QUITTING

For years now I’ve put off quitting smoking.  I quit cold turkey when I found out I was pregnant with Alex, but started back up shortly after he was born.  It was as if my craving neurons knew I could smoke again without guilt and kicked into high gear.  Obnoxious high gear.  So, I just told myself I would quit when I was good and ready.  It had to be for me, not because something or someone was making me.

Let me start by saying it is a huge decision.  It sound so ridiculous to admit that.  However, it’s true. Once I started having a list of health issues come up all seemingly at once, I decided I might as well get myself prepped for quitting.  What sense does it make to get my insides healthy if I’m just going to continue polluting them?  Sort of silly.  I asked my doctor for Wellbutrin to help me on my path.

I’m 4 days into being smoke free.  Four miserable days.  The medication did it’s job by dulling the cravings significantly.  A few days into the medication, I realized I was having frequent headaches.  Debilitating headaches.  I wasn’t surprised the meds were the cause.  Today is my first day in nearly 3 weeks I am not taking the drug.  To be totally honest, it doesn’t feel any different...sans headache.  So I guess that would make it better.

Today I have worked VERY hard at not heading to the store to grab a pack.  I even went to the store to pick up some other stuff and I completely avoided the temptation.  Therefore making the trip to the store a success.  Ridiculous that I have to play these kind of mind games with myself, but seriously, I’m actually making headway.

Last night was the hardest yet.  The majority of my smoking habit took place after sun down and the kids were in bed.  It was ‘my’ time.  Now that I don’t have that set me time, I’m restless.  I’m playing excessively on my iPad and doing my best to keep my head and hands busy.  My irritability is intense.  I’m working tirelessly at keeping my mouth shut.  I’m no saint, so yes, I snap a little bit.  But the irritability is the equivalent of hearing someone scratch cat’s claws down a freshly cleaned chalk board.  Everyone in my house is lucky I’m not screaming at the top of my lungs sporadically.  I guess that’s the perspective I wish them to take.  While it’s easier said than done I am drifting into a smoke filled room at least once an hour in my brain and basking in the thing I’m depriving myself of.  SMOKE!

I know this is the best thing for me to do.  I know what smoking does to my skin, lungs, hair, nails, breath, teeth, etc.  But man do I enjoy it.  A couple times I’ve said aloud, “I just want one.  Just one.”  Knowing good and damn well that would be the biggest lie.  That one would instantly turn into a few, then needing to buy a pack.  Lying to myself is absurd.  

Even as I am writing this, my innerds are clamoring for a cigarette.  I’m reminded of a Chantix commercial about a guy sitting on a dock repeating to himself aloud, “Cigarette.  Cigarette. Cigarette.”  Suddenly a huge great white shark leaps out of the water and latches onto the man’s leg.  Uninterrupted, the man repeats his mantra.  After a few more iterations, he realizes a huge shark is eating his leg and he then reacts accordingly.  It’s actually pretty funny.  But holy crap is it something I can now relate to.  The catch phrase or tag line was, “Quitting sucks.”  AMEN!

Sierra Vista Health Care Professionals=Oxymoron

Yesterday I went to my doctor to follow up on the Upper GI I had done on the 1st.  Turns out I have a 7mm duodenal ulcer.  While I’m certainly glad to have a reason for the pain and discomfort I’ve been experiencing for quite some time, I was looking forward to gaining more perspective on what this actually means.  Apparently my expectations were beyond realistic when I went in to see my doctor.  

The office seemed a little amiss when I got there.  The staff was flustered and the time it took for me to be taken back was longer than usual.  I’ve been in this office 3 times in the past four weeks.  The receptionist didn’t even ask me my name, I’m assuming she recognized me.  Clearly the doctor didn’t have a similar memory.

He asked me questions about what’s going on with me as if this were the first time I’d stepped foot in his office.  He asked me what medications I was taking, specifically odd was that he asked me if I was taking a prescription he had written for me only last week.  I was more than annoyed at his attitude and demeanor.  He made me feel as though I was a hinderance rather than a patient.

At the end of the ‘follow-up’ he referred me to a GI specialist.  He gave me nothing to go on as to the results of my Upper GI.  Call me nuts, but I think ulcers are fairly common.  Before I’d even been told I had one, I had done some homework about what the potential causes were of my symptoms.  An ulcer was one of the first things that popped up.  When I initially went in to see him about this issue, I was extremely detailed in what I’ve been dealing with.  I tried to be as thorough as possible so I didn’t hinder the solving of my internal organ’s mystery.

I’ve done a full blood panel.  I’ve been tested for Hepatitis.  I’ve had a sonogram.  Finally, I’ve had an Upper GI.  I would think those tests would shed some light.  As soon as he got the results of my liver being fatty from the sonogram, he started to treat me differently.  He passively recommended I go to see a specialist, but to go ahead and have the Upper GI done.  I now have two tests conducted and two follow-up appointments and the same conclusion.  Go see a specialist.

I respect the fact that doctors reach the limits of their expertise.  I do not respect charging me and my insurance for two visits that were clearly unnecessary and ultimately delaying my treatment.  Today I made an appointment with Tucson Gastroenterology.  I’m going to have an initial consultation and then possibly face another procedure being done.

Here’s the kicker.  After talking to my nurse best friend and our combined researching skills, we found that the leading cause of ulcers is an infection called H. Pylori.  Now that I know where my ulcer is located, I was given more affirmation that I have a 90% chance of H. Pylori being the cause.  What’s funny is finding out as to whether that is the cause for me is a simple blood test.  Curing it is as easy as an antibiotic for a few weeks, a follow-up blood test, and depending on whether the medication cured me or not another series of medication.

I’m not a doctor.  But what I found out took mere minutes.  Plugging the words ulcer and duodenal into a Google search told me all of that.  So why, pray tell, didn’t my primary care doctor not include that in my initial blood panel?  He was sure to make sure I wasn’t pregnant, but this didn’t cross his mind.

The list of complications in regards to ulcers is a short one.  Fortunately I do not have any symptoms indicating a huge problem.  However, I have no idea how bad this ulcer is.  I have no clue if I’m close to having a major problem.  Perhaps I need an endoscopy in order to properly assess that, but what if this regimen of medication takes out the need to even have one done?  If I end up having to pay the 20% for the GI consultation and then another 20% of an endoscopy, I’m going to be one pissed off person.

I hope the end to this process is near and I’m looking towards feeling better very soon.  My ultimate goal is to be well.  I’m tired of feeling like crap.  I’m tired of being tired.  I’m nervous to be anxious about everything because I now know I have an ulcer!  Sort of counter productive.  I’ve taken drastic measures already in my diet and it seems to be helping.  I’ve had more good days in a row than I have in a while and that’s nice.  There are still some underlying issues, but they’re not putting me in the fetal position.  At least not as frequently as they have been.

