Okay ... I realize it's been almost a month since I've written anything.
Well ... that's not exactly true. I've written a few things that just haven't made it to the posting stage. I'm working on it ... I'm working on it.
Still ... I feel the need to get this written and get it out there because that's what I do when I'm really and truly angry.
It has been one of those wonderful, pre-holiday weekend Fridays where it's quiet enough in the office that I was actually allowed to get all of my work done early. Early enough that I was able to get a few extra tid-bitty things completed that just always make me nutty to come into on Monday. Then, I left the office early. That, in itself, was a definite cause to celebrate but on the way home, I stopped at my favorite fruit stand and was, once again, gifted by the owner (we've been doing this now for a good 7 or 8 years ) with a small, sweet, seedless watermelon. Yum!!!
After I paid for my other things, I went by the laundromat (yep, the washer still hasn't been replaced but I've still got my Supernatural Convention tickets ... woot!!!) to wash up a few loads and the front washers that are next to the chairs are open. Yay!! I throw in the clothes and then take a seat and read for 25 minutes, relaxing while they get clean. Loading them back in the car to take home to dry, I decide that I want to pick up some last minute things at the grocery store.
I run across the street ... okay, that's not entirely correct ... I drove Baby across the street and we found a parking spot right up close to the door. Yay, again! I go in and quickly get the few things I wanted and walk right up to the register and check out without waiting. Yay, yet again!!
So ... why ... you ask am I now cranky???
Here's what happened next:
I took may bags out to my car in my basket. I could have carried them, but ... well, I didn't. So, I pull the basket up next to Baby and open her up to put the bags in the back seat. While I'm doing this, I'm humming and enjoying the afternoon/evening breeze and I watch a car pull in right in front of mine. No biggie. I see a lady in the front seat look at me with kinda a strange look, but I just went on with my business of unloading and then throwing my purse into the front seat.
The lady gets out of the car, giving me yet another interesting look and heads into the store.
And I realize that she has left the car running.
I glance in the front window as I walk by to put my car in the lot's cart catcher and notice that no one seems to be in the vehicle. Not in the front or the back.
But the car is running.
And I realize that there is a baby carrier in the middle of the back seat ... facing backwards.
I walk on towards the cart catcher with my mind racing ... surely no one is that stupid as to intentionally leave a child that would be small enough to be in a carrier backwards alone in a car in a parking lot? Right??? Right???
Wrong.
As I walked back, I intentionally looked in the back window. I didn't care. I prayed that there would be someone's face pop up at me asking me to mind my own business.
They didn't.
Instead, I see a little pink foot wiggle inside a car seat. From the size of that foot I would guess the infant to be perhaps 4 to6 months.
I couldn't believe it!! I looked to the store and back to the car. The doors were obviously locked and the car was running, therefore it was "cool".
Doesn't matter!! That is an infant! A gift. Something precious and small and should be cared for and looked after, not left alone in a car that is locked and running.
I went to Baby and got in and simply sat there ... and watched.
While I watched over this little one, my mind thought of all the things that could happen ... aspiration on a bit of spit up, a car loosing control in the parking lot and ramming into this metal box holding this baby, the car overheating, something going wrong and the exhaust running into the car instead of out. By the end of five minutes, my imagination had the car blowing up from overheating and I was trying to figure out if the toilet brush I had purchased could be used as a slim jim to open that car.
Five minutes. I got out my notepad and pen and wrote a note.
Ten minutes. I got out of my car and put the not on the windshield.
Thirteen minutes and the woman returned.
She stopped and looked at me when she saw my Baby and I were still sitting there.
I looked back. I didn't care.
She opened the door and started to get in when she noticed the note. She looked at me again, and I watched as she got out of her car and reached for it. She glanced at it and then looked back at me and I met her eye one last time with a sad look on my face, shook my head, and put Baby in reverse and left.
My note?
"Shame on you. You've been given a gift to watch over and protect. You have failed in this moment. It may sound strong, but I don't care. I understand that it's not easy to get a small one in and out of a car. I understand that you think that just a couple of minutes will be fine. But it's not. Please, please, please ... don't ever do it again. The next person to notice you left the little one unprotected might not watch over it ... they might decide to take it."
Children are gifts. Their well being should never be taken for granted.
