation unfold.

I brought back her refilled drink, and she chuckled "Gee, Dad, aren't YOU 'special'"?

P.S. I took that picture above with my cell phone in the driving rain as we were leaving the restaurant and almost got run over in the parking lot....

She Was Crying By The Side Of The Road

She stood there by the side of the road, holding a six month old baby. She was sobbing uncontrollably...

I'm working from home this week, revising project plans. My head was spinning from linking 100+ project dependencies, and I decided to clear my thoughts by taking a morning run.

I got out on one of the 80 miles of shaded golf cart paths here in Peachtree City, setting off earthquake detectors within a 15 mile radius as I rumbled on a leisurely 4 mile jaunt.

I was on the service path behind the new elementary school when I saw her. She was standing next to her golf cart, which had been pulled awkwardly off the road. She was standing there, gazing at the elementary school playground. She was holding what looked to be a six month old girl, and she was crying uncontrollably.

Sometimes your actions are automatic....I immediately stopped running, smiled and approached her and said conversationally "It's too pretty a day to be crying.....can I do something to help you stop?"

She looked at me and turned a bit red. Balancing her infant on one hip, she turned and pointed to the playground.

"It's my oldest's first day of school today....I thought I was ready for this day... but... but... I'm not!!" The tears really came rushing out....

I smiled....and thought back to the first day of school for my oldest kid, so many many years ago. We made small talk about kids and milestones, about next steps and how the years seemed to pass in the blink of an eye.

Interestingly, I felt like we talked about 15 minutes but when I looked at my watch just about 5 minutes had passed. I got her to smile....she obviously wanted someone to talk with... and finally wished her and her children all the best in life and went thundering down the road once more.

I was smiling the rest of my run.

What do you mean, she "failed"?

I woke up in the middle of the night with a start: yesterday was my birthday...and I had forgotten to renew my car tags! (Car tags expire on your birthday in Georgia)

Got up at the crack of dawn this morning to go get the mandatory emissions test for the car, a.k.a a waste of $25.

The technician had a sad look on his face..."I'm sorry sir, your car has failed the emissions test."

"Whaddya mean she 'failed'? The car is only five years old!"

"Well, sir, it failed the gas cap pressurization test..."

I interrupted "I just don't see how that can be possible on a late model car!"

"uh, sir, that's just it.....you don't have a gas cap on your car."

"I don't...have.... a gas cap?"

Sure enough, there's a gaping hole behind the little door where the gas cap used to live quietly for so many years. I have no idea how long I've been driving without a gas cap, I think I last filled up the tank three weeks ago.

I'm off to NAPA auto parts to buy a $13 gas cap replacement......

"The Fish Are Dying!"

Against my better judgment, my youngest daughter Jenni inherited a fully stocked aquarium from her loving maternal grandparents last Christmas. I told her in no uncertain terms that she would be taking this aquarium off to college with her, as I had no interest in any pet that can't say "woof". She said she'd be quite happy to take her fishies with her.

Well, today was The Big Day: my daughter was moving into her dorm at Georgia college. We dutifully packed approximately 450 pounds of her favorite clothing into my wife's Pontiac Grand Am (I wish I'd taken a pic of the sagging back end of the car!!) and prepped the aquarium for the Big Move.

We opted to take "the shortcut" and bypass the interstate altogether in the interest of saving time and gas. This meant a long boring haul on a two lane logging road through the Oconee national forest.

An hour into the two hour trip, my daughter yells from the back seat "Dad! The Fish Are DYING!" I glance in the rearview mirror and sure enough, it's Goldfish Armaggeddon. My wife is of no help whatsoever ("Maybe they're not totally dead yet...maybe they're mostly dead") ...I think she's watched Billy Crystal as Miracle Max in the Princess Bride too many times...

I'm feeling a bit helpless at this point...we've transported the aquarium before for hours with no problems. Not so today. We arrive at the college and the inside of the car is smelling like, um, spoiled fish. I quickly arrange for a hasty naval funeral ("burial at sea" in the dorm visitor's bathroom) while my wife attempts to console my daughter "we'll get you some fresh fish" ("I don't WANT 'fresh fish' sobs my daughter).

We ended up bringing the empty aquarium home.

RIP Penelope, Chomper and Dubya.

Technology Arms Race continues..

My terrible techie arms race with Wayne Botha continues....testing simultaneous twitter/facebook/blog update..

Pay It Forward EIGHT YEARS!

In the aftermath of the 9/11 attacks, an unfortunate situation occurred in my sleepy little subdivision: the only Arabic family (technically, they were from Syria) in our neighborhood were essentially treated like pariahs.

Their 12 year old son actually asked me if it was "okay if he and my son could still be friends". He said he would understand if I said "no". I laughed at him and told him to stop asking ridiculous questions like that....of course it was "okay" for them to be friends!!

Now, I hadn't seen him since he and my son graduated high school some years ago, and quite frankly I had forgotten about our little conversation. He, however, had not forgotten. It must have left a powerful impression upon him, because today, out of nowhere, EIGHT YEARS LATER...he was able to do my family a very nice favor that was greatly appreciated (forgive me if I'm being deliberately vague here on the details, it's a bit sensitive but appreciated nonetheless!)

I have a better appreciation for the concept of "Paying it forward"!