Recipe:
8.5 hours' sleep
1 wake-up kiss on cheek from...
2.75-year old daughter
2 inches, fresh snow, packing variety
2-hour snow delay for schools
1 hilltop house
3 snowsuits, various sizes
3 kids, sledding (with me and on their own)
1 fire call
1 healthy vet checkup, guinea pig
1 trip, Starbucks, wife and kid
1 bus, on schedule, Trailways
1 wheel
2 miles, street riding
1 hug, mom
4 students
2 miles, street riding
1 return bus
3 hugs
20 minutes, stories
1 hour, hanging out, wife
1 cat, purring, couch
Tuesday, February 27, 2007
Friday, February 23, 2007
Busy Day for Firefighters
A false alarm came in this morning while I was in the shower. Having missed it, I figured I was in for a quiet day. Then I headed to Main Street with Shirra and Maeve to take care of a few errands.
But first, to Starbucks. While the ladies enjoyed a few nibbles and a drink, I relaxed for a moment with the paper (I'm off Starbucks because all of their fare is too sweet, caloric, or both). Just as we were about to leave, my pager started vibrating, and then the dispatcher's voice came on, announcing that a pedestrian had been hit by a car on Main Street, just up the road. Rather than running to the car for my clothes and then to the fire house, I just raced up the hill to the scene. While crossing the street at a crosswalk, a young woman had been hit by a small truck. She was conscious and appeared mainly to be bruised, and the EMTs were quickly on the scene to immobilize her so that she could be transported safely to St Francis Hospital in Poughkeepsie, known for its excellent trauma unit. After directing traffic and joining in with a few other activities, I hitched a ride back to the station house, put my John Hancock on the sign-in sheet, and headed to the car, where Shirra and Maeve were waiting for me.
Before I'd even stepped into the car, another call came over my pager, and again, it was a car accident on Main Street. This one was even closer, so I grabbed my fire fighter coat and walked up to the accident. This time, three cars had collided. Apparently one or two of the drivers were attempting to turn off of Main when a third driver hit the second car in the rear, sending it into the first car. The woman driving the second car was hurt pretty badly, requiring a trip to St Francis, but the drivers of the other cars refused medical assistance. The first car, barely tapped, had a dent in one of its plastic bumpers. The other cars, while more damaged, were drivable and quickly found themselves put into the parking lot so that normal traffic could resume. I hitched a ride on a firetruck again, signed the sheet, and headed out.
This time I went to The Bakery (a local favorite) for some lunch. But while paying for my order, a third call came in. Again there had been a two-car collision on Main St, just a few "city blocks" away. I changed my order to take-out and ran up the hill to almost the same spot as the other two accidents. A car heading down Main had smashed into a car that was turning onto Main. The woman making the turn needed the EMTs (the fourth in 90 minutes), but the couple in the other car seemed fine despite considerable damage to their car: The driver's side wheel had collided so hard with the other car that it was knocked off kilter, making both cars undrivable. Firefighters diverted traffic while EMTs and tow-truck operators quickly did their jobs; the police assisted everyone and also took down pertinent information. I hitched another ride back to the fire house, this time with the chief, signed in, and waited a few minutes till Shirra could come pick me up after completing her shopping.
It was an exhilarating lunchtime, but I don't hope for another day like this.
Finally, a bad bus day
I've ridden the bus to and from NYC over 100 times by now, and most of those trips have been pretty uneventful. There was something different about today, and it affected my rides in both directions.
The day started inauspiciously enough: My 12:55 bus was late. Then I noticed that, for the first time, all of the luggage compartments were at least partially full. To make matters more challenging, the driver was the only one who has ever given me a hard time about the unicycle, tho he and I had agreed that I could wrap it with a large garbage bag if the need arose. Luckily, I had that bag.
Once on the bus (and because of that garbage bag, I was the last on), I noticed that it was crowded enough that I'd have to sit next to someone. The 12:55 is often like that for the simple reason that the next bus isn't for 3 hours. But this one was more annoying than usual because a small number of riders near me talked loudly or used their cell phones at the start of the ride. Once we'd gotten underway, the bus was pretty shushy.
Speaking of shushing, at one point I'd nodded off, only to awaken to one of the loud young women nearby. She'd decided to phone someone, perhaps because the bus was running late. But she didn't keep her call short, so it woke me up. When someone a few seats away shushed her, she talked back. I've noticed that if there is ever a rude person on the bus, that person has invariably gotten on the bus before the New Paltz stop. New Paltz is an extremely polite town.