Showing posts with label My Imagination. Show all posts
Showing posts with label My Imagination. Show all posts
Friday, May 23, 2008
Tuesday, April 15, 2008
Watching, Weaving, Waiting and Wondering
I love to watch people.
It began when I was in high school and living in Minnesota. In the winter there wasn't a whole lot of things to do on a little amount of money, so my friends and I would go to the mall to simply window shop. Soon we would end up with a cold drink and a comfortable bench and we would watch the people as they would make their way through the mall. Busy shoppers, some hustling and bustling, some meandering their way along ... each one with a purpose, each one with a story.
My friends and I would amuse ourselves making up stories and dialogue to fit the people that we would see, weaving fantasies and spy mysteries around the individuals, couples and groups of our unknowing cast of characters. In the span of minutes, my imagination could take an individual on a quest for the perfect outfit for a romantic interlude, place them in an alternate reality, or have them be spied upon by the agents from a foreign government. Watching people became a habit to indulge in whenever I find myself alone in a crowd.
Over the years I have watched people in company meetings, restaurants, theater lobbies, airports. Being single, there are many times that I find myself in situations alone and, although I usually have a trusty book to keep me occupied, I still tend to keep an eye on my surroundings and the people who move around where I am sitting. Occasionally I still make up the stories and dialogue in my mind to amuse myself, however I mostly just watch.
Last week I found myself in a hospital surgical waiting room. I knew that I would be spending a long amount of time simply sitting and so I had prepared my little bag with a couple of different books, my notebook to do some writing of my own, snacks and other little odds and ends. Yet, after a time of reading, I found myself falling back to my little habit. I watched.
Surgical waiting rooms don't gather people like malls or restaurants or airports or theaters. There isn't a hustle or bustle. While there is a steady flow of people, the air that surrounds is differently charged. There isn't the excitement of a deal found, a trip to be taken, a show to be seen. As good as I am at weaving stories out of the individuals I see, I found that fantasies and dialogues just don't work when watching someone in a surgical waiting room.
This particular hospital's waiting was very large and was sectioned nicely for large and small groups to be able to gather. In the center, positioned in front of the main entry was a large information desk staffed by a couple of volunteers who were quiet, friendly and quick to respond to any question. Over to the side was an area for people who had children, stocked with books and television and toys to amuse.
It was a noisy room, and yet it wasn't. It was a room filled with strangers, and yet everyone there had something in common - concern for a friend or loved one that was currently undergoing surgery.
Waiting ... hoping ... wondering ... praying ... anticipating ...
Husbands ... wives ... children ... parents ... brothers ... sisters ... family ... friends ...
Clusters of people chattering about nothing consequential, simply filling the time with words to chase away the anxieties of waiting until the name was called by one of the volunteers and the time came to meet with the physician in the surgical scrubs. In the hours I watched I found myself smiling for those who were met by the doctor at the information desk. Hands would be shaken, heads would nod, words would be exchanged quietly as the doctor gave the information that brought smiles to the waiting faces. I found myself offering silent prayers for strangers when they were directed to meet with the surgeon in one of the private little rooms off to the side of the main waiting room. Door closed, voices muted, faces emerging grave, some silent, some with tears and tissues, my heart would go out to those individuals and the patient for whom they were waiting.
I found that, unlike the mall or the theater or the airport, I wasn't able to "watch", I was only able to glance from time to time as people came and went - alone or in groups of two or more. Hospital surgical waiting rooms are not places of fantasy and spy mysteries, of intrigue and romance. They are places of reality where strangers come together for an hour or a day with a common goal of passing the limbo time waiting ... and wondering ... and praying ... and hoping.
Oh ... and in case you might be wondering, when my wait was over, when my name was called, I met the surgeon at the information desk with a handshake ... and a smile.
It began when I was in high school and living in Minnesota. In the winter there wasn't a whole lot of things to do on a little amount of money, so my friends and I would go to the mall to simply window shop. Soon we would end up with a cold drink and a comfortable bench and we would watch the people as they would make their way through the mall. Busy shoppers, some hustling and bustling, some meandering their way along ... each one with a purpose, each one with a story.
