Tuesday morning I had an 8:30 morning meeting in Austin. I just couldn’t get the energy to go the day before so at 4:00am I was up, dressed, fed and walked the pug and hit the road by 5:30. As the miles rolled on I tuned in to NPR, but in reality my mind was busy getting my life in order. I think that’s why I don’t mind driving long distances; I have a tendency to use the time to think things through.
Somewhere outside of Houston I suddenly had a thought, how old are my tires? Mile after mile for some reason I seemed obsessed with determining the age of my tires, their condition and what would I do if I had a flat. With no problem I arrived in time for my meeting. I went to lunch with friends of mine and as we returned to the office suddenly there was a loud explosion. We all clutched our hearts and tried to steady our breathing and realized a passing 18-wheeler blew a tire. I laughed and thought I discovered the reason for my morning premonition.
By 2:45 that afternoon I was back on the road heading home. Still preoccupied with a ton of issues, I managed to miss the split to Highway 71 at the Austin airport. Sure I could have continued south on 183, but I opted to turn around and backtrack. I stopped to fill up my car and decided to gather my last dollar and change and get a Dairy Queen pecan cluster Blizzard and a Diet Coke. It was a long trip home, after all.
My left rear tire blew on an elevated portion of I-10 next to the Katy Mills Mall. The traffic was speeding along at 80 mph at the time and I was in the passing lane with a concrete wall inches from my left. I hit my hazards and somehow managed to weave through the intensely heavy traffic and reached the right shoulder. I parked with my right door a mere inches from the concrete wall on the shoulder, yet still was only able to open my door mere inches for fear the speeding traffic would carry me away. My tire was well and truly gone; most of the rim was visible. I was in a construction zone and debris seemed to be flying everywhere. I knew that waiting there for a tow was life threatening. I called a friend and he advised my rim was probably already shot, might as well try and drive out of this mess. So I waited for the break and inched into the traffic. I drove a mile up and exited onto a 3 lane frontage road that was a virtual speedway with no shoulders. Up the way I found a cement driveway leading into a field so I pulled over, finally somewhat safe. I looked around and noted there was no gas station in sight. Indeed, there was very little business. I had my sister on the phone and she was searching the Katy yellow pages for a wrecker when I finally decided, what the hell, why can’t I change a tire?
When I was a teenager my older sister and I had a flat tire in town. My dad came to get us and made us change the tire on the premise we should never be stuck, unable to help ourselves. So here I am able-bodied and intelligent and I may add, broke, why don’t I save myself the tow charges and change the tire myself? I pull the spare out of the truck and get the tire iron out. Thankfully I’m in my required black from head to tow, cropped pants, Ralph Lauren sleeveless sweater and black sandals with clunky black plastic soles which thankfully work well for standing on the tire iron to loosen the lug nuts on the tire. I am positioning the jack when I note a truck has parked some 20 yards up and a young man dressed in faded jeans, tight t-shirt, Astros cap and sunglasses is walking towards me. And I must add, he is deliciously cute. I may be able-bodied, but I’m also intelligent. I drop the handle of the jack and step away from the car as though it’s on fire. He takes over the job. I watch his tanned, muscled arms as he tightens the bolts and wish I was 20 years younger. I also realize I don’t have any cash on me. When he’s done I ask his name and he smiles, “Cameron.”
I’ve always loved that name and even suggested it when my siblings were expecting a child. They all hated it as the Cajuns would pronounce it with a hard and harsh emphasis on “Cam.”
I tell Cameron that I don’t have any cash, but if he’d give me an address…he interrupts, “No m’am, I just wanted to help you out.” I promise that I will always remember him and his great kindness. I watch him as he walked back to his truck, sighed and merged back on I-10.
Every day on the news we hear countless stories of violence and crime. We rarely hear about the countless acts of kindness that occur all day long. When I got home I opted not to watch the late news. I’d rather think of Cameron instead. Thank you kind sir!
Wednesday, June 07, 2006
Friday, June 02, 2006
TGIF?
I had a huge audit due at work this past Tuesday. It was a demon, taking all my time. It was monotonous, frustrating and very tedious work. Add to that I've had a slew of personal issues keeping me up at night.
My 96 year old friend was recently released from the hospital after they removed a significantly large tumor from her colon. Her beer guzzling, racist and chauvinistic son dropped her off at her apartment without food or money. Sure he stayed a hour or so the first night. She fell in the bathroom, he picked her up and then left her alone to fend for herself. I suppose I should be grateful he didn't leave her on the floor. She had a woman come in evenings for a couple of weeks, but then the sitter went on vacation. So my friend sits in her apartment and prays the neighbors or a friend will stop by and bring her food and maybe help with her cleaning or care. I called the son on Monday at my friend's request and he informed me in no uncertain terms he wasn't going to spend her money to care for her as this will mean he'll be left with nothing. This was their business and I was to butt out. So I filed a complaint with APS informing them of a ton of neglect/abuse issues I've watched unfold over the past few months. (Truth is though it dates back much further.)