Eventually, we hit traffic. I began to panic about the time, but luckily the slow traffic was short-lived. Nevertheless, we pulled into the station about a half-hour late. I made it to my student's school (for a pick-up) with just minutes to spare; normally I have enough time to drop off my backpack at my mom's, play a few games of Scrabble on the computer, hang out with my mother, and then head back to my student's school.
The rest of my day went fine (except for the gear-change button that fell off my unicycle). I made it to the bus in time for the 7:30 ride home. That ride seemed to be going well, too. I had my own seats and the bus lights were strong enough to read by (unlike some of the older buses). The driver was making excellent time. Suddenly someone rushed up to him. A few minutes later, everyone on the bus except for the driver was talking about what had just happened: The driver had missed the New Paltz exit. This necessitated an extra 35 minutes of driving because he had to go all the way to the next exit 18 miles away ... and then turn around and come back. We actually got to New Paltz at the same time as the 8 o'clock bus did. I found it funny that the driver wasn't bright enough to make up for his mistake. He should have asked the riders who were going to Kingston to stay on the bus so that they wouldn't all be really late. Then he could have had the riders going to 'local' stops get on the other bus, which was quite empty. I suggested it, but it only flustered him. Some people treat fresh ideas like hot bread out of an oven. They wait for things to cool down, but then it's too late. This behavior doesn't work for bread and it doesn't work for ideas. You just get a lot of stale bread and a bunch of angry bus riders. It would have helped if he'd made an announcement. He'll be lucky if he gets this route again.
Happily, despite the late hour, the kids were still a bit awake, so I kissed them all goodnight and watched some tv with Shirra before heading to another (false) fire alarm down at SUNY. I played some Scrabble (to make up for this afternoon) and here I am, about to head to bed just before 2am....
The day started inauspiciously enough: My 12:55 bus was late. Then I noticed that, for the first time, all of the luggage compartments were at least partially full. To make matters more challenging, the driver was the only one who has ever given me a hard time about the unicycle, tho he and I had agreed that I could wrap it with a large garbage bag if the need arose. Luckily, I had that bag.
Once on the bus (and because of that garbage bag, I was the last on), I noticed that it was crowded enough that I'd have to sit next to someone. The 12:55 is often like that for the simple reason that the next bus isn't for 3 hours. But this one was more annoying than usual because a small number of riders near me talked loudly or used their cell phones at the start of the ride. Once we'd gotten underway, the bus was pretty shushy.
Speaking of shushing, at one point I'd nodded off, only to awaken to one of the loud young women nearby. She'd decided to phone someone, perhaps because the bus was running late. But she didn't keep her call short, so it woke me up. When someone a few seats away shushed her, she talked back. I've noticed that if there is ever a rude person on the bus, that person has invariably gotten on the bus before the New Paltz stop. New Paltz is an extremely polite town.
Eventually, we hit traffic. I began to panic about the time, but luckily the slow traffic was short-lived. Nevertheless, we pulled into the station about a half-hour late. I made it to my student's school (for a pick-up) with just minutes to spare; normally I have enough time to drop off my backpack at my mom's, play a few games of Scrabble on the computer, hang out with my mother, and then head back to my student's school.
The rest of my day went fine (except for the gear-change button that fell off my unicycle). I made it to the bus in time for the 7:30 ride home. That ride seemed to be going well, too. I had my own seats and the bus lights were strong enough to read by (unlike some of the older buses). The driver was making excellent time. Suddenly someone rushed up to him. A few minutes later, everyone on the bus except for the driver was talking about what had just happened: The driver had missed the New Paltz exit. This necessitated an extra 35 minutes of driving because he had to go all the way to the next exit 18 miles away ... and then turn around and come back. We actually got to New Paltz at the same time as the 8 o'clock bus did. I found it funny that the driver wasn't bright enough to make up for his mistake. He should have asked the riders who were going to Kingston to stay on the bus so that they wouldn't all be really late. Then he could have had the riders going to 'local' stops get on the other bus, which was quite empty. I suggested it, but it only flustered him. Some people treat fresh ideas like hot bread out of an oven. They wait for things to cool down, but then it's too late. This behavior doesn't work for bread and it doesn't work for ideas. You just get a lot of stale bread and a bunch of angry bus riders. It would have helped if he'd made an announcement. He'll be lucky if he gets this route again.
Happily, despite the late hour, the kids were still a bit awake, so I kissed them all goodnight and watched some tv with Shirra before heading to another (false) fire alarm down at SUNY. I played some Scrabble (to make up for this afternoon) and here I am, about to head to bed just before 2am....