My friends and I would amuse ourselves making up stories and dialogue to fit the people that we would see, weaving fantasies and spy mysteries around the individuals, couples and groups of our unknowing cast of characters. In the span of minutes, my imagination could take an individual on a quest for the perfect outfit for a romantic interlude, place them in an alternate reality, or have them be spied upon by the agents from a foreign government. Watching people became a habit to indulge in whenever I find myself alone in a crowd.
Over the years I have watched people in company meetings, restaurants, theater lobbies, airports. Being single, there are many times that I find myself in situations alone and, although I usually have a trusty book to keep me occupied, I still tend to keep an eye on my surroundings and the people who move around where I am sitting. Occasionally I still make up the stories and dialogue in my mind to amuse myself, however I mostly just watch.
Last week I found myself in a hospital surgical waiting room. I knew that I would be spending a long amount of time simply sitting and so I had prepared my little bag with a couple of different books, my notebook to do some writing of my own, snacks and other little odds and ends. Yet, after a time of reading, I found myself falling back to my little habit. I watched.
Surgical waiting rooms don't gather people like malls or restaurants or airports or theaters. There isn't a hustle or bustle. While there is a steady flow of people, the air that surrounds is differently charged. There isn't the excitement of a deal found, a trip to be taken, a show to be seen. As good as I am at weaving stories out of the individuals I see, I found that fantasies and dialogues just don't work when watching someone in a surgical waiting room.
This particular hospital's waiting was very large and was sectioned nicely for large and small groups to be able to gather. In the center, positioned in front of the main entry was a large information desk staffed by a couple of volunteers who were quiet, friendly and quick to respond to any question. Over to the side was an area for people who had children, stocked with books and television and toys to amuse.
It was a noisy room, and yet it wasn't. It was a room filled with strangers, and yet everyone there had something in common - concern for a friend or loved one that was currently undergoing surgery.
Waiting ... hoping ... wondering ... praying ... anticipating ...
Husbands ... wives ... children ... parents ... brothers ... sisters ... family ... friends ...
Clusters of people chattering about nothing consequential, simply filling the time with words to chase away the anxieties of waiting until the name was called by one of the volunteers and the time came to meet with the physician in the surgical scrubs. In the hours I watched I found myself smiling for those who were met by the doctor at the information desk. Hands would be shaken, heads would nod, words would be exchanged quietly as the doctor gave the information that brought smiles to the waiting faces. I found myself offering silent prayers for strangers when they were directed to meet with the surgeon in one of the private little rooms off to the side of the main waiting room. Door closed, voices muted, faces emerging grave, some silent, some with tears and tissues, my heart would go out to those individuals and the patient for whom they were waiting.
I found that, unlike the mall or the theater or the airport, I wasn't able to "watch", I was only able to glance from time to time as people came and went - alone or in groups of two or more. Hospital surgical waiting rooms are not places of fantasy and spy mysteries, of intrigue and romance. They are places of reality where strangers come together for an hour or a day with a common goal of passing the limbo time waiting ... and wondering ... and praying ... and hoping.
Oh ... and in case you might be wondering, when my wait was over, when my name was called, I met the surgeon at the information desk with a handshake ... and a smile.
Thursday, February 14, 2008
Valentine's Shopping
Happy Valentine's Day!Or ...
As a friend of mine says ... Happy Single Awareness Day!
Some people spend the evening cuddled with a honey or out for a nice dinner or some other romantic/fun activity.
Me?
I was at the grocery store. Oh. Yeah. It was me and my paycheck romancing in the frozen food section over which Ben & Jerry's flavor was going to be for tonight's episode of Supernatural. (I went with Phish Food. It's a quirky little flavor and tonight's ep, Mystery Spot is supposed to be a quirky fun episode.)
Actually ... I indulged myself and went to my favorite local grocery store instead of the low price national chain store that I usually go to when I need to get more than just a few things. I thought I'd be okay. I had a list. I'd made a list of everything I want to prepare this next weekend/week and I could stick to my list. Right??? Yeah ... so ... needless to say, I succumbed to the impulse buy ... more than once.
Is it my fault that the bananas looked so beautifully yellow and yummy, even though my kitchen is stocked with grapes and apples already?