I wish Sierra Vista had a more competent list of physicians.  I realize this is a small town, but good grief.  Shame on me for expecting a doctor to be proactive in their patient’s wellness.  It’s not all as it seems on television.  But right now I think I’d give an actor portraying a doctor a shot at my problems.  Seeing as how I’ve probably diagnoses myself, it doesn’t seem like it would have been detrimental.

Lessons Learned 2011

As a thinker, I feel inclined to write frequently.  I read other works and find myself yearning for the ability to write something that will one day be quoted or inspire someone else.  Arrogance leads me to believe I have the capacity to do that.  I suppose when I read back on some of my own words I inspire myself.  Occasionally I’ll find what I’ve written to be a source of reassurance that things get better.  Or even on the even rarer occasion, I’ll find a new perspective.

Each year, I sit down at my computer and review the events of the months past.  I’ll dig into my emotional vault and rehash the epiphanies or pivotal moments and document what I’ve learned.  This year I find myself not only gaining a sense of calm but a little maturity as well.  I believe this past year might have been the year I’ve grown the most.  I’m not sure exactly how I’ve obtained this insight, but nevertheless, I find that writing this right now I feel more grounded than I’ve ever felt.

This was the year I learned the truest meaning of patience.  No matter how many times I feel as though I’ve reached the limits of my endurance, I always find several more yards of rope dangling beneath my feet.

Closure seems to be this metaphorical state of peace.  All the cliches that surround the grieving process have manifested themselves this year.  I’ve come to understand the meaning of closure.  Closure doesn’t necessarily mean you’re over it.  I guess it just means you’ve accepted the reality to the fullest of your personal comprehension.

I’ve been told so many times that I’m a strong person.  The past three and a half years have been increasingly annoying with that classification.  There have been many weeks over the year 2011 that I have felt nothing close to strong.  When I’ve had the hours of deep anxiety and sadness it’s damn near impossible to feel strong.  

For whatever reason I’ve gotten it in my mind that succumbing to emotional break down was weak.  Words from a counselor resonate in my mind.  Why do I feel like I need to fall to the floor in waves of tears in order to feel progress in my grief?  I suppose the philosophy I’ve created for myself is that you can’t build on top of rubble.  I’ve had the notion that I’ve needed to demolish the foundation and pour anew.

This year I’ve learned that what I’ve needed is to simply remodel.  Building around the grief creates character.  After all, don’t my experiences make me who I am?  Why try to erase those nuances that directly contribute to the strength of my concrete?  If I eliminate the strengthening compounds, the foundation eventually cracks and I’ll end up right back where I started.  

In a way I’m compromising.  I’ve come to terms with the things I cannot change.  I’m still learning to accept those things.  But I believe that is exactly what makes life, life.  I’m compromising my stubbornness in order to pave the way to acceptance.

I would be a buffoon to think I could sweep my pains under a rug and just move on.  There will always be this lump in the rug.  How do you ignore that?  So, I’m looking at an urn on my dresser as a piece of insignia or as a medal of honor.  It will never, ever stop being painful to see.  A piece of me is in that urn.  But without that urn I wouldn’t have this new perspective.  Growth.  Maturity.  Gain.

I made a promise to myself this year that I would tell my story.  For whatever reason I have this compulsion to be heard.  Whether it’s read by no one other than my own family members, I just want to have my experience felt in some way by another.  Without knowing this story about me, you can’t fully know me.

Learning that this year has helped me get to a far better place.  I now understand I will never fully stop grieving the loss of my son.  I now understand that it’s ok.  I put far too much pressure on myself to get to this movie like euphoria about it.  I thought there would be this grand score of music playing the moment I reached true acceptance.  If that was truly the way grief worked, it wouldn’t be painted so ominously.  Truth of the matter is, there’s absolutely nothing beautiful about grief.  It’s gory and ugly.  I suppose from all the debris and carnage the beauty is in the outcome.

I learned this year what marriage really is.  I learned the value in true partnership and the necessity of that partnership in order to experience marital glory.  For years and years I’ve allowed myself to believe marriage can be easy if both parties wanted the same thing.  Even with similar goals in mind, the constant personal evolution spouses go through individually, tests those goals.  Goals change.  People change.  The glory is in the compromises each make in order to stay on the same page.  So many people say marriage is the hardest thing.  I will never criticize the validity of that statement.  In 19 days my husband and I will have been married for 14 years.  There hans’t been a single year yet one of us didn’t feel exasperated with each other.  All 14 years have been uphill.  Sometimes at a 45 degree angle.

Is love enough to keep a marriage strong?  I’ve learned how much love contributes to the strength.  But I’ve learned that no it’s not enough.  Defining love has been attempted by everyone.  Either on paper displayed for the world to interpret or in one’s own thoughts.  I’ve learned you can’t really define love.  I think that’s why so many other words can be listed to similarly describe it.

I’m 31 years old.  I believe I’ll go to my grave never fully understanding love.  But, if I can leave my personal wisdom behind to contribute to defining a strong marriage, it’s only a few words.

Patience

Compromise

Respect

Faith

Apply those words however you see fit.  But if both a man and a woman can apply the fullest meanings of those words to their union, they’ll survive it all.  Being able to execute those words is so much harder than you’d think.  I’ve learned that when those things are combined with love, whatever love means, you’ve got yourself a perfect marriage.

I’ve learned the value of time.  This year has gone by so dramatically fast it is literally spinning my head.  Thinking about it actually makes me dizzy.  We started off this year with a flood in our house and walls being ripped away.  Our son turned 1.  Our daughter turned 13.  My siblings stayed with me for 6 weeks.  I took my son to Florida for 2 weeks.  Our daughter got into the most trouble to date.  I spent a very full 48 hours in San Diego with my amazing brother and his equally incredible wife.  My health reached new lows.  I’ve finally gotten to where I’m ready to quit smoking.  I’ve stayed home for an entire tax year and not worked.  This year has been very full.  But all those things I just listed feel like they happened weeks ago.

Life is short.  Cliche, I know.  But this year has confirmed it.  I’m going to pack my little lessons learned and move into the year 2012 a feeling more equipped.  I hope and pray feeling this sense of self doesn’t invite challenge.  But then again, who do you know that has gone through life without significant trial?  We all want it easier, but seriously, how boring would that be?

Black Friday

Black Friday

I’ve made it well into my adult life without complying to the media hysteria that is Black Friday.  For years, I’ve sat back and watched stories in the news about the absurdity of people scraping over each other for the $10 discount on bath robes.  When I read about people actually resulting to violence over gaming systems, it solidified my reasoning.  Why on earth would I subject myself to the potential crossfire?  

Perhaps, I have been injected with a case of the stupids, because this year I was doing the very thing I’ve spent years criticizing.  Even as the doomsday clock closed in, I was profusely refuting the notion of standing in line.  

I’m a big fan of experiences.  I have an obscenely long list of things I’d like to do/see before I’m unable to do them.  For example; I’d like to take a carriage ride around Central Park in the fall.  Nothing tickles my ribs more than the idea of seeing the sun set over a vineyard in Tuscany.  While I don’t think I’ll ever run out of wishes in this department, I’ve certainly slashed a few off.  

