The Department of Homeland Security has enlisted the help of over 648,921 New York City pigeons to maintain close 'tabs' on Canadian Geese flying through the NYC area.
Initial reports that a flock of geese (possibly Canadian) brought down US Airways Flight #1549 led government officials to call an emergency meeting of PGN Local 405 officials to request support in infiltrating geese flocks in an effort to learn about further planned attacks.
Often referred to as "flying rats," PGN Union Chair Grey "Crappy" Pigeon was overheard saying that "finkin' out dos byds will be de bestest ting we culd du". A spokesperson for Free Flying Rights for Geese (FFRG) said that the move by Homeland Security is biased and based on unverified rumors. "There are multiple species of geese in the NYC area. To assume it was Canadian Geese is speculative and unfair."
FFRG is appealing to the US Department of Agriculture, who has conducted many studies on geese. You can learn more about Canadian Geese here: http://www.aphis.usda.gov/ws/ca/living_with_wildlife/activity_sheets/student_activity_sheet_geese.pdf
1/25/2009
I've Had an Epiphany!
Well...sort of. And a little late....
Imagine my surprise (and anger about having such knowledge withheld from me!) when I learned that the Epiphany is celebrated in so many different ways, by so many different cultures. Let me clarify. It's not that I'm mad that people in different parts of the world celebrate the Epiphany in many ways. No. It's that I'd never heard about La Befana!
The Italians celebrate with a visit from an old woman called "la Befana," who puts gifts and candy in the shoes of children on Epiphany morning (January 6). Nobody put candy and gifts in my shoes! What's with that?!
And Mexicans celebrate with Rosca de Reyes (the Kings cake). It's made in the shape of a crown with a ring hidden inside.
So where's my candy and cake?
Imagine my surprise (and anger about having such knowledge withheld from me!) when I learned that the Epiphany is celebrated in so many different ways, by so many different cultures. Let me clarify. It's not that I'm mad that people in different parts of the world celebrate the Epiphany in many ways. No. It's that I'd never heard about La Befana!
The Italians celebrate with a visit from an old woman called "la Befana," who puts gifts and candy in the shoes of children on Epiphany morning (January 6). Nobody put candy and gifts in my shoes! What's with that?!And Mexicans celebrate with Rosca de Reyes (the Kings cake). It's made in the shape of a crown with a ring hidden inside.
So where's my candy and cake?
1/22/2009
The 4 Horsemen of Sandy's Apocalypse
(perhaps the title isn't in good taste, but the story is pretty decent!)
It started on Monday morning with a call from the UHaul store where I have my storage unit. It's an 8' x 12' room with everything from boxes of books, all my child therapy stuff, out-of-season clothes, bikes, some furniture, etc. A pipe in the unit above me burst and they didn't think it had done any damage to my unit, but there was a little puddle of water outside the room next to me.
So I stroll over in the snow and find that, indeed, yes, the water had come into my unit and had drowned a lot of clothes, an entertainment unit, an air conditioner and computer monitor, as well as a dozen books. It took myself and 3 U-Haul staff nearly 3 hours to get everything out, sorted, moved to another unit and then packed up for the claims agent.
I was disappointed to find my Winnie the Pooh Classics book had not survived. In the words of Christopher Robin, "Tut, tut. Looks like rain."
That evening I was fast asleep at 10:45pm. I was exhausted from hauling boxes, bikes, wet furniture, etc. At 11:17pm, I woke to find out that the power had gone out. Well...kind of. Four plugs still had power in them. So we called ConEd, filed a report, were told they'd be out in 3-4 hours, and back to sleep I went. Or tried.
I'd just dozed off when, at a little after 1:00am there was a huge explosion that shook the house (we're on the 4th floor of a big old limestone building). I ran to the window, only to see a huge geyser of flames shooting up from underneath a van sitting right in front of the house. I ran and called 911 and the fire department had arrived before I could finish dressing and head downstairs.