Schmutz Wednesday
On my unicycle blog a year ago, I wrote:
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Growing up, and specifically: growing up Jewish, I never learned what Ash Wednesday was. From 2nd thru 8th grade, however, I went to a French school (Fleming) founded by a Catholic woman and populated by a relatively high percentage of Catholic students and teachers. Once a year, I'd see some of my fellow students sporting black streaks on their foreheads, but as soon as the day was over, I'd forget all over again so that come the following year, it was me reaching to some friend's noggin to wipe away the blot that I assumed had more to do with a marker than with religious fervor.
High school and college didn't change this, and by early adulthood, I was playing the same tune. Once a year, I'd find myself generously offering to wipe clean some friend's face only to be reminded yet again that it was Ash Wednesday. It's funny how you go from nice person ("Here, let me get that schmutz off your forehead") to putz ("No! It's Ash Wednesday!") so quickly. 364 days a year, you're doing someone a favor ("Hey, you've got a little newsprint stain right there"), but once a year, you've outed yourself as a religious moron. I guess it's the equivalent of the non-Jews who wish us a happy Yom Kippur on the Jewish holyday of atonement. Speaking of which: At least I didn't wish anyone a happy Lent today.
So, thanks for putting up with us on this special Wednesday. We'll always forgive you for mispronouncing Hannukah if you continue to forgive us for trying to clean that schmutz off your face.
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Sure enough, a few days ago I noticed a few schmutzig women in my daughter's library story group. But this time, I took an extra moment to consider what day it was. Time is funny for me in New Paltz, and this week was especially odd since my schedule was disrupted by President's Week. It took me a moment to recall that it was Wednesday. A little voice told me to put those two thoughts together. Actually, that was Maeve pointing out, "Daddy, that lady has schmutz on her head." OK, that's not true, but it does remind me of a funny anecdote: When Fiona was little, she once complained about having a 'schmut' in her eye. Gotta love it.
Happy Schmut Wednesday, everyone!
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Growing up, and specifically: growing up Jewish, I never learned what Ash Wednesday was. From 2nd thru 8th grade, however, I went to a French school (Fleming) founded by a Catholic woman and populated by a relatively high percentage of Catholic students and teachers. Once a year, I'd see some of my fellow students sporting black streaks on their foreheads, but as soon as the day was over, I'd forget all over again so that come the following year, it was me reaching to some friend's noggin to wipe away the blot that I assumed had more to do with a marker than with religious fervor.
High school and college didn't change this, and by early adulthood, I was playing the same tune. Once a year, I'd find myself generously offering to wipe clean some friend's face only to be reminded yet again that it was Ash Wednesday. It's funny how you go from nice person ("Here, let me get that schmutz off your forehead") to putz ("No! It's Ash Wednesday!") so quickly. 364 days a year, you're doing someone a favor ("Hey, you've got a little newsprint stain right there"), but once a year, you've outed yourself as a religious moron. I guess it's the equivalent of the non-Jews who wish us a happy Yom Kippur on the Jewish holyday of atonement. Speaking of which: At least I didn't wish anyone a happy Lent today.
So, thanks for putting up with us on this special Wednesday. We'll always forgive you for mispronouncing Hannukah if you continue to forgive us for trying to clean that schmutz off your face.
*****************************************
Sure enough, a few days ago I noticed a few schmutzig women in my daughter's library story group. But this time, I took an extra moment to consider what day it was. Time is funny for me in New Paltz, and this week was especially odd since my schedule was disrupted by President's Week. It took me a moment to recall that it was Wednesday. A little voice told me to put those two thoughts together. Actually, that was Maeve pointing out, "Daddy, that lady has schmutz on her head." OK, that's not true, but it does remind me of a funny anecdote: When Fiona was little, she once complained about having a 'schmut' in her eye. Gotta love it.
Happy Schmut Wednesday, everyone!
Saturday, February 17, 2007
Scrabble #2
I won a "club tournament" today in North Salem, the same place where I particpated in the tourney last month. This time the field wasn't quite as strong as it was in January, the result of it not being a regular tourament, but nonetheless the competition was pretty solid. The fact that I won was even more satisfying given that I was feeling a bit under the weather.
I finished 5-1 with a huge spread. In fact, I averaged 455 pts per game, by far my highest average in a tourney. In the only game I lost, I scored 390, and in the first game, I scored 550, garnering a cute little "High Game" trophy. This is the first trophy I've won since I bowled a 1 (yes, 1 point!) but was lucky enough to be on the winning team in a bowling competition back when I was in single digits.