I’ve been to Colonial Williamsburg and wept tears of patriotism when I witnessed a reenactment of the day Virginia joined the cause of the Revolutionary War.  I moved inch by inch through 1 million hurricane slinging party animals on Bourbon Street during Mardi Gras.  I’ve gritted my teeth as I sat helpless in the backseat of a New York City cab.  The list could continue for a while, but I digress.

There’s been this little inkling of curiosity as to how it really is to be in the throws of sheer mania at Wal-Mart when the sale hits on the launch of Black Friday.  That curiosity finally killed this cat and I can assuredly tell you it shan't happen again.  Even if one of the Wal-Mart managers doesn’t believe me.

This all started about a week ago when I began to make choices for Christmas presents for my kids.  I surfed the internet looking for ideas and came across a few that sparked my interest.  As all things tend to lead whilst perusing the internet, I found myself on a totally different track.  I was looking at coupons to print online.  Ultimately I came across a website that not only showed me all the ads for Black Friday, it gave me store hours, price comparisons, and even maps of the stores.  As I was poking around on this site, I realized there were some significant savings to be had.  The only catch...Black Friday.

Black Friday got it’s name because it meant retailers would profit.  They’s stay “in the black.”  I wonder if the ones who came up with the moniker ever thought it would take on a totally different and more ominous meaning?  To me, Black Friday means muerte!  The death of the Christmas spirit, the very day the official Christmas season begins.  Ironic?  Maybe.

My husband had zero desire to subject himself to the crowds.  At about 9:00 Thanksgiving night, I contemplated the seriousness of my intent.  I really wasn’t positive I was going to go, but if I didn’t, I would be hitting the level of sleep doctors would need to be called to revert.  So, I bucked up, tied my shoes, and tossed my hair into a new pony tail.  I asked my husband if he’d go.  The look on his face did not match his response.  He agreed to go.  We were ten feet out of the drive way when his snarky remarks and lack of enthusiasm seeped from his lips.  It wasn’t as if I had a bolt of splendor rush over my body, but I was doing my best to be perky and happy.  I saw no point in going into this with a pissy attitude.  

As we pulled into the Wal-Mart shopping center, all I could utter was, “Whoa.”  The whole parking lot was full.  Not just full, but overflow parking was in the Lowe’s parking lot across the street.  I was an hour early.  Clearly, I didn’t plan this very well.  I cautiously drove through the lot to locate a parking space.  Surprisingly, it didn’t take long.

Though I have gone into this store plenty of times, this time felt very different.  There was this energy you’d have to be there to understand.  When I looked at the links for ‘maps of stores’ on that website, it should have been a clue.  Clearly, I’m an idiot.

There were so many people in the store in sections of the store that see people on a minimal basis.  Sporting goods and hunting was filled with people lining up for something.  It took a few minutes of walking around the store for me to see the balloons floating atop the aisles.  “Line Up Here for Wii,” “Line Up Here for XBox,” “Line Up Here for Kindle.”  You could call it an ‘aha moment.’  Obviously the preparations the staff had for this sale was in depth.  Instead of having all the sale items in the electronics department, they spread them throughout the store.  Kind of genius.  Organized chaos.  Or so I thought.  

I went for one specific item (which will remain unnamed until I give it to my daughter).  Blue shirts were everywhere with varying expressions of panic, stress, exasperation, etc.  I found one that looked the least overwhelmed and asked where I should go to obtain this particular item.  From one end of the store to other, I lugged my husband around like the literal ball and chain we husbands and wives are so lovingly referred to as.  He looked like I was killing him slowly.  In public.

Three uneducated associates later, we decided to stay put in an area that seemed to house the talisman.  Teenagers were huddled around displays wrapped in plastic with large signs stating the time and date of their availability.  We were 10 minutes ahead of schedule.  Feeling anxious I’d be in the wrong place and miss out on getting the talisman, I prowled around the crowds of people to see what they were guarding.  Never before in my life have I felt like I was in a video game.  Around me were suspicious people protecting their position with such ferocity, I feared the very idea of eye contact.  As if my peeking at what they were waiting for was going to take away their opportunity to obtain it.  

Timid is not a word I would use to describe myself.  But under those circumstances, it was spot on.  I returned to my husband and sort of pouted at my lack of information from my reconnaissance.  All of a sudden I hear a dinging of an alarm.  Wal-mart employees maneuver their way to the displays and with box-cutters, rip away the plastic.  At this point all I can do it watch in astonishment as people literally piled on top of each other.  I had the unfortunate exposure to one woman’s ass crack as she shoved over people.  Within seconds the display collapsed and people fell on top of each other and then the yelling started.  I’m certain my eyes were the size of saucers.  All this pandemonium over $28 Batman: Arkam City and MW3.  Insanity.

We waited for the pile of people to recede to go in and see what else was there.  Nothing of interest.  Furthermore, no talisman.

The core of the store, or as I now refer to as the mouth of the beast was worse.  We were smart and didn’t get a cart.  I had this wild thought the talisman must be there.  We strategically moved through people in the attempt at finding it.  Nay.  People were smashed together like grains of sand of the ocean floor to get their hands on $3.97 pajamas, $10.00 coffee makers, $5 Barbies, and a bunch of other nonsense.  

Voices all around me were angry, frustrated, panicked, and even a little malicious.  It was at this point my husband peaked.  People were so selfish, they were literally ramming carts into other carts, and a few times my husband and I.  With the minuscule amount of patience we had left, we managed to get out of the madness and toward the exit.  Mental notes were being taken at every step.  All I could think of was how ironic this whole thing is.

I said excuse me more than 50 times in only a few minutes.  I smiled and said thanks to those who were gracious enough to let me through.  In all truth, no one else said the same to me.  To make it more clear as to the tone of energy, the only people I saw smiling were a couple of employees.  People in that store looked as if they were on the front lines of hand-to-hand combat.  Perhaps this was where Mel Gibson went to find inspiration for Braveheart.  Only the war cries was the sound of the Whos singing at the end of “How The Grinch stole Christmas.”  

After all that, we left empty handed.  I found out the talisman never came in the store’s shipments.  They took my name and number down and promised to call should they come across it.  ARE YOU KIDDING ME?  There was a small part of me that wanted to purchase something.  Anything.  I didn’t care what it was, I just needed to buy something to justify the hell I had just forced my husband to go through.  Maybe it was that I couldn’t get past my irritation.  I couldn’t find a single item I wanted to wrap and give to my kids.

Black Friday had won.  They had killed my giving spirit.  What’s even funnier is this all happened by 10:30 pm.  We went home and took several deep breaths and relaxed.  As I said, I must have been injected with a case of the stupids.  I bucked up and headed to Target.  I thought, it can’t be as bad as Wal-mart.