Since reporting the situation, I've sat in my house like a prisoner, jumping at every sound. I just know this Neanderthal and/or his 20 year old thug son who still can't graduate from high school is going to come after me. (The mail drops in the slot, and the sound causes me to fall out of my chair.)
Anyway, yesterday I finally finished that audit at 4:45pm. By 5:02 I was pouring a glass of wine. At 6:30 my cousin called to say another cousin was in the hospital ICU paralyzed with Guillain-Barre syndrome. By 10pm I had received 2 phone calls and an email outlining the newest drama with my little elderly friend. By 10:30 I was in bed watching a DVD on my sister's brand new computer noting it skips and plays at the wrong speed causing a stop-motion effect. (Yes she will freak out!)
This morning I get up and for the first time in days do not run to get on the computer as my report is done. I wait until 7:30 before starting work and it feels great. I stopped around 9:20 to jump in the shower. At 9:45 I'm wrapped in a towel and walk past the computer as an Email pops up. Emergency, we have to audit 5 more files! I call in to a co-worker in Austin. As we discuss strategy I hear heavy breathing behind me. I hang up and turn to find the pug lying at my feet having his 4th seizure in 8 days. I throw on clothes and rush to the vet. As I'm driving he is shaking out of the seizure. By the time I'm at the vet he's already able to stand shakily.
There is no point seeing the vet unless he is in the seizure. That is my dilemma. He always has them after hours. And while the last ones have lasted nearly an hour, this one was very mild and only lasted possibly 30 minutes.
But now I'm at the vet's and his head is still twitching in the bizarre Stevie Wonder-like manner so I figure I'll try to get the vet to see something. I walk in with wet hair looking like hell and face a jam-packed room of owners with no less than 20 animals. I go to the counter explain my dilemma and state, "He's pretty much out of it but there are still some effects." The assistant says, "We'll see" and tells me to take a seat. I turn and note there is one small space available. An elderly lady with curlers in her hair, covered by a Camel Cigarette scarf sits there holding a small, white Maltese type dog. She is deep in conversation with the man next to her who has a cat in a carrier sitting in front of him. He doesn't even pretend to listen to her as he reads from a science fiction novel. As she's facing him I sneak into the spot and sit with the pug squirming in my lap.
Her dog nudges towards us and she turns surprised and says, "Here's another cute little dog for you." My ass has not even warmed the seat and she begins…
Marge, so she'll be known for this story, got the dog from her daughter, Peg who died in a car accident a couple of months ago. Marge's husband told her she couldn't have another dog because when the first one died Marge cried so much he didn't want her to go through that again. So when Marge's husband died, Peg couldn't stand her being alone so she gave Marge the little dog about 7 years ago. Marge is 81 years old, Peg was 59. Peg lived in the hill country, she was an artist who drove a van with all the materials, she loved the hill country. Peg was married 39 years to her husband. Peg was driving the van when she stopped and then just pulled in front of a huge truck. (Marge suspects she had a stroke or something, because you know she had heart trouble.) Her body was so mangled, no one could bear to see it, so Peg's husband had her cremated, just like Peg wanted. He's going to keep her ashes in the Hill Country because that's what she loved most. Peg had a daughter who was 38 years old. You know on Mother's day they were sitting together on the couch. Marge didn't know that would be the last time she would see Peg. Peg's husband traveled all the time and Marge often wondered what Peg would do if he crashed and died, funny it turned out the way it did. Marge had another daughter but she also died. Yes, her husband and her two daughters died. She still has three sons, but no daughters. They were both blond and very small. Just little things. You know people say dogs are just like children. Marge feels her dog is her child.
I look at my child. His head is no longer twitching. There are no signs of the seizure. I look at the line of people ahead of me. Marge is now telling me about the funeral, and God is my witness she is naming each person who attended as though I knew everyone personally. I touch her arm to gain her attention, "Take care of yourself." I tell her. Her eyes well up and she nods her head. For the first time her mouth stays closed for more than a second.
I tell the assistant I've decided not to wait, I don't think it will do much good. I get in my car and drive home. After all, I now have a few more audits to do, and to be honest, mind-numbing, monotonous and tedious sounds like the most fun I'll have today.