The salt from the street cleaners had gotten in to the wiring below the street and shorted everything out. The partial power outage was our first hint. The exploding manholes and burning wiring was the second. Although the boiler had gone out (and with it, our steam heat), we were able to keep the fridge plugged in with the help of an extension cord and we had phones.
A police car parked outside of the house, waiting for ConED and trying to track down the owner of the car that had been char broiled. At 2:20am I was back in bed, trying to get in a few hours before the alarm went off at 5:30am.
BOOM! 3:12am and another explosion, another geyser of fire. The police called the fire department this time and again they came. They don't do anything. Well...they go into the basements of the surrounding buildings to make sure the fire hasn't traveled underground. Then they look at the manhole. And you can still hear this "POP! POP!" sound...like the jolly green giant was making popcorn. Then, after six minutes, they all pile back into their trucks, saying that ConED has been notified, ya-d-ya-da-ya-da. I think I watched 4:30am on the clock before I faded out. Tuesday morning.
It was a cold morning without heat, hot water. I made coffee using one of the four active plugs and spent an hour on the phone with the Public Utilities Commission, filing a complaint. ConED showed up at about 10:10am, our building manager called an electrician to do some fancy wiring in the basement so we could have heat (11:30am) and full power came on around 7:45pm).
Flood. Fire. What more? Well....
Wednesday morning. I dare to leave the house (although I confess with a bit of anxiety) and head to the subway. Amtrak leaves on time (7:25am) and I get to work on my laptop. I didn't even recall the train slowing down. I do remember it stopping. But sometimes the trains stop because they've been flagged for going to fast and they are reprimanded by being held by dispatch. Not in this case. Nope. We lost power. For 30 minutes we sat in the train with no power somewhere outside of New Brunswick NJ.
Flood. Fire. Loss of Power. What's next? In the words of the Police, "don't stand so close to me"
It started on Monday morning with a call from the UHaul store where I have my storage unit. It's an 8' x 12' room with everything from boxes of books, all my child therapy stuff, out-of-season clothes, bikes, some furniture, etc. A pipe in the unit above me burst and they didn't think it had done any damage to my unit, but there was a little puddle of water outside the room next to me.
So I stroll over in the snow and find that, indeed, yes, the water had come into my unit and had drowned a lot of clothes, an entertainment unit, an air conditioner and computer monitor, as well as a dozen books. It took myself and 3 U-Haul staff nearly 3 hours to get everything out, sorted, moved to another unit and then packed up for the claims agent.
I was disappointed to find my Winnie the Pooh Classics book had not survived. In the words of Christopher Robin, "Tut, tut. Looks like rain."
That evening I was fast asleep at 10:45pm. I was exhausted from hauling boxes, bikes, wet furniture, etc. At 11:17pm, I woke to find out that the power had gone out. Well...kind of. Four plugs still had power in them. So we called ConEd, filed a report, were told they'd be out in 3-4 hours, and back to sleep I went. Or tried.
I'd just dozed off when, at a little after 1:00am there was a huge explosion that shook the house (we're on the 4th floor of a big old limestone building). I ran to the window, only to see a huge geyser of flames shooting up from underneath a van sitting right in front of the house. I ran and called 911 and the fire department had arrived before I could finish dressing and head downstairs.
The salt from the street cleaners had gotten in to the wiring below the street and shorted everything out. The partial power outage was our first hint. The exploding manholes and burning wiring was the second. Although the boiler had gone out (and with it, our steam heat), we were able to keep the fridge plugged in with the help of an extension cord and we had phones.
A police car parked outside of the house, waiting for ConED and trying to track down the owner of the car that had been char broiled. At 2:20am I was back in bed, trying to get in a few hours before the alarm went off at 5:30am.
BOOM! 3:12am and another explosion, another geyser of fire. The police called the fire department this time and again they came. They don't do anything. Well...they go into the basements of the surrounding buildings to make sure the fire hasn't traveled underground. Then they look at the manhole. And you can still hear this "POP! POP!" sound...like the jolly green giant was making popcorn. Then, after six minutes, they all pile back into their trucks, saying that ConED has been notified, ya-d-ya-da-ya-da. I think I watched 4:30am on the clock before I faded out. Tuesday morning.
