I try not to whine.
I put forth a good deal of effort to "maintain an even strain" and keep most of my emotions in check. I guess it comes from the time I spent as a paramedic, then as an emergency department nurse. Nobody can deliver accurate, precise care to someone in a struggle for their life if the caregiver gets caught up in the emotion of "the moment".
I can thank my first EMS boss for that. He was merciless if he caught you "losing your shit" on the scene of an emergency. I learned to detach myself and go through the motions almost as if acting in third person.
Occasionally, I read something that robs me of my objectivity. Today, 2 Chicago firemen lost their lives battling a blaze. One had been with the department long enough to earn the adjective "veteran" and the other just beyond the moniker "rookie".
In between the tragedies that often befall Public Safety employees, there is always the interval where politicians and public opinion look to pinch pennies by cutting either raises, positions, or benefits for the very people who put themselves in harm's way to protect the rest of us. If I had a dime for every time I read of someone assailing the Public Safety budget, or their retirement, I could easily retire myself today.
I guess 9/11 was the last major loss of life for Public Safety employees. 343 firefighters/EMS personnel and 23 police officers were inside the towers trying to get to the victims when they fell. Just this year, there is talk of cutting 20 fire companies from the FDNY budget and 829 police officers. I suppose after after 9 years enough time has passed that public safety is no longer politically expedient.
While no area funded by taxpayers is a sacred cow, I believe that there are certain things taxpayers expect for their money. In the scheme of things, I believe the average taxpayer expects premium emergency response when their lives are in danger and would triage this need far above the Convention and Visitors Bureau, Film Commission, or Wine and Grape Growers Council.
As to the individual benefits of being a public safety employee, I would answer this. How many of you are expected to work half your weekends, many of your nights, and a lot of holidays with the real possibility that you may never get to come home? How many of you at upper middle age are expected to be able to wrestle a criminal to the ground, or climb a ladder wearing 50 pounds of gear to the roof of a burning building, or load a 290 pound patient patient into the back of an ambulance all while giving him CPR? It is definitely young people's work and it is recognized that it is unreasonable to expect someone to carry on these professions into their senior years. The sacrifices of time away from their families and constant danger should award them an early retirement.

Keep Things In Perspective Today

Today kicks off the start of the holiday season. Lots of us are either hosting or traveling to be with friends & family.
Hosts in particular are stressing over minute details hoping to achieve that "perfect" holiday dinner in the perfectly clean home. New couples are meeting their significant other's family for perhaps the first time and obsessing over their clothes and hair. Older couples may be stressed over dealing with fragile in-law relationships and the cursory wild children & grandchildren that seem to populate these events. Dads will get white knuckles & knots between keeping the kids in line and fighting parade traffic.
I used to have a sister-in-law who made photography the focus of our get togethers. The entire holiday was lost in her zeal to document every detail on film.
Don't let the the quest for a slice of Norman Rockwell Americana get in the way of the celebration and enjoying the fellowship today. Lighten up and relax, and focus on what you have instead of the imperfections that make us all human.
This time last year I was getting ready for cancer surgery and was truly blessed to be in a loving relationship with plenty of moral support. I was thankful to have folks over and was beyond caring about the minor details of whether there were grease stains behind the trashcan that sits next to the stove.
About 20 years ago I found myself out of work and way behind on bills. I took a job making way less money in order to go back to nursing school. One day I left work and found that my car had been repossessed.
I called a friend to give me a ride home and he offered to hit the Wendy's drive thru and get me a sandwich.
As I was sitting there in the passenger seat feeling all sorry for myself, he pointed to a man sifting through the dumpster looking for food. That was a life changing moment for me and opened my eyes to the fact that no matter what life throws at us, there's always someone somewhere worse off than we are.
Spend less time today sweating the small stuff (and believe me; it's ALL small stuff) and more time in fellowship with the people you love. Happy Thanksgiving!