At 10:45 I pulled into the parking lot to see a line wrapped around the store.  Great.  I parked the car and walked to the end.  It was already curving towards the receiving side of the store.  You know, where the trucks go to deliver shipments.  I am now familiar with the rear of the store.

Not 10 minutes later, a security guard walks by announcing the plan. “The store will open at 12:00 and 25 people will be permitted to enter.  Twenty-five seconds later another 25 people will go in.  Would anyone like a granola bar?”

I thought he was joking.  But sure enough, he had a Target bag full of granola bars free for the taking.  I passed, but not without thinking how amazing that was!  With a renewed sense of tolerance I waited the hour and fifteen minutes happily.

Once I got into the store, I moved quickly towards the toy department to pick up the things I wanted for my toddler.  Mega Bloks for $10 and a Crayola activity table for the same price!  Super good deal!  I turned the corner with my cart to find the 200+ people who were ahead of me in line all congregating in the electronics section.  I’d be waiting a bit before I was able to get to where I wanted to be.  No biggie.  I’m patient.  Apparently the more I acknowledge my capacity for tolerance and patience, the more it gets tested.  Moving along with the rest of the herd, there’s always going to be a few pricks.  I was knocked from behind by another cart.  It didn’t hurt, but it didn’t feel good.  I turned around to find this woman snarling at me as if I had been the one who slammed my ass into her cart.  No apology.  No excuse me.  Just more pushing past me.  As far as she was concerned, no one else mattered.  What she wanted was king and damn those who object.  It was in this moment I looked around at the faces.  No smiles.  Irritation oozed off their faces like an overfilled honey jar.

The best thing you can do is ignore it.  So I did.  I got the things I needed and went to find the end of the checkout line.  It wrapped around the entire interior wall of the store.  I didn’t get out of there until 2:45 am.  I was in line to check out for over 90 minutes.

While I was in line, I received a phone call.  A number I didn’t recognize popped up and I was hesitant to answer.  Who in the world would be calling me at this hour?  It was Wal-mart.  They had my talisman ready for me to pick up.

Well what do ya know?  After I survived Target I headed back to Wal-mart.  The parking lot looked more like it does at 3:00 pm on a weekday.  I walked in to find the store nearly put back to the way I’m used to seeing it pre-death day.  It didn’t take me long to find someone to locate my talisman and within 15 minutes I was checking out with it at a $30 savings.  

I took my sneakers off at 3:00 am.  Sitting on my couch it hit me how tired I was.  It had turned into one of the longest days I’ve had in a long, long time.  Cooking nearly all day.  On my feet in the kitchen blanching green beans, cubing butternut squash, peeling potatoes, cutting mushrooms, whipping cream cheese, and a bunch of other things, I had probably only spent a combined total of 2 hours sitting down.  My feet hurt today and they’re swollen.

Even though I was able to get the stuff I wanted at the price I was hoping for, there’s no way I’m doing that again.  Shopping for gifts is supposed to be fun.  It’s supposed to be selfless.  If it’s not fun, you’re missing out on the best part of shopping for gifts.  I’ll go shopping when fellow shoppers share my enthusiasm and joy for the occasion of the season.  Which is two weeks before Christmas.  Black Friday could be so much cooler if sucky people weren’t participating.

Soon, we’ll start hearing the statistics of the sales and see if the economy is worse than last year’s.  But, all I’ll ever be able to associate Black Friday with is the exposure of ugly people fighting over sale prices on stupid stuff that doesn’t last.  Even if they were giving away free televisions to the first 100 people, I won’t be there.  I’d prefer to avoid another zombie feeding frenzy until the actual zombie invasion.

Fair

I shared this story a long time ago, and it seems appropriate to share it again.  

My daughter was 10 years at the time.

She came home from school after having gone on a field trip to the high school to see the production department at Buena.  She’d had a blast and really got excited about getting into that program when she starts high school.  The field trip came to select group of class members that had been rewarded for accomplishing a certain grade on a test or something like that.  

When she was telling me about the activities in the classroom before they left for the high school, I couldn’t help but pay close attention.

She explained the kids who weren’t able to go were upset.  She told me how bad she felt that they couldn’t go and further expressed her sympathy for them.  It was at this point I asked her why they couldn’t go.  Without hesitation she answered the question.  They couldn’t go because they didn’t get grade they needed to qualify.  I asked her what she had done to go.  She told me she worked with her group really hard to get an A on the work.  She and her group all wanted to go on the field trip, so they set out to achieve that goal.

I then asked her if she thought it was fair that even though the kids that didn’t do their best should get the same reward as she did for doing her best.  The pause before the answer was magnificent.  She said, “Well no.”  Hmmm.

Even though she agreed that the kids should have to earn their reward, she felt bad for those who didn’t go on the field trip.  Good for her to be sympathetic, but good for her for acknowledging the consequences of actions.

That evening I recounted the conversation with my daughter to my husband.  We are both of the same opinion when it comes to working for what you have.  I was sort of excited for the opportunity to explain work ethic to my daughter.  That conversation has resonated with me more and more since it happened.

The President gave a speech recently about the wealthy paying their “fair share” of taxes.  I need to look no further than Fox News to share some statistics about the taxes being paid by the wealthy.  Of course (because I’d be an idiot to not) I looked up and validated the information being disseminated on Fox.  I find it interesting that the top 1% of earners in this country are paying about 70% of the taxes.  

If I decided to pursue my own gain, and work hard to achieve it, according to our President, I should have to share my earnings with those who don’t work to earn it.  How is that fair?  What are we actually teaching Americans?  What we’re teaching is being rewarded for hard work is bad.  Isn’t that what the American Dream was all about?

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying some of our taxes shouldn’t go to aiding those who need it.  I agree there is a responsibility of our government to help those who can’t help themselves.  But therein lies the very issue.  How are we defining that?  What actually constitutes being unable to help one’s self?

I’ve wanted to blog about this for years.  I am going to get this off my chest.

The welfare system is about as worthless as a $3 bill.  I’ve seen first hand the abuse of what was once a good system.  The theory behind the welfare system came during the time of the Great Depression when thousands of people were unable to find work and provide for their families.  The purpose was to use the welfare program as a crutch until things turned around.  Brilliant!  It is now being used as permanent handicap.

If you’d like to see how welfare money is being spent, look no further than your local convenience store near a trailer part or run down part of town.  When I was managing a convenience store 10 years ago, I was astounded at the amount of product being paid for with food stamps.  Time after time I sold Twinkies, soda, chips, and a plethora of other junk food to people using food stamps.  Right after paying for those items, they’d purchase a six pack of beer, a pack of cigarettes, and frequently a bottom shelf liquor with cash.  How unethical is that?  What can I do?  There I was working 16 hours a day, 7 days a week, for $35,000 a year to see the 36% of MY income pay for that.  

There are several examples I could list off that infuriate me.  There are individuals who suffer from mental and physical handicaps that truly cannot work.  Unfortunately they’re not the ones benefitting from the welfare system.  

