Unthinkable.

This post changed titles three times already. I’ve drafted two rough starts and deleted both. There’s no making sense of the news from Newtown, CT. In its place, a flashback that hits me every time one of these unbelievable tragedies occurs.

Long ago – well, not really all that long ago. It was eight or nine years ago. I taught in an elementary school with a go-get-em principal, a woman who will remain at the top of my list for elementary principals forever. She was contacted by the local police department who wanted to train and practice the new recommended procedure to neutralize shooters or other dangerous intruders in a school, mall, or other public place

She said yes, of course. When she asked for teachers to volunteer, I joined up.

Along with most of the city’s liaison officers, several higher-up district administrators, and all the school principals in town, we teachers filed into a high school auditorium to watch an analysis of the Columbine High School tragedy. The officer in charge pointed out the main things that went wrong and then used that to tell us the rationale for the new training.

The method that was new then is now the norm for mass shooting scenes. CBS News interviewed one who helped put the philosophy into practice. “Go toward the shots,” he said repeatedly. “Neutralize the shooter or shooters.” It’s what we practiced, and it’s what they still do.

Sandy Hook Elementary School had staff who knew what to do. The principal’s last act may have been turning on her PA microphone in an attempt to inform the rest of the school that there was danger. Children told of calm teachers who pulled them to safety, hid them in corners and in closets and in cubbies, and evacuated them swiftly to the gathering place, a nearby firehouse.

Press conferences and news releases were, so far, compassionate and respectful. Grieving parents photographed from a distance, parents of surviving children showing support and empathy for those who lost theirs. But – there were no bodies, no blood, no attempts to show or suggest the carnage that remained in the school building the television cameras. For this thoughtfulness, I’m grateful. I hope members of the media continue to respect those touched by this tragedy.

But did this mass murderer show signs beforehand? We hear too many stories after the fact. Red flags, as we call them in education, fly up and grab our attention. Then files are filed and the students drop out or move out of town, out of state, out of range. The medical files remain sealed, and the only public statements come from the distant memories of people on the periphery, not close enough to have intervened.

Our public safety forces know how to get in and stop mass attacks like this. But so far, too few people know how to prevent them.

And that still scares me.

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Don’t believe the commercials on TV.

The superstition thing? Great music (Stevie Wonder, oh yeah), realistic sports fans (mostly), bad beer, and hey, where’s the ultimate football schedule routine, Eating the Opponent?

Diamonds? I don’t need diamonds. My “diamond” gift hangs on the wall, not on a pendant. My special gift was a share of Green Bay Packers stock.

The eTrade baby was cuter when he was little. This schtick is old now. Somehow, the eTrade Toddler doesn’t have the same ring to it. Put the character back in his crib with

his smartphone – now that one was clever.

Oh, Aaron Rodgers and his State Farm commercials – I enjoy them all. The best, of course, is the School Career Day version. “I play football.” “That’s not a job.”

Oh, by the way – No need to faint. Santa and the M&M guys are real. For real. Just like the Thanksgiving Fairies.

As for the holiday specials, there’s bad news about Frosty the Snowman. Keep it from the kids if you can.

Frosty: Busted.

 

 

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Cane, not candy

The physical therapist rattled off several reasons why using a cane would be a good idea while I’m recovering from the stroke-that-wasn’t that weakened my left side. I promptly forgot most of the reasons, but I did remember how to properly size the cane and how to use it correctly. Here is my version of the top ten reasons Daisy should use a cane. I’m sure you can figure out which reasons came from the PT and which came from my own mind.

10. Amigo is no longer the only cane user in the family.

9. I can wrap red ribbon around it for the holiday season.

8. Using a cane will provide support and limit fatigue.

7. A cane is a handy defensive weapon.

6. It lets me rationalize using the elevator.

5. The cane prevents me from developing an odd gait that favors the weak side.

4. Along with my adorable new vintage hat, it makes me look “professorial”, according to at least one coworker.

3. It’s a great prop – allows me to break into a softshoe dance in the middle of the halls.

2. It reminds me to slow down, I might be moving too fast. I’ve got to make the morning last!

1. It’s a great fashion accessory.

 

 

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CSI: Bunny

The signs were all there; the trail led me into the den.

trail of evidence

Then I saw the true scene of the crime.

crime scene

It was dangerous – the evidence kept sticking to me – but I moved in closer to see the source of the spill.

closer to the source

It covered everything. But what was the true source? Where did the hurricane of tiny, static filled pellets begin?

the source – finally.

It was a bean bag chair, people. A small bean bag chair that, paired with a couch pillow, kept the rabbit away from the television cords, or so we’d hoped. She decided to make her way through the barriers, but we caught her.

We caught her, but not before she made a mess so huge it was almost criminal.

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The view from my front window

The tree in the front yard survived. I was ready to let it go, but the crews worked around it. They dug up the street, replaced the huge pipes that go underground, filled the trech with gravel and eventually covered it with blacktop. The road will be resurfaced next year. While the road was dug up, we had some basic plumbing done, too. We had our sewer lateral (the one that was being destroyed by tree roots) replaced. It was expensive, but less so than if we’d done it at some other time – namely, when the street wasn’t already dug up.

And so it goes – the road work provided entertainment in the form of trees and city council meetings, opportunities to both spend and save money, ecological and not-so-eco-logical events, and an interesting view. View? Here it is, folks: my front yard during the sewer work.

 

 

 

I guess I can’t tell them to stay off my lawn.

Just stay away from my campaign signs, punks.

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Homecomings – an encore presentation

My “children” are now 25 and 20. This post remembers a weekend evening a few years ago. Was it only a few years? Oh, my.

The thing about kids is that they grow up.

Homecoming Week at Amigo’s high school just ended. A chronological recounting won’t do; the impression of the week is more of a scattered collection of events.
The bonfire had a perfect night — that is, the rain date had perfect weather.
Spirit Days! Must discuss spirit days.
On “Dress Like a Pirate Day”, Amigo wore a bandanna on his head and someone gave him an eye patch to go with it. Substitute his white cane for a peg leg, and there’s one cool pirate.
Decades day? He chose the 80s and wore a shirt featuring the Packer quarterback who preceded Brett Favre. Okay, trivia buffs, can you name the quarterback?
At the football game, Amigo sat with us, but he was never alone. Kids kept walking past and saying hi and calling him by name. The homecoming king himself, the most popular boy in the entire school, sat and watched the game and talked with Amigo for quite a while. Husband joined us after work, bought supper from the concession stand and bought a sweatshirt from the booster club as the sun went down and the temperature dropped.
But the most glaring sign of growing up was the dance. I picked him up at midnight, tired, hoarse, thirsty, grinning from ear to ear. We came home and found La Petite had caught a ride home from college with her boyfriend to spend a night here with us and with her bunnies.
And that’s where it ended: my two teenagers, one 19, one 14, sharing homecoming stories on the couch after midnight. The high school freshman and the college sophomore chatted and laughed and compared notes. I don’t know how long they stayed up talking about pep rallies, football games, dances, and spirit weeks. I’m sure they didn’t even notice my absence when I went up to bed.

I guess the great thing about kids is that they grow up.

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