Peace until later. Tim

Ode to the studio musician

Mom was a musician, educated at Appalachian State Teacher's College in the 40s so music has always been a big part of my life. I think most of us tend to catalog the major events of our lives through the music playing on the radio at the time it happened. That's why us old farts tend to stick with stuff from younger days before responsibility hit us like a piano dropped from an upper floor apartment.
I played in high school band (sax) and then learned crude keyboard in my early twenties when synthesizers were really getting popular. I can read music, but I can't really sight read though I can learn a piece bar-by-bar through rote memorization. I suspect it's not a lack of talent so much as laziness about the couple of hours a day it would take to master these skills. I play occasionally strictly for my own enjoyment.
A couple years ago, I saw a documentary "Standing In The Shadows of Motown" about a group of session musicians who backed most of the vocal groups from the early days when Barry Gordy's label was actually located in Motor City.
These guys weren't stars and made their living playing the seedy joints around the Detroit area at night after playing on some of the greatest music ever released during their daylight hours for poor money, and no recognition. The average listener has never heard of James Jamerson, or Robert White; but if you've ever listened to a Supremes or Temptations song you've heard them play. Robert White is responsible for the guitar riff intro to "My Girl" and James Jamerson is arguably the best bass player of all time yet he died penniless from liver failure.
Los Angeles had its' own powerhouse session band known as "The Wrecking Crew", all A-list musicians who were first called whenever a studio needed a tight backup band. Most of you have never heard of Carol Kaye but she is the most recorded bass guitar player of all time with an estimated 10,000 recordings from all genres. "Wichta Lineman" "I'm A Believer" and a whole bunch of stuff you've heard featured her on bass.
Only a few studio musicians ever reach the limelight. Glen Campbell, Dr. John, and Leon Russell are Wrecking Crew alumni. Chet Atkins, Floyd Cramer, and Boots Randolph all were members of the Nashville A-Listers.
The vast majority of session musicians quietly live their lives doing what they love and enriching the lives of the rest of us. Next time you listen to that song you just downloaded, remember the nameless musician who is probably headed to their next paying gig.

Religious Freedom; It Has To Be For All, or None.

For all the ways we like to bash our nation and leaders, I still like living here better than just about any place in the world. I think we get taxed too much, and I also think that the people we elect to be stewards of our financial contribution spend it way too foolishly, from the Feds right down to the local town council. You can't please everybody, so our budgets wind up somewhere in the middle give or take a few extra liberals or conservatives. As much of a left leaner as I am, I'd hate to see Cadillac social programs at the expense of unsafe bridges, or decreases in public safety. I think having 2 strong political ideologies to balance each other was exactly what the founding fathers had in mind, and I'm OK with that.
Back through the early years of this country as a collection of colonies, one idea bound the residents together; there should be no established national religion. This idea was so strong, that when we first broke away from Great Britain it was incorporated into the Constitution. Those early settlers here had witnessed first hand what having an "official" religion had done to England through history. A modern day parallel seems to be the nations which are Muslim and have a system of sharia law which is open to the interpretation of religious scholars. Doesn't matter whether you're muslim or not, you have to follow their moral code or be subject to Islamic justice. Christians have suffered for years in primarily Islamic societies, even those that are more modern and tolerant than others.
I'm a Christian. I believe that Jesus Christ was sent to establish the Lord's kingdom on Earth as the one true Son of God. That is my personal faith, and I struggle daily to live up to His code of conduct. In these United States, we are guaranteed the right to worship and live as Christians and the many different assemblies (Protestant, Catholic, Pentecostal) who all worship Christ.
I think that sometimes we twist history a bit and make a lot of assumptions about the founding fathers' stand on faith. More than a few times, I've heard Christian leaders exalt how we were founded as a "Christian" nation. It's true that most of our laws are based on Mosaic law as most of the founding fathers observed Christianity. I think if you read the First Amendment closely the words saying Congress shall "making no law establishing a religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof", you really can't glean more than 2 facts; Congress shall not establish a "state" religion, and shall not pass a law prohibiting any other religion.
Therefore, except for the "body of Christ" within this country we are in fact not a Christian nation. We are, in fact a nation of many religions; to each his own. To say otherwise would put us in the same light worldwide that Muslim nations under sharia law are viewed by the Christian world.
Christianity is not a nation. It's the heart of a number of individuals who profess their personal savior as individual parts of the "body of Christ". Part of this message clearly stated in the New Testament includes humility, forgiveness, tolerance, and a lot of other stuff that we find hardest to do when someone provokes us to anger, or causes us personal harm.
Since 9/11 there has been a growing fear of Islam and a number of malicious verbal and violent attacks on those who observe it. I can only hope that people who have righteous anger at the KKK, and American Nazi party (both of which embrace "christianity") don't view my faith in the same light as the radical muslim extremists who practice a violent offshoot of what is basically a peaceful religion.
There's a lot in the news lately about a planned mosque to be built roughly a quarter mile away from Ground Zero. Reaction has been a lot of hysteria, anger, media hype, and most prevalent; political maneuvering. There were practicing muslims who actually were victims of the 9/11 attacks.
Personally, I question the wisdom of Islamic leaders in choosing this particular spot to build. On the other hand, there's little anyone of Islamic faith could do right now that isn't under media scrutiny. A muslim could probably lynch a convicted pedophile and somehow there'd be a terrorist spin put on it.
In closing I'll say this. While Christian, and American, you can't just hold up the Constitution for protection when it suits you any more than you can profess a love for Christ whenever comfortable. In this nation, anyone has the right to build a house of worship wherever they can obtain the property. Regardless of that faith.