It was a cold morning without heat, hot water. I made coffee using one of the four active plugs and spent an hour on the phone with the Public Utilities Commission, filing a complaint. ConED showed up at about 10:10am, our building manager called an electrician to do some fancy wiring in the basement so we could have heat (11:30am) and full power came on around 7:45pm).
Flood. Fire. What more? Well....
Wednesday morning. I dare to leave the house (although I confess with a bit of anxiety) and head to the subway. Amtrak leaves on time (7:25am) and I get to work on my laptop. I didn't even recall the train slowing down. I do remember it stopping. But sometimes the trains stop because they've been flagged for going to fast and they are reprimanded by being held by dispatch. Not in this case. Nope. We lost power. For 30 minutes we sat in the train with no power somewhere outside of New Brunswick NJ.
Flood. Fire. Loss of Power. What's next? In the words of the Police, "don't stand so close to me"
Lessons Learned: Reflections on the Inaugural
One of the most significant lessons I’ve learned in my adult life came from the wisdom of fourteen year old Dominican Little Brother, Miguel. I first met him in the early 1990’s. He lived in Washington Heights New York City. His neighborhood was like many back then: a mix of lower income people eking out a living, drug dealers hanging outside the local bodega, and run down apartment buildings. It was also a neighborhood rich with Dominican traditions and culture. There was always Spanish music playing (loud) and the smell of food vendors filled the sidewalk air. Getting off the subway at 155th Street was never dull!
Miguel was matched with a very successful Wall Street broker. Their lives and worlds couldn’t be further apart. But Miguel didn’t seem to mind so much, because his Big Brother communicated one important value: work hard - there are no excuses.
I was still a bit of a ‘baby’ social worker when I began working with Miguel. I’d only been working in the field for six years and this was my first sojourn into working with urban teens. I came complete with all the basic stereotypes: poor kids, disadvantaged, little to no chance, poor education, no role models, doomed to a life in the poverty cycle. My job was to feel bad, wish things were better and be angry at society for having failed young men like Miguel.
Oh, how young and naive I was. And oh, how blessed I was to have Miguel put into my life. It was during a conversation I was having with Miguel about my concern that his Big Brother was putting too much pressure on him, raising the bar too high and not being compassionate to Miguel’s life situation that my life lesson occurred.
Miguel looked at me and said (I paraphrase), ‘if no one expects much out of me, then that's all I’ll aspire to. If no one tells me that I can do it, have to do if and have no excuse, then I’ll sit back and let life happen. I know, deep inside, that I am capable of achieving great things. But I need people in my life that won’t let me get away with not trying.’
On that day, at that moment, I realized that (1) social work wasn’t about feeling sorry for people and trying to be ‘nice’ to them and (2) that how I was approaching my work was only affirming a stereotype that would keep those I worked with bound to low expectations for themselves that rose no further than the label of a ‘welfare’ person.
Miguel went on to teach me a few other things, too. Thanks to him, I discovered the great prose of Langston Hughes and the literary works of Maya Angelou (we read “When the Caged Bird Sings” together). I saw a young man leave home for 3 years to attend a private high school in New England, then return home and successfully graduate from one of the top Catholic High Schools in NYC. I was at his graduation ceremony held in St. Patrick’s Cathedral, and brought him on as summer intern to attend Street Fairs and help recruit new volunteers (after all, he was the impact statement!).
As I watched (now) President Obama take the oath of office and listened to his inaugural address, I heard him saying much of what Miguel had said to me over 18 years ago: it’s time to step up. No more excuses. We must all live up to our potential.
I don’t know where Miguel is today (I have tried to search him out but to no avail thus far). I so want to thank him. Until then, I continue to honor him by trying everyday to live the lesson he taught me. Sometimes I push too hard; sometimes I set the bar too high. I’m still learning. But I do know that none of us will reach our full potential without people in our lives who expect us to be our best, who believe the best exists within each of us, and who stand beside us as we strive forward.