Here is a list of cool words I played:
"Bingos" (using all of my tiles), by game:
TRIACID, LOATHES, DEVALUE, RETCHING
MEIOSIS
INATELY (phony), SIRLOIN
AUREOLAR
OUTRIDES, UNLACING
REFRIED
Weird non-bingos, total
KIVA, MIGG, WITED, ZAYIN, COOLY, STOOK, and CACHING (I turned CHIN into ACHING and then added the other C)
What's interesting to me is that many expert players average about 2 bingos per game. I was just below that, with 11 in 6 games. But much of my scoring came from smaller words where I managed to get a lot of points (ZAYIN, 54, for example). To me, that's the key to Scrabble. You don't have to know a lot of 7- and 8-letter words in order to win lots of games. Another important trick is to play off letters that aren't conducive to scoring well on the next turn, so you have to look ahead a turn or two. For example, in one game I opened with AIOLI (10 pts) thru my opponent's L, getting rid of 4 vowels, and then on the next turn, I played AUREOLAR for 68.
I can't make the tournament next month, so I'm glad I went today.
I finished 5-1 with a huge spread. In fact, I averaged 455 pts per game, by far my highest average in a tourney. In the only game I lost, I scored 390, and in the first game, I scored 550, garnering a cute little "High Game" trophy. This is the first trophy I've won since I bowled a 1 (yes, 1 point!) but was lucky enough to be on the winning team in a bowling competition back when I was in single digits.
Here is a list of cool words I played:
"Bingos" (using all of my tiles), by game:
TRIACID, LOATHES, DEVALUE, RETCHING
MEIOSIS
INATELY (phony), SIRLOIN
AUREOLAR
OUTRIDES, UNLACING
REFRIED
Weird non-bingos, total
KIVA, MIGG, WITED, ZAYIN, COOLY, STOOK, and CACHING (I turned CHIN into ACHING and then added the other C)
What's interesting to me is that many expert players average about 2 bingos per game. I was just below that, with 11 in 6 games. But much of my scoring came from smaller words where I managed to get a lot of points (ZAYIN, 54, for example). To me, that's the key to Scrabble. You don't have to know a lot of 7- and 8-letter words in order to win lots of games. Another important trick is to play off letters that aren't conducive to scoring well on the next turn, so you have to look ahead a turn or two. For example, in one game I opened with AIOLI (10 pts) thru my opponent's L, getting rid of 4 vowels, and then on the next turn, I played AUREOLAR for 68.
I can't make the tournament next month, so I'm glad I went today.
Friday, February 16, 2007
Sledding 101
One of our criteria in choosing this house in New Paltz was sledding. Granted this was a low priority (good school system was a bit higher, really), but it was there nonetheless. For the most part, the hilliness of this house was related to a different criterion: I wanted good hills for mountain unicycling. Those hills are in the woods, however, which is not ideal sledding turf. By happy coincidence, the house is at the top of a small incline, and as it happens, there are three great sledding zones right in the backyard.
The first one we tried is exactly in the back of the house. It starts off fast and seems smooth, but it heads right for those woods, and because we didn't move a log-pile ahead of time, there are a bunch of logs and trees right in the path. The kids had fun, but it was a bit unnerving watching Maeve come to a stop atop a three-foot-high pyramid of trees only inches beofre tumbling face-first into bracken.
Next we tried the hill by the cottage. It's a bit of a softer dip, but it ends at the drive, and since no one is ever on this road, it's a lot safer. Unfortunately, because the snow was so deep (about 8-12 inches), the sledding was a bit dull, and since 2-year-old Maeve doesn't yet have a good pair of winter boots, she managed to get her little ankles so red that they looked like lobster claws. When the numbness in her legs wore off and the adrenaline finally petered out, she shrieked for twenty minutes from the icy pain in her bones and from the realization that winter sports can be dangerous without proper precautions, like good footwear.
Finally we hit on the best sled-run of our property: our driveway right after it's been plowed. Ben the Plowman had come by earlier in the day, so the drive up to our house was pretty clear, but there was enough snow for sledding, and the snow was hardpacked, making our $12 plastic toboggans sound like $12,000 luge sleds as we raced towards fluffy mounds of plowed snow at the bottom of the slope. The kids also played in the snowed-over playground, and Shirra reported that they had never moved so fast down that slide (thanks to a potent blend of icy slide and slick snowpants).
The kids had snow days on both Wednesday and yesterday. In those two days, they managed to go sledding 7 times, right in our backyard. That's six more times than they went sledding in Brooklyn in our five years there.