Is it my fault that it is supposed to be a lovely 31 degrees tomorrow after enjoying the tropical breezes of 68 degrees today - therefore enhancing my craving for homemade chicken noodles ... meaning I had to get the ingredients to create the object of my craving?
Is it my fault that after how many weeks (4 to be exact) they finally decided to stock my favorite sourdough english muffins, necessitating the purchase of two packages (one to have out and one for the deep freeze)?
Is it my fault that this is the store that carries one of my favorite brands of tea and they just HAPPENED to have my favorite blueberry flavor that I only had one more bag of left?
I'm telling you ... impulse buys ... they could really hurt a girl's budget. So ... when indulging in the impulse buying, it is wise to keep an eye on the bottom line. For instance ... the item I got that was 2 for $2.00 that rang up at $1.52 each. Hey!! That's my $1.04! You can't have it. Took them 10 minutes to track down that price check, but that $1.04 paid for ... ummm ... half of the bananas I bought impulsively!
sigh.
I'm hopeless.
No ... actually ... this is where the hopeless person part comes in ... I have just spent an hour at the grocery store. I have re-stocked my kitchen and have the supplies to prepare just about anything I want to eat.
So, of course you know what I did for dinner? I stopped on the way home and picked up a Subway sandwich.
To go with my Phish Food ice cream.
Happy Single Awareness Day, indeed.
Thank goodness it's Thursday ... atleast I can honestly say that I spent Valentine's day with a couple of good looking men. Of course I'm on my couch in my flannel jammies and they're on my television screen ... but hey!
We all know I've got a great imagination.
Wednesday, October 3, 2007
Visiting the Sanitarium
For those who always wondered what all The Keeper keeps in her storage closets and what it takes to run the virtual Supernatural Obsessive Supporting Enabler's Sanitarium, here's a little something I came up with to share. I have yet to get the hang of adding music but hopefully someone will find it as entertaining to watch as it was for me to put together.
Considering that last year at this time I was just getting started blogging and now I'm running a Sanitarium for the Supernaturally Obsessed ... who knows where I'll be next year at this time as I wait for the fourth season premiere of the best show on television.
Hope you enjoy ...
Saturday, September 29, 2007
Fan Fiction Saves the Life of a Service Contractor
I believe I have previously mentioned that I have a really good imagination. When I watch a good movie or television program, I am sucked in, my heart and mind and emotions experiencing the same happiness, sorrow, excitement and angst of the characters I am watching. The same thing happens when I read a book or a story that is well written. Actually even more so, because my imagination will take hold of the written words and display a visual and audio feast in my brain.
So it was with interest that I encountered Supernatural fan fiction. A friend of mine wrote a story based on the characters of our favorite show and asked me to read it. She sent me the link to her story on www.fanfiction.net and I read it. I enjoyed it. It helped that I already knew the characters and I could once again allow my imagination to take hold and run the story as a visual episode in my head. It was also delightful because I knew the person who had written the story.
Then my curiosity got the better of me ... here is this website containing stories of the Winchesters - John, Dean and Sam. I thought to myself that this could be an easy way to pass some time, particularly when we were in a hiatus period. I could read the stories and allow my imagination to take me with it back to the Supernatural world. So I began clicking around the site and checked some of the other stories out.
And in the process, I learned a few things.
First ... not all fan fiction is created equal. I became immediately critical of grammer, spelling, and story telling. There are some that are really good and there are some that are ... well, not.
Second ... I found I couldn't read stories that join in with the current timeline. I just couldn't. If I geot sucked into the story and it played out in my imagination, it then became a part of the series in my brain. I couldn't flip a switch. Because if the writing was well done and my imagination visualized these characters I know so well, I would begin to believe that this story should be a part of the series. I didn't want that. I wanted to enjoy Eric Kripke's series as HE presented it, not as others tried to represent it.
So, with these two realizations, I decided to remove myself from reading fan fiction (with the exception of a few pieces written by some of my virtual friends) and to keep the series "Kripke Pure" in my brain.
Then I was encouraged to read a fan fic by a friend who understood my dilemma but thought that she had something I would truly enjoy. With a simple click and the sweetest of stories, I discovered what is called WeeChester fan fic. Stories written from fans imaginations about the time prior to the series, the time when Dean and Sammy Winchester were growing up with their father, the ex-marine hunter, traveling the back roads of America and learning about things that go bump in the night. These stories I can read and enjoy because they don't change what I see in my head as I watch the program that Kripke has created. There's still some that are really good and some that ... well, aren't. I can navigate around that. However, it is fun to think about how it all started for Dean and Sam and imagine their life on the road with BDW.