Miguel was matched with a very successful Wall Street broker. Their lives and worlds couldn’t be further apart. But Miguel didn’t seem to mind so much, because his Big Brother communicated one important value: work hard - there are no excuses.
I was still a bit of a ‘baby’ social worker when I began working with Miguel. I’d only been working in the field for six years and this was my first sojourn into working with urban teens. I came complete with all the basic stereotypes: poor kids, disadvantaged, little to no chance, poor education, no role models, doomed to a life in the poverty cycle. My job was to feel bad, wish things were better and be angry at society for having failed young men like Miguel.
Oh, how young and naive I was. And oh, how blessed I was to have Miguel put into my life. It was during a conversation I was having with Miguel about my concern that his Big Brother was putting too much pressure on him, raising the bar too high and not being compassionate to Miguel’s life situation that my life lesson occurred.
Miguel looked at me and said (I paraphrase), ‘if no one expects much out of me, then that's all I’ll aspire to. If no one tells me that I can do it, have to do if and have no excuse, then I’ll sit back and let life happen. I know, deep inside, that I am capable of achieving great things. But I need people in my life that won’t let me get away with not trying.’
On that day, at that moment, I realized that (1) social work wasn’t about feeling sorry for people and trying to be ‘nice’ to them and (2) that how I was approaching my work was only affirming a stereotype that would keep those I worked with bound to low expectations for themselves that rose no further than the label of a ‘welfare’ person.
Miguel went on to teach me a few other things, too. Thanks to him, I discovered the great prose of Langston Hughes and the literary works of Maya Angelou (we read “When the Caged Bird Sings” together). I saw a young man leave home for 3 years to attend a private high school in New England, then return home and successfully graduate from one of the top Catholic High Schools in NYC. I was at his graduation ceremony held in St. Patrick’s Cathedral, and brought him on as summer intern to attend Street Fairs and help recruit new volunteers (after all, he was the impact statement!).
As I watched (now) President Obama take the oath of office and listened to his inaugural address, I heard him saying much of what Miguel had said to me over 18 years ago: it’s time to step up. No more excuses. We must all live up to our potential.
I don’t know where Miguel is today (I have tried to search him out but to no avail thus far). I so want to thank him. Until then, I continue to honor him by trying everyday to live the lesson he taught me. Sometimes I push too hard; sometimes I set the bar too high. I’m still learning. But I do know that none of us will reach our full potential without people in our lives who expect us to be our best, who believe the best exists within each of us, and who stand beside us as we strive forward.
1/16/2009
Urban Survival
NOTE: In an effort to bring greater value to my blog, I am introducing the use of the POP format (Purpose, Outcomes, Process).
P: To bring you knowledge that may prove helpful...someday.
O: To identify strategies you can use
To identify pros and cons to those strategies
To determine the most effective strategy
P: Outline the potential problem (1 paragraph)
List 4 possible strategies
List the most effective strategy
PROBLEM: what to look at when riding a crowded NYC subway (crowded defined as less than 16.75" between you and the people around you).
STRATEGIES
- Look at the ads on the wall, up by the ceiling. Works well unless a) you are short or b) there are amazons surrounding you
- Look over at the people sitting down and a) read their paper; b) watch them play video games on their cell phone; or c) see what they're listening to on their IPod. Works well except a) you have to read at the same pace as the newspaper owner - very, very slowly or very, very fast. Sports pages are hard due to font size of scores; b) also difficult visually and annoying if you could outplay them; and c) frustrating - no sound.
- Try to look (discretely) at what coats people are wearing - get good ideas
- Look people in the eye. Smile or it will be misinterpreted as threatening. Don't smile too big or people will think you're flirting. Don't smile at anyone muttering to themselves or who smell like they emerged from a swamp - they may start talking back!
MOST EFFECTIVE STRATEGIES
None of the above. Stare at the floor and get off the train as quick as you can!
1/15/2009
Kicked to the Curb!