The first one we tried is exactly in the back of the house. It starts off fast and seems smooth, but it heads right for those woods, and because we didn't move a log-pile ahead of time, there are a bunch of logs and trees right in the path. The kids had fun, but it was a bit unnerving watching Maeve come to a stop atop a three-foot-high pyramid of trees only inches beofre tumbling face-first into bracken.
Next we tried the hill by the cottage. It's a bit of a softer dip, but it ends at the drive, and since no one is ever on this road, it's a lot safer. Unfortunately, because the snow was so deep (about 8-12 inches), the sledding was a bit dull, and since 2-year-old Maeve doesn't yet have a good pair of winter boots, she managed to get her little ankles so red that they looked like lobster claws. When the numbness in her legs wore off and the adrenaline finally petered out, she shrieked for twenty minutes from the icy pain in her bones and from the realization that winter sports can be dangerous without proper precautions, like good footwear.
Finally we hit on the best sled-run of our property: our driveway right after it's been plowed. Ben the Plowman had come by earlier in the day, so the drive up to our house was pretty clear, but there was enough snow for sledding, and the snow was hardpacked, making our $12 plastic toboggans sound like $12,000 luge sleds as we raced towards fluffy mounds of plowed snow at the bottom of the slope. The kids also played in the snowed-over playground, and Shirra reported that they had never moved so fast down that slide (thanks to a potent blend of icy slide and slick snowpants).
The kids had snow days on both Wednesday and yesterday. In those two days, they managed to go sledding 7 times, right in our backyard. That's six more times than they went sledding in Brooklyn in our five years there.
Thursday, February 15, 2007
Valentine's Day Mess Occurred
We got our first real taste of New Paltz winters when a foot of snow, ice, and sleet greeted us for Valentine's Day. Not only was school canceled, but Trailways Bus service was, too, so I had to reschedule my work in Manhattan. Forced to stay home, I went sledding with the kids, took a careful drive to check out Main Street, answered the only fire call of the day (false alarm) and ended up shoveling a lot of snow. In all, a great day.
The day started out iffy. Shirra is battling a cold, so she needed to rest this morning (meaning: I didn't get to). So I was up with the excited kids, who all wanted to hit the hill before breakfast. Adorned in their winter finery, they were soon zooming down the slope behind the house. Sledding was the only outdoor option, really; the snow/ice/sleet mixture wasn't sticking, so snowballs, snowmen, and snow forts must await.
Soon the mood picked up when Shirra, who had roused herself enough to call the school hotline, announced that the kids would be staying home all day. After sledding, the kids had hot cocoa and changed out of wet clothes. By lunchtime, Maeve was ready for a nap, and so was Shirra. I went outside with the big kids (their second trip) for a few rides down the hill, and just as I was heading for the car, a fire call came in.
I managed to make it down the hill to our private road, which was being plowed at that moment, and from there to 32N, which was also being plowed at that moment. The plowings meant that my trip was safer, but it was also slower. By the time I arrived at the station, the guys were returning from what proved to be a false alarm. No other calls came in on the day, surprising given the fact that the roads are pretty slick and that people often drive poorly (too fast, too close together) for the conditions. I hung around the firehouse, shot some pool there, and started to watch a video on car extractions when I got a call from Fiona: She'd just heard on her little transistor radio that the snow was getting worse and that all drivers were being told to get off the roads.
After a quick trip to the gas station for a replacement windshield wiper (I'd broken one earlier while removing snow from the window), I made it to the bank and to True Value hardware (for fire extinguishers -- we didn't have any) and headed home. This time, it was clear that the roads were more treacherous even tho I'd only been gone two hours. In fact, although a local guy had plowed our private road, his work was totally invisible by the time I got back, forcing me to park the car at the end of the drive and walk home from there -- just over 4/10 of a mile. I grabbed the fire extinguishers and decided to take my mountain unicycle, too, just in case I hit a few ridable patches. There were two. I managed a couple rides over 100 feet, but that was it. This photo shows the trail I made after my longest run.
As I headed into the house, I passed by the kids, out sledding for their 4th time of the day. Maeve stayed out just a bit too long, thawing her frozen ankles just enough to experience excruciating pain for only the 2nd time in her life (the first was when she split her chin). I raced outside, scooped her up, and warmed her by putting her little feet inside of my legs. A hot pack helped, too, as did a lot of blankets. She's a toughy, and within a few minutes, she was singing along with the Upside Down show and having a blast. Emmett joined us, warming his tootsies on me, too. A few minutes later, Fiona sat down on my other side. Contendedly relaxed, I fell asleep, basking in the love of my three angelic children on Valentine's Day.