My 96 year old friend was recently released from the hospital after they removed a significantly large tumor from her colon. Her beer guzzling, racist and chauvinistic son dropped her off at her apartment without food or money. Sure he stayed a hour or so the first night. She fell in the bathroom, he picked her up and then left her alone to fend for herself. I suppose I should be grateful he didn't leave her on the floor. She had a woman come in evenings for a couple of weeks, but then the sitter went on vacation. So my friend sits in her apartment and prays the neighbors or a friend will stop by and bring her food and maybe help with her cleaning or care. I called the son on Monday at my friend's request and he informed me in no uncertain terms he wasn't going to spend her money to care for her as this will mean he'll be left with nothing. This was their business and I was to butt out. So I filed a complaint with APS informing them of a ton of neglect/abuse issues I've watched unfold over the past few months. (Truth is though it dates back much further.)
Since reporting the situation, I've sat in my house like a prisoner, jumping at every sound. I just know this Neanderthal and/or his 20 year old thug son who still can't graduate from high school is going to come after me. (The mail drops in the slot, and the sound causes me to fall out of my chair.)
Anyway, yesterday I finally finished that audit at 4:45pm. By 5:02 I was pouring a glass of wine. At 6:30 my cousin called to say another cousin was in the hospital ICU paralyzed with Guillain-Barre syndrome. By 10pm I had received 2 phone calls and an email outlining the newest drama with my little elderly friend. By 10:30 I was in bed watching a DVD on my sister's brand new computer noting it skips and plays at the wrong speed causing a stop-motion effect. (Yes she will freak out!)
This morning I get up and for the first time in days do not run to get on the computer as my report is done. I wait until 7:30 before starting work and it feels great. I stopped around 9:20 to jump in the shower. At 9:45 I'm wrapped in a towel and walk past the computer as an Email pops up. Emergency, we have to audit 5 more files! I call in to a co-worker in Austin. As we discuss strategy I hear heavy breathing behind me. I hang up and turn to find the pug lying at my feet having his 4th seizure in 8 days. I throw on clothes and rush to the vet. As I'm driving he is shaking out of the seizure. By the time I'm at the vet he's already able to stand shakily.
There is no point seeing the vet unless he is in the seizure. That is my dilemma. He always has them after hours. And while the last ones have lasted nearly an hour, this one was very mild and only lasted possibly 30 minutes.
But now I'm at the vet's and his head is still twitching in the bizarre Stevie Wonder-like manner so I figure I'll try to get the vet to see something. I walk in with wet hair looking like hell and face a jam-packed room of owners with no less than 20 animals. I go to the counter explain my dilemma and state, "He's pretty much out of it but there are still some effects." The assistant says, "We'll see" and tells me to take a seat. I turn and note there is one small space available. An elderly lady with curlers in her hair, covered by a Camel Cigarette scarf sits there holding a small, white Maltese type dog. She is deep in conversation with the man next to her who has a cat in a carrier sitting in front of him. He doesn't even pretend to listen to her as he reads from a science fiction novel. As she's facing him I sneak into the spot and sit with the pug squirming in my lap.
Her dog nudges towards us and she turns surprised and says, "Here's another cute little dog for you." My ass has not even warmed the seat and she begins…
Marge, so she'll be known for this story, got the dog from her daughter, Peg who died in a car accident a couple of months ago. Marge's husband told her she couldn't have another dog because when the first one died Marge cried so much he didn't want her to go through that again. So when Marge's husband died, Peg couldn't stand her being alone so she gave Marge the little dog about 7 years ago. Marge is 81 years old, Peg was 59. Peg lived in the hill country, she was an artist who drove a van with all the materials, she loved the hill country. Peg was married 39 years to her husband. Peg was driving the van when she stopped and then just pulled in front of a huge truck. (Marge suspects she had a stroke or something, because you know she had heart trouble.) Her body was so mangled, no one could bear to see it, so Peg's husband had her cremated, just like Peg wanted. He's going to keep her ashes in the Hill Country because that's what she loved most. Peg had a daughter who was 38 years old. You know on Mother's day they were sitting together on the couch. Marge didn't know that would be the last time she would see Peg. Peg's husband traveled all the time and Marge often wondered what Peg would do if he crashed and died, funny it turned out the way it did. Marge had another daughter but she also died. Yes, her husband and her two daughters died. She still has three sons, but no daughters. They were both blond and very small. Just little things. You know people say dogs are just like children. Marge feels her dog is her child.
I look at my child. His head is no longer twitching. There are no signs of the seizure. I look at the line of people ahead of me. Marge is now telling me about the funeral, and God is my witness she is naming each person who attended as though I knew everyone personally. I touch her arm to gain her attention, "Take care of yourself." I tell her. Her eyes well up and she nods her head. For the first time her mouth stays closed for more than a second.
I tell the assistant I've decided not to wait, I don't think it will do much good. I get in my car and drive home. After all, I now have a few more audits to do, and to be honest, mind-numbing, monotonous and tedious sounds like the most fun I'll have today.
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