Thanks

Thanks, everybody, for reading this lame blog.

I appreciate you sticking through the right-brain periods, where I can't think in words, and the times where I'm obviously just dumping stuff I find on other websites because I have been too busy consuming to produce (which is a bit of an American epidemic). I think my New Year Resolution will include fewer hours plugged into podcasts, and more hours stirring up my own brain matter and moulding it into interesting shapes.

Hope you stay tuned.

Is Your House On Fire? No? Thank God. Or Drew.

I never look forward to firehouse holidays.  At the fire station, there is a very slim chance that you and your hosts will complete a meal uninterrupted.  At least in Vancouver, where firefighters are becoming a smaller and smaller minority in relation to the growing population of the city. Here, our firefighters are so outnumbered that they are often out of their stations virtually all day and all night on fire and medical calls.  Still, there is that chance that they may stay undisturbed for a few hours while they have a Thanksgiving meal.

That was not to happen this day.  The Captain was there when we arrived (I seem to be writing in the royal we today), but before the turkey was pulled off the smoker, they were off to put out a house fire.  The Captain, in typical rosy-glassed style, was sure it was one of those cell-phone samaritans calling in a "smoking" dryer vent again.  But it turned out to be a house fire.

A note here about the turkey on the smoker:  they are IN LOVE with their Traeger wood pellet smoker/grill because they can set it to smoke or roast their meat outside the door for a couple hours, whereas the ovens are wired to turn off whenever the garage doors are lifted and the engines leave the station.  These days, that makes the ovens virtually unusable.

Meanwhile, the turkey is done.  Visiting firefighters take it off the grill, carve it and toss it back into the oven to keep warm.  Meanwhile, the green beans are beginning to become porridge.

Fast forward an hour:  the Captain calls to say the fire is about out, but (lucky) they get to stay, mop up, and show the fire inspectors around.  To kill time, I entertain a 18-month-old with my hilarious face and talent for holding a toy hippo just so.

Fast forward another hour:  Another call comes in for yet another fire for the Captain's crew. The other crew sharing the station decide to eat quickly before they get another call.  They get maybe ten minutes of face-stuffing before the next call comes in.  

Eventually, the visiting fire fighters leave for their own stations.  One other wife and I (and the baby who loooves me) decide to call it a night.  We throw aluminum foil over the food and take the stairs for the exit.

As we leave, I see the Heavy Rescue rig pull up.  I give The Captain the international palms-up signal for WTF, and he jumps out and gives me a sooty hug.  He has soot on his face and hands and boots and coat.  He has put out two house fires while you all have been having your Thanksgiving dinners.

Thank a fire fighter.  Thank a soldier.  And thank a cop.

Amen.

Family Dynamics Illustrated

I'm not sure what you can measure in this photograph by measuring the acreage taken up by the personal space of one particular tousle-haired trouble maker. Everyone on the right side of the photograph seems to be scrunched together, in part out of affection, but also out of necessity to fit into a frame filled mostly with Dean (with his arm around wife Jenny) and those on the left trying not to violate his sphere of domination. If you cut this photo in half, you would have a picture of seven people on one half and a picture of four people on the other (three, as this is a community property state).

It almost looks like he was leaning against the wall with Jenny, and everyone sort of gathered around him for a picture as if he were one of those theme park cutouts. (Have your picture taken with the hipster! He looks so lifelike!)

Hope you had a nice, stress-free Thanksgiving.