And maybe tomorrow the roads won't keep the FedEx man from delivering those movies from Amazon!
Thursday, February 08, 2007
Firefighting: The first 50 calls
I have the luxury of a fairly open schedule. I have mornings off (I have to catch the NYC bus at 12:30 or 1), and I don't teach on Fridays unless I'm subbing. As a result, I can attend a lot of fire calls. In the month of January, there were 48 calls to our fire department, and I made it in for 25 of them. I made it to a bunch in December and over the past week, and by today, I've responded to over 50 fire calls.
Fire calls come in a variety of flavors. The mildest, of course, are ones that get called off even before we arrive at the fire station. More often, we arrive at the station only to learn that the automatic smoke detector was tripped by a burnt food item in a toaster. We sign our attendance sheet, chew the fat a bit, and head home. Then there are the calls where we rush to the scene and don't find out about the burnt food until we've arrived. Still, it means we got to ride in a fire truck, and that's always fun. Many of these non-emergencies occur at SUNY, and since it's better to be safe than sorry, we take them seriously. Nonetheless, it was funny to learn that my latest trip to the campus came about because of an over-toasted bagel. We had a little chuckle and headed back to sign our sheet.
There have been some more serious calls in these past two months, of course. One involved a pedestrian hit by a car while on her way to class at SUNY. Luckily for her, the car was traveling rather slowly, but she was taken to St Francis as a precaution because her knees were knocked pretty hard and her neck was a bit sore [update: She's fine]. The fire department is on the scene when a car is involved because of the possibility that we might be needed for fire prevention or other assistance. We also rushed to the scene of an accident on the road that Shirra and I most often take to the Village: Route 32N. When that call came in, I was already on Main Street, and I knew that Shirra was driving Maeve to school. I had a horrid feeling that she was in one of the cars. Luckily she was a bit behind the accident. On that day, I helped hold the stretcher that we used to extricate the woman from her car. Her car was totaled, but she may have escaped with nothing more than a broken wrist and a sore neck.
A situation like this is called a PIAA (Personal Injury, Auto Accident), but not all of the ones we assist with take place inside of New Paltz. Last week, I was on the scene of a highway accident where the car went off the side of the road, flipped over, and smashed into a tree. The car ended up sunny-side down and rather flat, resembling a discarded child's toy, but happily (and amazingly), both occupants were ok. I think the driver ended up with nothing more than some bruising, and his passenger had a broken leg, but considering the condition of the wreck, they're lucky to be alive. Hooray for seatbelts. That morning, my job was to train a hose on the car in case it began to flame up. It didn't help that the temperature was in single digits. It only occurred to me a couple days ago that in my first 50 calls, I haven't actually seen a fire. In fact, I have not even seen smoke.
I have been around plenty of gas, however. On one occasion, we arrived at the scene of a serious gas leak. The propane tank outside of an abandoned house had developed a crack in the valve; a neighbor reported a strong smell of gas (actually, that smell is mercaptan, a chemical added in order to make gas leaks more noticeable). Within minutes, we had a hose trained on the gas tank in order to try to freeze the valve shut (which could have worked if the temperature had been even colder). Eventually the fire captain told us to use the hose to blow the gas away from the house, and a few minutes later the man from the gas company was on hand. He gave the valve a secret karate chop and had it fixed in ten seconds. When I got home, I felt a little woozy, but I don't know if that was from the gas, the cold, my exhaustion, or all three.
On nights like this, I sit in my living room with my pager clipped to my sweater, waiting for it to buzz, feeling like a teenager before Valentine's Day. The NPFD responded to nearly 900 calls last year, meaning that we average nearly three a day. When my pager does go off, I feel the vibration before the dispatcher's voice sounds, at which point I unclip it and hold it so that I can have a better chance of hearing the location of the emergency. Then I rush to the door, where I put on my boots and pants. Firefighters get dressed in a particular fashion based purely on necessity. We start with our boots, oddly enough. They're tall enough to pop out at the tops of our pants, so by stepping into our boots, we've put on both the shoes and the trousers. We then pull up the pants, work over the suspenders, and voila, we're half dressed. After that, it's jacket, helmet, and off we go, waiting to find out if it's a PIAA or a genuine fire or just another piece of scorched toast.