I wrote a blog a while ago about seeing a woman in a wheel chair being abused by two younger people leaving a grocery store.  The more I thought about that situation, the more disgusted I became.  Obviously what I’m about to say is a massive assumption, but the likelihood of it’s truth is wide.  The woman in the wheel chair probably receives food stamps and all the government assistance she needs.  The two people abusing her are more than likely reaping the benefits.  That woman probably needs them to live.  So, she’s stuck.  It’s grossly unfair.

To expand on the abuse of welfare, think about the medical costs being assumed by states.  Arizona specifically has a major problem with that.  Illegal immigrants are coming over and having their children, thus making them American citizens, all on the taxpayers dime.  I can’t take my son to the doctor without proving I have insurance.  I can’t take my kid to school without providing a birth certificate.  

There are several contributing factors to the deficit in the state of Arizona.  Politics are the biggest.  Schools are being closed.  Classroom sizes have grown by 1/3.  Teachers are working part time jobs at Wal-Mart to make ends meet and still paying out of pocket for supplies in their classrooms.  Hospitals are cutting back staff because of their amount of bills unpaid by patients.  

The point is, the way to fix our economy is to truly correct spending.  I’m no accountant, but I’m thinking if priorities were adjusted we’d suddenly find ourselves with more revenue.  It’s frustrating to see those who have worked hard to build their wealth be called greedy and selfish and to find they are paying the bulk of our nation’s costs.  Maybe it’s my narrow minded conservative thinking that can’t understand why the job creators are the culprits.  

I believe we should work hard and contribute to our society.  Be a good citizen.  Shop locally as often as possible.  Go to work and take active rolls in our children’s lives.  Live within our means.   Obey the laws.  Help others when you can.  I don’t believe creating dependency is the answer.  I don’t believe others should be forced to pay for my life.  What satisfaction would I get from successes of others?  I guess if I’m eating free steak, driving a free car, living in a comfortable house for free or very little cost, I might change my mind.  But since I have a husband who works and makes what Uncle Sam believes to be enough to not qualify for any assistance I don’t see that happening any time soon.   But, also since I don’t qualify for help, we make enough to pay for those who can’t.    

The Journey To Publishing

Putting one's self out there is a brave act.  Subjecting yourself to criticism that may or may not be desired is nothing short of character building.  I happen to be unafraid of just about anyone's opinion of me.  Frequently, that mentality has placed me in a stereotype of cocky or just plain conceited.  Truth be told, it when I make the choice to put myself out there, a certain level of self esteem is necessary in order to survive.
Singing in bands, karaoke, or even auditioning for various talent shows, I've built a wall of self assuredness that isn't concrete, but nevertheless solid.  I've written blogs upon blogs varying in topic.  The blogs that open a window to my inner most thoughts and deepest emotional turmoil have been obviously the most revealing.  All in all, the overall reception of said blogs has been positive.
Despite my tendency to write about deeper subject matter, I have written several poems and a handful of children's style stories.  It has been my dream since I was a little girl to see my book on the shelf of a book store or library.  I never put much stock into what the kind of book it would be that would satisfy my dream.  Lately, the dream has taken shape and for the first time since the books' conception, I feel like I'm getting to a place where this is actually going to happen.
Too long I have placed the progress of this book on the shoulders of others.  For 10 years I've had a collection of stories that are to put it mildly, FANTASTIC, on a shelf in my personal library.  I lack the ability to illustrate.  I've needed someone to mold my idea into a tangible material.  Finally, I've been able to push that progress along.  My little sister has an uncanny artistic ability that I have longed to marry to these books.  Now that I've been able to obtain the information I've needed in order to get this published, I have a renewed sense of self and determination.  I am encouraged that my infectious enthusiasm has somewhat gone viral.
I've been on the phone and email all this week talking to companies about publishing my book.  I don't know why I haven't pursued this before now.  Frankly it's annoying.  But, I am harvesting information so fast I don't have the silo to contain it all.  I am actually using software to keep track of it all.  The opportunities are so immense it's going to take some time to process and select the most profitable and feasible company.  Just writing that makes me a little teary eyed.

There are so many different companies out there willing to support publishing.  Everything from self publishing, to Print On Demand (POD), to getting contracted with a company is at my disposal.  Today I found out just how insanely affordable this can be.  The risk involved is substantial.  Anytime you put money up front to engage is scary.  How much will I get back?  How long will it take to see a return?  The questions are infinite.  Today, I was able to put some ease to the litany of unknowns.  Of course I would be an idiot to believe this is going to make me a millionaire.  I've got wits about me.  What I'm only hoping for is the opportunity to fail or succeed.  Success is actually getting a book available for someone, anyone to buy.  Whether I sell 10 or 5,000 it doesn't matter.  But after talking to this company today, I'm seeing the likelihood of selling books by the thousands becoming more and more realistic.  The core of my soul is trembling.  The thrill of this finally taking off is impossible for me to articulate.

I don't know how to dream any other way than grand.  The concept I have has inspired so many different forms of revenue the list is reaching pages of ideas.  I can't stop thinking about what I have right now.  It doesn't help that I spend a significant amount of my day watching Nick Jr. and seeing the fruits of similar minded folks' labor.  I want to be one of those minds.  I am done wishing and hoping and dreaming.  I am ready to set this rocket on fire and see where it goes.  The sky is quite literally the limit.  There is absolutely no one to blame any more for this being merely a thought.  My time is when ever I make it.  My time is now.

Test Of Patience

When I meet my maker, if he's a fair and just one, I believe he'll bestow upon me the title of Emma the Saint of Patience. I'm no Mother Teresa, but man oh man am I giving her a run for her money. I have been preparing myself for years and it all is moot. Being the mother of a teenager is something you can't actually prepare for. It is diving into the deep end of the pool with your little arm floaties only half inflated. The fact I haven't murdered my child yet, is a testament of my patience.

Do all parents of teenagers have a moment or 12 during the day they contemplate their worth as a parent? I have to believe I'm not alone in wondering if I'm doing anything right. I swear, my daughter seems as though she's on a mission to make me 100% certifiable. I'll never tell her, she's succeeding. The gray hair that now is prominently breeding around my face is yet another piece of evidence as to how patient I am.

"When I was your age."

Hilarious to actually use that phrase to start any sentence. Whether it's directed to my daughter or friends, it's absurd to say. Why? Because my parents said it! The cycle is infinite when it comes to parent/child relationships. In all seriousness, when I was her age, the things I was into and doing are far different than the things she's into. Sure, the obvious boys, music, make-up and sports are the same, but the girls she is peered with is what scares me. Perhaps I was so narrow minded and naive that I didn't see these girls when I was growing up. Very possible. But walking through the mall or even Wal-Mart, I'm shocked at the things they wear, pierce, say...etc. Oh to stick my head in the sand until she's 18. Maybe then I'll come out looking 25 again instead of looking like I'm about to turn 50.