Friday Night Memories of Dan

I don't have many good memories of my oldest brother Dan.
He was about 10 years older than me, and was a very angry person. I can't count on all my appendages the number of times his anger would show at my parents, or my grandmother, or me. He left home at 17; that is to say, he left our house and moved in with my grandmother. He and my father never got along well; Pop was a school teacher who believed in order and discipline and Dan was more of a free spirit who didn't like to be told what to do. Their major rift occurred when Dan was on the high school newspaper. Dan was in on a stunt that involved publishing a non-flattering story about the principal and one of the social studies teachers. There had always been a "hush hush" rumour the two were involved, and a story was published that pushed the limits of what satire high school journalists were allowed to invoke.
Dan was a bit of a self-centered guy; that is unless you asked anyone outside the family. I can't count the number of people who told me what a great guy he was. I generally remember the angry cursings he'd lay on Pop, or Mom, or Granny or occasionally me.
Tonight I read a story in the Charlotte Observer that brought back one good memory I have of my brother.
When I was about 8 or so, my grandmother lived across an empty field behind our house in a small neighborhood called Dal Wan Heights. You could see her home from my backyard, and that's the neighborhood I grew up in. Usually on the weekends, it was a big deal for me to walk across that field around dusk and spend the night on her living room sofa. Starting around 8, I could have the television to watch sitcoms like Brady Bunch, Love Boat, Sanford & Son, Fantasy Island, and then if I wasn't too tired I'd stay up for either the Late Show movie or saturday Night Live.
As Dan was in his late teens, he'd be out carousing with his buddies. Never a drinker or partier, he'd roll in around 11:30 or midnight and more often than not he had a Village Inn Pizza and 2 liter Pepsi tucked under his arm.
As much of a "pest" as I was, he'd usually offer me a slice or two of his pizza and pour me a glass of Pepsi. We'd then retire to his bedroom where he'd switch on his TV and turn it to reruns of Mid Atlantic Championship Wrestling.
There, we'd cheer on his favorites; Ric Fair & Greg Valentine, Sergeant Slaughter, The Four Horsemen, and a host of others whose names I've long forgotten. Occasionally, we'd have the beginning of a "deep" philosophical conversation, but usually it was a lot lighter. I think he just was really lonely and wanted some company before he slept.
Sometime after about 2AM, back in those days the National Anthem would play announcing the end of the broadcast day, then go to a test pattern. I'd retreat to the living room, and sleep until Granny woke around 9 and made me silver dollar pancakes with bacon.
Dan brought a lot of grief to my parents. He never really was able to support himself, and always seemed to make poor decisions about money management and the people in his life. In retrospect, he had a number of self esteem issues and was never able to establish anything more than superficial interpersonal relationships. The really sad thing is that he overlooked the very people in his family that could have been his cornerstone.
Still, on nights like tonight when I take inventory of the fun times I had in simpler times, watching late night TV & wrestling while eating pizza with Dan always seems to come to mind.