Fire calls come in a variety of flavors. The mildest, of course, are ones that get called off even before we arrive at the fire station. More often, we arrive at the station only to learn that the automatic smoke detector was tripped by a burnt food item in a toaster. We sign our attendance sheet, chew the fat a bit, and head home. Then there are the calls where we rush to the scene and don't find out about the burnt food until we've arrived. Still, it means we got to ride in a fire truck, and that's always fun. Many of these non-emergencies occur at SUNY, and since it's better to be safe than sorry, we take them seriously. Nonetheless, it was funny to learn that my latest trip to the campus came about because of an over-toasted bagel. We had a little chuckle and headed back to sign our sheet.
There have been some more serious calls in these past two months, of course. One involved a pedestrian hit by a car while on her way to class at SUNY. Luckily for her, the car was traveling rather slowly, but she was taken to St Francis as a precaution because her knees were knocked pretty hard and her neck was a bit sore [update: She's fine]. The fire department is on the scene when a car is involved because of the possibility that we might be needed for fire prevention or other assistance. We also rushed to the scene of an accident on the road that Shirra and I most often take to the Village: Route 32N. When that call came in, I was already on Main Street, and I knew that Shirra was driving Maeve to school. I had a horrid feeling that she was in one of the cars. Luckily she was a bit behind the accident. On that day, I helped hold the stretcher that we used to extricate the woman from her car. Her car was totaled, but she may have escaped with nothing more than a broken wrist and a sore neck.
A situation like this is called a PIAA (Personal Injury, Auto Accident), but not all of the ones we assist with take place inside of New Paltz. Last week, I was on the scene of a highway accident where the car went off the side of the road, flipped over, and smashed into a tree. The car ended up sunny-side down and rather flat, resembling a discarded child's toy, but happily (and amazingly), both occupants were ok. I think the driver ended up with nothing more than some bruising, and his passenger had a broken leg, but considering the condition of the wreck, they're lucky to be alive. Hooray for seatbelts. That morning, my job was to train a hose on the car in case it began to flame up. It didn't help that the temperature was in single digits. It only occurred to me a couple days ago that in my first 50 calls, I haven't actually seen a fire. In fact, I have not even seen smoke.
I have been around plenty of gas, however. On one occasion, we arrived at the scene of a serious gas leak. The propane tank outside of an abandoned house had developed a crack in the valve; a neighbor reported a strong smell of gas (actually, that smell is mercaptan, a chemical added in order to make gas leaks more noticeable). Within minutes, we had a hose trained on the gas tank in order to try to freeze the valve shut (which could have worked if the temperature had been even colder). Eventually the fire captain told us to use the hose to blow the gas away from the house, and a few minutes later the man from the gas company was on hand. He gave the valve a secret karate chop and had it fixed in ten seconds. When I got home, I felt a little woozy, but I don't know if that was from the gas, the cold, my exhaustion, or all three.
On nights like this, I sit in my living room with my pager clipped to my sweater, waiting for it to buzz, feeling like a teenager before Valentine's Day. The NPFD responded to nearly 900 calls last year, meaning that we average nearly three a day. When my pager does go off, I feel the vibration before the dispatcher's voice sounds, at which point I unclip it and hold it so that I can have a better chance of hearing the location of the emergency. Then I rush to the door, where I put on my boots and pants. Firefighters get dressed in a particular fashion based purely on necessity. We start with our boots, oddly enough. They're tall enough to pop out at the tops of our pants, so by stepping into our boots, we've put on both the shoes and the trousers. We then pull up the pants, work over the suspenders, and voila, we're half dressed. After that, it's jacket, helmet, and off we go, waiting to find out if it's a PIAA or a genuine fire or just another piece of scorched toast.
Friday, February 02, 2007
Oh, No! The Groundhog Didn't See His Shadow!
Happy Groundhog Day! It's February 2nd.
There are whole histories of Groundhog Day. In earlier times it was Badger Day, and naturally it has something to do with a certain amount of weeks before Spring in certain locales. But the bad news is that according to meteorologist, the little critters aren't any better at predicting longterm weather than, uh, meteorologists. Punxsutawney Phil is accurate less than 40% of the time. So the announcement that the groundhog had predicted an early spring this year is actually bad news in my book. Because the rodent is usually wrong, it suggests that spring is either going to be late (ugh!) or will be right on time (ok)...but it most likely won't be early. Damn you, Phil!
There are whole histories of Groundhog Day. In earlier times it was Badger Day, and naturally it has something to do with a certain amount of weeks before Spring in certain locales. But the bad news is that according to meteorologist, the little critters aren't any better at predicting longterm weather than, uh, meteorologists. Punxsutawney Phil is accurate less than 40% of the time. So the announcement that the groundhog had predicted an early spring this year is actually bad news in my book. Because the rodent is usually wrong, it suggests that spring is either going to be late (ugh!) or will be right on time (ok)...but it most likely won't be early. Damn you, Phil!