I guess it's just maddening to watch my baby girl grow up. Maybe I'm not alone at all in the fears that are becoming realities as she matures right in front of me. I don't think I'll ever want her to be anything other than my 8 year old little girl. I'm losing my grip of that person and it's taking it's toll. I can only hope I'm not screwing her up entirely. I can only do the best I can to keep my temper in a cell...unless a parole is granted. Karma is an interesting little bitch. I only hope the good stuff would come around a little more frequently. Hair dye is expensive.

Why Oh Why

The past week of news has been all but fun to watch. Last weekend I sat nearly on the edge of my seat as hurricane Irene came through the east coast. I have to say, the communities did an outstanding job with emergency preparedness. Though it was a lot less torrential as predicted, thank goodness, it was awesome to see folks plan for the worst. I think it's better to be overly cautious than arrogant and flippant. It's very possible the loss of life would have been worse if not for the warnings and evacuations.

In the car on the way home from a wonderful weekend in San Diego with family, I listened intently to the news in Libya. Over the night, a country demanded the change they want. It was inspiring to listen to the sounds of jubilation as they turned over a government. It of course begged me to give thanks for the country I live in. Despite the frustrations going on here, we are not on the brink of a collapsed government and total civil uprising. I'm not naive to believe it won't ever happen, but knowing it's not happening right this second is a gift.

The state of the world is fascinating. I don't watch a lot of news unless there's actual news to be heard. But, the other night I was reading an article about China's resent bolus of military advancement and funding. The article was spun to lead the reader to believe the Chinese are up to something. When aren't they? But, I was talking about it with my husband and my 13 year old daughter asked if we were currently at war. I have to admit, it's a little fun to talk about current events with my daughter. She seems to be interested in what's happening and it makes me happy.

The answer is yes and no. I explained we are involved in conflicts. I explained the difference between all out war and conflict. She then asked if we were at war with China. That's a very good question. I said, and if I'm wrong, please feel free to open up the debate: We're at competition with China. We are being politically correct with the competition because we owe them a LOT of money. They have an intimidating upper hand and it's becoming more and more uncomfortable. So, with the news of China suddenly doing all this military action, it begs to question how long it will be before they start to flex their muscles at us directly? I shudder at the answer. The unknown is alway terrifying. I don't think China's going to all out nuke us, but I do think they'll shut us down economically and since they are sort of already doing that, I'd rather deal with a financial melt down than nuclear/biochemical warfare. Call me nuts, wouldn't it be easier to be poor than growing a new head?

Every time I read about natural disasters, new wars, and a myriad of other bad news, I can't help but think biblically. It's funny to me. Funny, weird. My mom was one of those people who would start screaming about the end of days. Whenever she'd start a tirade, I'd make fun. Honestly, I probably still would if she were here to do it. But, is this truly the end of days? Sure, this planet has seen times like this before. In fact, probably worse. I guess the information age just brings it all really together and magnifies it all. Growing up with the religious philosophy I did, nearly requires me to believe these are the last days. But how many days before it's over? I laughed maniacally at the group of people who swore then end of the world was in what, May? When nothing happened, I wished with all my heart, I could have been a fly on their walls. How embarrassing.

Point? Don't really have one. There are days I get a little unsettled at the thought of the life that I know coming to an end. But, at the exact same time given hope that it's not going to happen during my lifetime. Who knows. God. Only he knows what he's doing...I hope.

Unbelieveable!

I just ran a quick errand to pick up some essentials for the baby and as I was pulling into the parking lot, I see a woman in a wheel chair, a young man behind her, and another woman in front of the wheel chair slamming a 40 pound bag of dog food into the woman in the wheel chair's lap. Not just slamming it, but angrily shoving it onto her narrow lap. In addition to this bag of dog food was a large water melon, and sacks of groceries. You couldn't see this woman's body except her head sticking out of the top of the various items they had clearly just purchased. The woman slinging items into this woman's lap was yelling and having some kind of tantrum while picking up the items that fell onto the pavement around them.

This angry woman's face was contorting with each livid syllable she uttered to the poor woman in the wheel chair. As I pulled into my parking space, I wrestled with myself as to whether or not I was going to intervene in the situation that was 100% none of my business. Shamefully, I did not. I watched as they repositioned the lady in the wheel chair and went on their way. The palpable discomfort this display created was nothing short of frustrating.

It was only dissipated by what I found on my way home. Just around the corner of the grocery store I saw a police car pulled off to the side of the street. I looked closer to see the officer put the angry woman in the back of his squad car and left the young man and the lady in the wheel chair to continue their walk home. I actually said aloud to myself, "Good!" I just shutter to think of what was happening to draw the attention of the police officer or if someone more brave than myself called the police station. Whatever the case. That woman should be hit in the knees with a bat and left to rely on those with the ability to walk to care for her. That would be a phenomenal act of karma. People will never cease to amaze me and their total selfishness.

Still On Fire

Today was remarkably quieter than yesterday. The fire seems to be losing speed and fuel, which is excellent. Last night, firefighters were able to successfully conduct controlled burns to buffer residential areas should the fire change direction. The weather forecasted throughout the remainder of the week makes things a little sketchy. Thursday and Friday we are expecting more high winds. The past two days have been considerably milder than Sunday’s. Not only is that fantastic for those fighting this fire, it’s kind of nice to be outside and not feel like Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz.

As of tonight the containment has finally gotten higher. We are now 40% contained! I was so excited to read that since we’d been holding onto 27% or less for days. So far, the acreage destroyed is just a couple thousand acres short of 30,000. Comparatively speaking, not too bad when you look at the over half million acres burned in the Wallow fire and over 220,000 in the Horseshoe Fire II. But, unfortunately the Monument Fire has destroyed more homes than both of those fires combined. Not bragging, it’s just been a bigger threat to residencies than the others.

Tonight they will be continuing efforts in controlled burning. This time, however, they are evacuating a large neighborhood while they burn. They are doing it as a precautionary action. The smoke will be significant and then there’s of course the potential of losing control of the fire. I shudder to think of how awful that would be. They are leaving it up to the people who live in that area to leave or not. But if they do leave, they probably won’t be permitted to return without good reason. Your guess is as good as mine as to what a “good reason” is.

The smoke on the mountain has settled and the past two days we’ve actually been able to see our fair mountain. There are smoldering hot spots all over the peaks and canyons and it’s still sad to think of what it looks like up close. Experts are saying it will take a minimum of 20 years to regain the level of vegetation the mountain just lost. We as a community are hopeful for a heavy rainy season...despite the cost.

At a press conference this morning our sheriff, Larry Dever (you might have seen him on Fox News a few times) spoke of the devastation being far from over. While the fire is obviously still burning and the potential of it threatening communities again, there’s the added concern of how this new terrain will handle our typically torrid monsoon season. Flash flooding is always an issue during the season and now with the mountain being bare naked, there’s nowhere for that rain to run but towards housing. It was sad to realize how correct he was. I hand’t thought of it. Here we’ve all been praying for rain to open up the torrential downpour. Little do we know how bad that pour could be. It’s a sucky situation at all points.