Now ... what exactly does all this have to do with a service contractor's life being saved, you ask?
Well, here's the thing. Friday morning I had some extra time before heading to work. Having not really been on the computer much during the previous week just for fun, I decided to check out the fan fic and see if there was anything short to start my day off with a WeeChester smile on my face. I came across one that I hadn't read before that was written by an author whose writing I enjoy. I brewed another mug of tea and took 30 minutes to just enjoy before heading into what turned out to be a rather hectic day. It was a precious story, set at a time when Dean was eleven and Sammy was not quite yet seven. A story of a father who makes mistakes but loves his boys with all his heart.
It was wonderful and I continued thinking about it as I drove to the office and began my work day which included a visit from a service contractor work man who has a tendency to absolutely make me crazy (not in a good way) with his condescending attitude. Plus the fact that where he had to work invaded my personal space but due to the work I was doing, I couldn't move somewhere else. After an hour of putting up with his proximity and his attitude and his ... well ... just being there ... I began having the most delightful dreams of how to put him out of my misery.
Have I mentioned my imagination? It's good in this area too.
Just as I was contemplating a particularly wicked thought of what to do with my calculator the strains of AC/DC's "Back in Black" come ringing out of his pocket instantly switching my imagination to visualize the Winchester's Impala driving up the road. Answering his phone I could hear the voice of his child's teacher telling him of a situation with his son ... his six year old son. (Did I mention the proximity of him invading my personal space? I wasn't eavesdropping ... I was sitting that close and his volume was that loud.) Having his child put on the phone and hearing his fatherly voice talk so calmly to a clearly sad and upset little boy, I sat there quietly remembering the wonderful story I read that morning.
Art and Life were imitating each other.
For in Art, the author had painted a picture in my mind of the John we all know - a man who drove us insane with his marine tactic attitude but ultimately charmed us with the obvious love he had for his sons and his desire to protect them.
For in Life, I dealt with a man whose condescension and invasion made me consider mahem upon him before he ultimately charmed me with the obvious love he had for his son and his desire to make everything alright for him.
*** If you're interested in the WeeChester story I so enjoyed you can read it HERE. ***
So it was with interest that I encountered Supernatural fan fiction. A friend of mine wrote a story based on the characters of our favorite show and asked me to read it. She sent me the link to her story on www.fanfiction.net and I read it. I enjoyed it. It helped that I already knew the characters and I could once again allow my imagination to take hold and run the story as a visual episode in my head. It was also delightful because I knew the person who had written the story.
Then my curiosity got the better of me ... here is this website containing stories of the Winchesters - John, Dean and Sam. I thought to myself that this could be an easy way to pass some time, particularly when we were in a hiatus period. I could read the stories and allow my imagination to take me with it back to the Supernatural world. So I began clicking around the site and checked some of the other stories out.
And in the process, I learned a few things.
First ... not all fan fiction is created equal. I became immediately critical of grammer, spelling, and story telling. There are some that are really good and there are some that are ... well, not.
Second ... I found I couldn't read stories that join in with the current timeline. I just couldn't. If I geot sucked into the story and it played out in my imagination, it then became a part of the series in my brain. I couldn't flip a switch. Because if the writing was well done and my imagination visualized these characters I know so well, I would begin to believe that this story should be a part of the series. I didn't want that. I wanted to enjoy Eric Kripke's series as HE presented it, not as others tried to represent it.
So, with these two realizations, I decided to remove myself from reading fan fiction (with the exception of a few pieces written by some of my virtual friends) and to keep the series "Kripke Pure" in my brain.
Then I was encouraged to read a fan fic by a friend who understood my dilemma but thought that she had something I would truly enjoy. With a simple click and the sweetest of stories, I discovered what is called WeeChester fan fic. Stories written from fans imaginations about the time prior to the series, the time when Dean and Sammy Winchester were growing up with their father, the ex-marine hunter, traveling the back roads of America and learning about things that go bump in the night. These stories I can read and enjoy because they don't change what I see in my head as I watch the program that Kripke has created. There's still some that are really good and some that ... well, aren't. I can navigate around that. However, it is fun to think about how it all started for Dean and Sam and imagine their life on the road with BDW.