First snow of 2007
The first snow of the winter finally hit last week. We got a whole inch or so -- several feet less than the amount New Paltz has usually been hit with by this time of year.
The snow arrived in the afternoon, floating down effortlessly just in time to make the last few miles of my drive a bit more dangerous than usual. I was most careful when it came to the narrow path between the lakes on our long driveway. Because the road dips down as you approach the water, there is a tendency to speed up just as you should actually be slowing down. It means the difference between bumping into a tree or slipping into a lake (or onto a lake, in this case, since the ice is probably thick enough to support a car by now).
The kids were excited to walk up the hill from the bus dropoff, so Shirra let them meander up to the house together as she slowly made it back up the road in the warmth of her car. When I arrived five hours later, I smiled at the footprints in the snow leading all the way to the house, visible evidence of the sweet time they must have had, chatting for the half-mile trip home from the road as they commented about the snow falling and the snow already fallen.
It was cold enough that night for the snow to stick and stay, and in the morning, we were all thrilled to hear that the schools had delayed their start by two hours. That meant that the kids didn't lose a day of school (which would have cut into their vacations, since snow days are made up during spring and summer recesses). But more importantly, it meant that they didn't miss a chance to enjoy sledding for the first time since moving to New Paltz.
The night before, I had wisely decided to buy a plastic tobaggan and a large disc of some sort, both perfect for our small hill. So by 7:45 the next morning, the kids were all decked out in their winter finery. Emmett's snowpants made that familiar whistling sound as he ran around looking for hats and gloves. Little Maeve was so bundled that she could barely move.
The hill outside the house goes for about 75 feet, just enough to build up some decent speed and have a fun ride. Back in Brooklyn, the kids had to content themselves with the mini pseudo-hills that I'd build in our backyard, never more than 4 feet in either height or length. They still had fun, but most of their enjoyment back there was confined to making snow people or snow forts. And since we were quite a ways from the nearest hill, sledding seemed to be a luxury we never made time for. But now, the hill is literally our backyard.
It's a good thing they enjoyed the morning sledding because by afternoon, the snow had melted enough to thwart all attempts to enjoy it. We were supposed to get more snow or ice today, but so far none has fallen except some slushy stuff that's coming down as I write this. With any luck, tho, we'll soon have another morning of discs and toboggans.
The snow arrived in the afternoon, floating down effortlessly just in time to make the last few miles of my drive a bit more dangerous than usual. I was most careful when it came to the narrow path between the lakes on our long driveway. Because the road dips down as you approach the water, there is a tendency to speed up just as you should actually be slowing down. It means the difference between bumping into a tree or slipping into a lake (or onto a lake, in this case, since the ice is probably thick enough to support a car by now).
The kids were excited to walk up the hill from the bus dropoff, so Shirra let them meander up to the house together as she slowly made it back up the road in the warmth of her car. When I arrived five hours later, I smiled at the footprints in the snow leading all the way to the house, visible evidence of the sweet time they must have had, chatting for the half-mile trip home from the road as they commented about the snow falling and the snow already fallen.
It was cold enough that night for the snow to stick and stay, and in the morning, we were all thrilled to hear that the schools had delayed their start by two hours. That meant that the kids didn't lose a day of school (which would have cut into their vacations, since snow days are made up during spring and summer recesses). But more importantly, it meant that they didn't miss a chance to enjoy sledding for the first time since moving to New Paltz.
The night before, I had wisely decided to buy a plastic tobaggan and a large disc of some sort, both perfect for our small hill. So by 7:45 the next morning, the kids were all decked out in their winter finery. Emmett's snowpants made that familiar whistling sound as he ran around looking for hats and gloves. Little Maeve was so bundled that she could barely move.
The hill outside the house goes for about 75 feet, just enough to build up some decent speed and have a fun ride. Back in Brooklyn, the kids had to content themselves with the mini pseudo-hills that I'd build in our backyard, never more than 4 feet in either height or length. They still had fun, but most of their enjoyment back there was confined to making snow people or snow forts. And since we were quite a ways from the nearest hill, sledding seemed to be a luxury we never made time for. But now, the hill is literally our backyard.
It's a good thing they enjoyed the morning sledding because by afternoon, the snow had melted enough to thwart all attempts to enjoy it. We were supposed to get more snow or ice today, but so far none has fallen except some slushy stuff that's coming down as I write this. With any luck, tho, we'll soon have another morning of discs and toboggans.
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