The prediction being made show the estimated date for containing this fire is July 15th. That’s a long ways away. And that’s just containment. Who knows when this thing will be completely snuffed out. I wonder what science is involved in making those kind of guesses.

People are slowly reporting their returns to their homes in the canyons. Police escorts took residents to their properties today to see and assess. Last night folks were permitted to see their homes off of Ramsay Road after the fire jumped the highway and blazed through densely populated Hereford/Southern Sierra Vista. As I previously wrote in another blog, that particular jump on Sunday took 14 homes down. I was heartbroken when I read one of my friends growing up lost her home. My heart sank when I saw the pictures posted of what was left of her home. I can’t even imagine the feeling. It begs the question, why her house and not someone else’s?

This fight isn’t yet over. I am a little nervous about the fire’s proximity to the mountain’s base dwellers over the next couple of days. Hearing the high winds on the forecast doesn’t give me a good feeling. It has seemed every day that has been significantly windy, the fire has picked up speed and strength. It only makes sense. But there’s only so much we tiny humans can do against such ferocity. The silver lining: they expect the wind direction to push the fire backwards into the path of destruction its already left. That could be very, very good. There’s nothing left to burn. Here’s to hoping.

People of this community continue to offer their hands wherever they’re called for. Mountains of clothes have been donated to those who have lost their homes with nothing but the clothes on their backs. I’m hearing a lot about the bare shelves of the stores around here. People are buying up all the Gatorade, tube socks, chap stick, bottled water, and survival-type items in truck loads. It’s amazing to see this unfold. I don’t think I’ll ever be unaffected by the way my fellow Sierra Vistans have rallied. It’s commendable.

Landmark

Landmark

I’ve finally made it the part of my book where I’ve stopped in the past. I’ve had to push really hard. I am sure I’ll go back and fill in some gaps when I edit. But right now, I’m extremely proud of myself. I’m on somewhat of a roll. If I’m going to be honest with myself, which I try to be, there is a deep sadness I’m drowning in right now.

This is exactly why I haven’t gotten this far before. It hurts. But in order for me to purge the monster part of this pain, I’m going to have to proceed. If I don’t I’m going to continue to feel stunted by this grief.

I’m writing about the birth of Connor and the immediate moments after he was carted away. Remembering the depth of depression I was in so suddenly is like an anchor pulling me back down into it all over again. I am having to keep the focus at the forefront of my mind. I’m not going to give into the wallowing. But it is beckoning to me like an old friend.

I need to get to the part where I started to heal. I’m wasting time getting there by writing this, but I needed to vent a little and break away from the intensity of it all for a moment.

I’m making progress and it feels so weirdly good. Even going into the detail of my anger, as I write, is helping me purge. This is the ultimate detox I’m going through right now. This is the beginning of the shakes and vomiting. The cold sweats are next followed by sleeplessness. It sucks so much to feel so much worse before you truly start to feel better.

You know what? That’s the first time I’ve referred to this process as a sort of rehabilitation. But, good grief that is exactly what this is. There’s an addiction to the sadness I think. Maybe a little piece of me is holding onto that self pity. Reasons? No clue. Maybe that’s another trivial cog in the machine of the process I’m going through. Perhaps, I’m going to learn that about myself.

I’ve always admitted having becoming easily addicted to lots of vices. But wow, I’ve never realized that maybe there’s an addiction to self pity...huh. Weird. This is literally thinking aloud to myself right now. Is there any sense to be made of these words? Who knows. Maybe I’ll figure out my encryption later.

Sweet, Sweet Connor

Sweet, Sweet Connor

Today you left

Three years ago

I held you last today,

Boy I never got to know.

I’m holding on

I just can’t help,

I still see you

Your skin’s still felt.

Today you left

Three years ago.

It still sucks

I’m sure you know.

I can’t believe

I’m here again.

Cherishing a lfe

That never began.

Today you left

Three years ago

Sweet, sweet Connor

I love you so.

From Where I Sit

From Where I Sit

Things were quiet today. It’s nice after yesterday’s indescribable chaos. I listened to the scanner for a bit and was pleased to hear things are sort of better. Tonight they hope to successfully conduct some back burning to help eat any fuel and deter the beast. The smoke is still rising, but tonight the glow is dim. Today the report is over 26,000 acres have been destroyed. Currently they have it contained to 27%. The winds have been significantly lighter and certainly contributed to the quiet of the scanner. Today, was a good day.

Last night I couldn’t sleep. I was clipping coupons and watching Red Dragon and just thinking about the fear my fellow Sierra Vistans are living with right now. All day yesterday a lump would develop, dissipate, then reappear over this whole ordeal. After midnight, I received an email update from our county supervisor. He drove through the area that suffered tremendously last night and took avid notes of what he was able to see. I choked back the tears as he confirmed several structure losses. The official report today of losses is: 58 homes, 4 businesses, and 14 outbuildings. Yesterday’s losses were 4 businesses and 14 homes. There was valid reasoning for me to lose sleep.

Today, I couldn’t stomach the things being posted on Facebook. There wasn’t much to say today except condolences and messages of encouragement to those who are mourning the loss of their homes. You would like to believe negative opinions would be better left unsaid considering the circumstances. But, leave it to the overinflated sense of self to overpower good judgement and sensitivity. I ultimately left the site and visited it sporadically through the day.

In the email from the county supervisor last night, he explained he’d requested National Guard support from the Governor. The neighborhoods that have been abandoned because of evacuations are so vast, we simply don’t have the man power and resources to properly patrol. I was disheartened to read looting had been reported and feared it was going to increase. The area evacuated is huge. I’m not certain as to the square miles, but if you look at any map online of the affected areas of this fire, it’s pretty clear. We need help. I commend the supervisor for his decision making on that call. I’m even more glad they will be arriving tomorrow.

Over the past several days of this fiasco, morons have been voicing their irritation with the lack of military support in fighting the fire. Yesterday the Monument Fire was deemed the most important fire in the United States. Fire fighters from all over the state have been transferred to this location to aide the effort. At last count, we have 1097 fire fighters working to contain this fire.

Fort Huachuca is definitely affected by this fire. It’s just a matter of time before the fire breaches the fort. They are aware of this and have acted accordingly. Several soldiers from different branches currently stationed on Fort Huachuca have come to assist in clearing brush and whatever else they can help with. On Thursday, despite a valiant effort to prepare for the fire, an additional wild fire broke out on the fort and redirected over 200 fire fighters from the Monument Fire to assist in the new Antelope Fire. That fire ultimately caused several subdivisions to evacuate their homes. But I digress. The point it, the military has been helping.