Now ... what exactly does all this have to do with a service contractor's life being saved, you ask?
Well, here's the thing. Friday morning I had some extra time before heading to work. Having not really been on the computer much during the previous week just for fun, I decided to check out the fan fic and see if there was anything short to start my day off with a WeeChester smile on my face. I came across one that I hadn't read before that was written by an author whose writing I enjoy. I brewed another mug of tea and took 30 minutes to just enjoy before heading into what turned out to be a rather hectic day. It was a precious story, set at a time when Dean was eleven and Sammy was not quite yet seven. A story of a father who makes mistakes but loves his boys with all his heart.
It was wonderful and I continued thinking about it as I drove to the office and began my work day which included a visit from a service contractor work man who has a tendency to absolutely make me crazy (not in a good way) with his condescending attitude. Plus the fact that where he had to work invaded my personal space but due to the work I was doing, I couldn't move somewhere else. After an hour of putting up with his proximity and his attitude and his ... well ... just being there ... I began having the most delightful dreams of how to put him out of my misery.
Have I mentioned my imagination? It's good in this area too.
Just as I was contemplating a particularly wicked thought of what to do with my calculator the strains of AC/DC's "Back in Black" come ringing out of his pocket instantly switching my imagination to visualize the Winchester's Impala driving up the road. Answering his phone I could hear the voice of his child's teacher telling him of a situation with his son ... his six year old son. (Did I mention the proximity of him invading my personal space? I wasn't eavesdropping ... I was sitting that close and his volume was that loud.) Having his child put on the phone and hearing his fatherly voice talk so calmly to a clearly sad and upset little boy, I sat there quietly remembering the wonderful story I read that morning.
Art and Life were imitating each other.
For in Art, the author had painted a picture in my mind of the John we all know - a man who drove us insane with his marine tactic attitude but ultimately charmed us with the obvious love he had for his sons and his desire to protect them.
For in Life, I dealt with a man whose condescension and invasion made me consider mahem upon him before he ultimately charmed me with the obvious love he had for his son and his desire to make everything alright for him.
*** If you're interested in the WeeChester story I so enjoyed you can read it HERE. ***
Thursday, August 16, 2007
A Cool Imagination
I tend to get bored driving back and forth to work each day. It's been the same trek for 8+ years. So I like to mix it up. Some days all I can think is to get home ... NOW. Those days are highway. Some days I have errands and those days I travel the roads to take me by my sidetrip destinations. And some days, like today, I am so exhausted from work that I want to get home, but the highway is jammed by a wreck and I end up wandering. I would rather keep making side street turns and keep moving, rather than stop for lights or traffic. It's as though I know that I am so beat that if I stop, I will end up dozing and drooling on the steering wheel. Not only is this not safe ... it's also not sanitary or attractive.
However, that is not the point of this little thought process. The point of this thought is the number of times I was told the temperature, as I made my way home. This summer it seems that more and more businesses are making it their ... well ... business, to let us know what the temperature is outside. I'm not sure why. Am I more prone to do my banking where they tell me not only the time but the temperature outside? Because of noticing the new electronic flashing sign telling me the temperature, will I be purchasing a new pool from a particular company? Getting a load of dirt? Eating a meal? What was once though of as a convenience, now becomes rather laughable.
In the space of one mile yesterday, I literally passed 5 signs telling me the temperature. Only two were the same. Since they were all in the triple digits, I didn't really care. All they really needed to do was put the words "It's Hot" and flash them and I would get the point.
Today was no exception. In my tired wanderings I found sign after sign telling me it was 100+ degrees. That is, until I came to this sign located at the side of the road. It was advertising a local store. It's sign read 78 degrees. I knew I was really tired, so I did a double take. Yep ... there it read, bold as brass in it's flashing red neon letters ... 78 degrees.
So, I did the only thing that seemed right. I pulled into the parking lot, parked right next to the sign and enjoyed the pocket of cool air.
Have I mentioned I have a powerful imagination?
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