Sins of the family

I wrote awhile back about a 7 year old, Aiyana Jones who was killed by police in a "no knock" raid on a duplex in Detroit.
To refresh everyone's memory, Aiyana was sleeping on her couch when a Detroit SWAT team threw a "flash-bang" grenade through the front window of her home. Some few seconds afterwards, the "point man" entered the home and fired his weapon which struck and killed this child.
I for one am outraged, and have been keeping an eye on the Detroit News and Detroit Free Press yet their coverage of the investigation has been weak, and overwhelmed by the numerous other murders happening in the city.
I can't understand why all the secrecy, and I further can't understand why it's been almost 2 months and this investigation hasn't been completed with a result. I read one article in June that allegedly placed her father in the vehicle of the perpetrator (who lived in the other half of the duplex) during the drive-by shooting that started all this.
Despite the possibility that her family was either directly or indirectly involved as accessories before or after the fact in the original murder, there was no reason an innocent child had to die.
I'm going to continue to keep an eye on this, and would ask others to question the motives of the Detroit Police in keeping this under wraps.
No child should have to suffer the sins of their family, and professional law enforcement officers should be held accountable for such an obvious abuse of power/force, and what was clearly poor tactical judgement.

Love and fathers.

Today is Father's Day, and Dad is on everyone's mind.

I can't really relate to Mothers and their female offspring, but I can speak a word or two about fathers and sons.

My dad wasn't really a touchy-feely kinda guy. Save for WWII and the GI Bill, I doubt my father would have ever seen the inside of a college classroom. He was raised on a farm deep in the mountains, the second set of offspring from my grandfather's second wife. From what I understand talking with my aunts and uncles, Grandpaw Whitson was a ruthless disciplinarian with little time for shenanigans. Pop loved him, but decided to strike out on his own at an early age.

After leaving home for the Baltimore shipyards, he enlisted in the Army and served in the Field Artillery. Home from occupation duties, he made his way to East Tennessee State University and studied History and Physical Education.

Pop didn't have much of an affectionate way with kids. He kinda thought his lot was to make sure we didn't grow up hoodlums. His place in our family was along the lines of Judge and Jury, with swift justice being the main reason for his existence. If we ever needed soft guidance in matters of the heart or world that was up to mom.

The worst thing you could hear in our home was "Wait til Dad gets home". Those words instilled more fear on my brothers and I than about anything else you could hear. I'm not quite sure "grounding" had even been invented yet, because we usually saw whippings.

Pop wasn't without an occasional soft side. He loved to share his knowledge of cars, carpentry, and lawn care though we usually didn't see that as much more than another set of chores to complete. I will have to say that I couldn't hammer a nail straight or saw a board in half if I hadn't been cajoled into helping him with some of the literally hundreds of home improvement projects he oversaw over the years. Anything I know about car trading and haggling came from watching him shave a hundred bucks from a car salesman, or fifty cents from someone at a yard sale.

Pop was pretty vocal about our various career choices; he didn't care for any of ours. I think he was just wanting us to get a little bit farther than he did. His candidness about how we'd turn out was just as full of truth though we couldn't see it at the time. One brother of mine died penniless and in poor health, the other saw his money dwindle down before he drank himself to death. I'm still a "work in progress" so we'll have to see if I wind up in the poor house.

I never quite understood my father. He spent over 30 years working at a job he hated, while I work at something that will never get me rich, but I enjoy doing.

I spent a good deal of my life at odds with my father. It took the birth of my own son to bring us closer together. Seeing them interact and play on visits warmed my heart to him, and actually got through my thick skull that for all the imperfections our children and parents may have, we love them just the same. It also opened my eyes to fact that as a father, it is realy important to hear "I love you" every once in awhile.

I'm really glad I got to say those words to pop before he passed away.

Yeah Pop, I do love you.