When I read one particular post, I sort of lost it. I have to paraphrase, because I don’t remember exactly what she wrote, but it went something like this: Finally the National Guard is coming to help out. Where have they been all week. Why weren’t they called to help fight this fire before it burned down all these homes and has gotten out of control. If the National Guard had been here when we most needed them, maybe this fire wouldn’t be as big as it is. --So on and so forth. The devil on my shoulder wanted me to engage this moron in a word fight on Facebook. The angel-ish on the other side, decided a blog would be far more satisfying. Truth be told, the only thing that would truly satisfy me with this would be landing her with a swift kick in the junk.

While there is a fire fighting MOS in the Air National Guard (possibly the regular National Guard too) more often than not, the Guard is called in to support local efforts. Specifically the task of aiding law enforcement. In fact, Governor Brewer sent troops up to assist the Wallow Fire in Northern Arizona. But, they were sent to specifically help law enforcement. They were up there clearing brush and similar tasks, but not actually getting on the front line of the fire. They are not trained to do that per se.

Ok. So my big point here is...this lady had time on her hands to bitch and moan about what the military isn’t doing. Fighting a fire this complex is best fought by those who have the training to do so. And even the best trained are working in conditions considered more complex than they’ve ever seen. Essentially, the National Guard would have been just as qualified to fight the fire as you or I. What’s the point lady? If you are looking for someone to really blame here, perhaps we should wait out the investigation as to the cause of this fire and start pointing fingers in the more appropriate direction. Certainly the military isn’t the one who made this mess we’re all in right now. So honestly...shut the hell up.

I’m just an opinionated mother who sits at home all day with her kids and contemplates the plight in life. I have opened my home to those who have needed it over the past week. The doors will remain open as long as I have a house to offer. The best thing for anyone to do in this situation is support. I have been unceasingly amazed at the level of bonding this community has done over this. It’s tremendously inspiring to read the outpouring of love and donation by everyone. Is it too much to ask to sit back and think for five measly seconds before puking word vomit all over a community page that has been so uplifting to so many? Apparently, I’m asking a smidge too much here. We’re all entitled to our voice and whatever sounds it makes. But, I don’t even like cleaning up my children’s vomit. And it’s actual vomit...not verbal spewage.

I’m just so tired of people who can’t be satisfied. What’s the harm in looking a little harder for the silver lining that exists in nearly all situations. Why not get off your computer, get in the car, and drive down to the shelter where people who’ve LOST their computers are currently living and give them some assistance. Maybe then, your narrow little perspective might widen enough to fit some humility.

Unfortunately

Today was epic. Words used by those fighting this fire today were: war zone, apocalyptic, powerful, wild.

I have never dedicated much time to listening to a police scanner or anything resembling monitoring of law enforcement air waves. However, the past couple of days I literally feel comforted hearing the squelches, pops, tones, and chatter. Today has been an even more intense need.

This fire scorching the mountain and the surrounding areas reached new heights today. A landmark restaurant burned to the ground. A yard ornament familiar to all who have lived here is now rubble. The church that seared the side of Ash Canyon looks like ruins you’d find in Ireland or Scotland.

Amid the familiar sites the mountain offered, are the homes still we as a community are unaware of their condition. We have been told for certainty 47 homes, thus far, have been lost. After today, I fear the new total the Monument Fire has consumed.

Listening to the scanner today, sweat formed along my hairline as I heard fighters scramble to prevent this torrid fire from crossing the highway, away from the mountain, and rip through the thousands of homes on the other side. My skin crawled as I heard one say, “We can’t keep it anymore. We have to let it go. The wind gust are over 50 mph. We can’t fight it.” Time stood still as I listened to what they were going to next.

I pulled up maps as street names were used as rallying points. I gained my bearings as to where all the units were fighting. All this week we’ve been scared of this exact event. Earlier this week they were unable to contain the beast and it jumped the highway. That day, black smoke filled the air. Those of us in town were left to assume the black smoke was the evidence of another home casualty. At the end of that day, the town was awestruck to learn no homes were lost. I find it difficult to believe we will be given such relief tomorrow.

At tonight’s town meeting and update, the information officers were equally frustrated as the citizens. Hundreds of people gathered to find out if they had a home to return to. People wanted to know where the fire was exactly. There were so many questions and whether it be political ass-covering or genuine ignorance, no one was granted the satisfaction of knowing anything more than what they’d been reading and hearing all day long.

I’m certain the officers at that meeting wished they had more to say. They rattled through the facts of the day, gave out the redundant information about evacuation stations, phones numbers and the typical rhetoric you’d expect to hear. At no point were they able to say, “The fire is right here. We expect it to do this tonight. You’re home is gone. You’re home is fine.” It was an unfortunate attempt at public pandering. But it had to be done. If they didn’t show up and act as if they had any news, they’d be crucified.

Here’s what I find to be odd. There wasn’t a single shred of information they delivered I didn’t already know because of my absurd addiction to the scanner feed. I knew what structures had burned. I knew where the fire was and what was being done. There were a few gaps, but not enough to make me afraid. Incidentally I became somewhat of a hub for information. I get that a lot of people don’t want to sit around all day glued to a stupid computer. So, they’ll wait a bit, call/text me, and find out what they want to know in a few minutes. Easy enough.

Having worked in broadcasting for what I would consider to be a significant amount of time (six years), I know a little bit about getting information to the public. Radio is the EASIEST way to get information to the masses quickly and efficiently. Today I heard some frustrating things specifically regarding that. “Why isn’t the radio covering this better? Why aren’t the news channels in Tucson getting their facts straight before reporting?” So on and so on. I thinks it’s a sad, sad day when a social networking site becomes the best source for up to date information. The general public has been the reporters all week. Some of the information...wait...most of the information is unsubstantiated rumor. But when the information was valid and true, it was golden.

I have been asked so many times when I plan on returning to the radio station. I don’t. I haven’t heard a word from them indicating I’m even wanted. This isn’t a pity party. It’s fact. But, there’s been the journalist in me that has yearned to stomp back in their and do the work. Anyone can read off a press release form from the sheriff’s office. It takes a person with a little more dedication to dig and get the information themselves. Phone calls have been moot. Emails, hit and miss. Listening to that scanner? News.

We all think we can do things better than someone else. It’s the ego in us all. But there are undoubtedly things I’d be doing better if I were the one operating the dissemination of information as this fire has grown into the vicious monster it has become in the last 24 hours.

*Steps off soap box. Exits stage left.

Tonight, I hope with all my heart the calmer winds will give the fighters the chance to really get some of this contained. Looking out the back of my house, I see the glowing red flames and pink smoke looming over my city with intent. No air attacks at night. Just boots on the ground, in the war zone that used to be the Huachuca Mountains. Tomorrow I will reposition myself in front of my computer and listen to the scanner. Hopefully tomorrow night will bring a brighter optimism. Over 2000 people are away from their homes and unable to return. Over 2000 people are anxious to know what the fate of their future entails.

Tomorrow I hope the information is more easily obtained. If not, I know how to get it and I will. In the meantime, we wait.