It's January and the X-Mas trees line the curb, waiting to be mulched. It's such a sad sight in many ways. How proud they look, despite laying there, cold...alone...in the snow.
Today I ran across one who took a lamp with him. Maybe for a little light during the long, dark nights. Maybe to exact revenge on his former owners. Or maybe he has a good book to finish!
1/14/2009
Living Thru the Death
When the pain of loss begins to fade
I've noticed that once the holidays ended and life normal resumed, the pain in my heart began to fade.
Last night, walking home under an almost full moon, I thought of dad and flinched, waiting for the accompanying feeling of being stabbed in the heart. But it never came.
Which leads me to wonder if I am 'getting over' the loss and the pain that rides alongside of it.
I think not. I think this is yet another shift or phase in the process.
Much of it is helped by a partner who is doing more to reach out to me and make me feel valued: spending more time together, and little things, like fixing breakfast on the weekends and bringing me a snack while we watch t.v. in the evenings.
Food. Nurturing. Caring. It's helped a lot.
I've noticed that once the holidays ended and life normal resumed, the pain in my heart began to fade.
Last night, walking home under an almost full moon, I thought of dad and flinched, waiting for the accompanying feeling of being stabbed in the heart. But it never came.
Which leads me to wonder if I am 'getting over' the loss and the pain that rides alongside of it.
I think not. I think this is yet another shift or phase in the process.
Much of it is helped by a partner who is doing more to reach out to me and make me feel valued: spending more time together, and little things, like fixing breakfast on the weekends and bringing me a snack while we watch t.v. in the evenings.
Food. Nurturing. Caring. It's helped a lot.
1/11/2009
Nothing Happens by Accident
They say there are no accidents...
The last day I saw dad alive was January 2nd, 2008. I left for work early the next morning while dad was still asleep. Dad's flight wasn't until later in the day, so he the morning to pack and take a bath.
At 11:00am I received a call from home: dad had slipped getting out of the bathtub and bruised his arm. We didn't feel it warranted a trip to the hospital (nothing broken, he still had mobility in his arm and fingers): dad felt bruised and shaken. I checked back a couple of times and once past the initial shock, he felt fine.
Now I look back and think...he was trying to tell me then and there that he was sick and needed help.
The last day I saw dad alive was January 2nd, 2008. I left for work early the next morning while dad was still asleep. Dad's flight wasn't until later in the day, so he the morning to pack and take a bath.
At 11:00am I received a call from home: dad had slipped getting out of the bathtub and bruised his arm. We didn't feel it warranted a trip to the hospital (nothing broken, he still had mobility in his arm and fingers): dad felt bruised and shaken. I checked back a couple of times and once past the initial shock, he felt fine.
Now I look back and think...he was trying to tell me then and there that he was sick and needed help.
Whatever happened to old fashioned snows?
Snow isn't what it used to be, is it? Of course, only those of us from the north or currently living in the north could relate to this.
I grew up in the suburbs of Chicago (Oak Park & Wheaton). I remember big snows, leading to the creation of snow forts, tunnels (dangerous but fun!) and constant shoveling. This is a picture on me engaged in a snowball fight with my brothers Allen (in red) and Paul (the little guy next to him). I'm leaning back to fire a split-fingered snowball!
In high school (Wheaton), we moved into the last phase of a sub-division, where there were lots of vacant plots of land that caused tons of drifting snow. When we waited for the bus, a couple of the local boys would drag the big oil cans full of refuse over to the bus stop and light it on fire for warmth.
College was in Southern MN (Winona) and even with the protection of the Mississippi River bluffs, we still had good 10"-16" snowfalls. My freshman year, I attended Winona State U and lived on the College of St. Teresa campus. WSU was an even mile away from St. T.'s and while they ran a shuttle bus between campuses, the schedule was horrendous. Most days I walked home to St. T's, down the middle of a local road where the snow wasn't so deep.
We had tunnels between the dorms at St. T's, which meant you could get to breakfast in your p.j.s (it was an all-woman's school). After I transferred to St. T's and became a student there, we used the tunnels for pitcher-catcher practice (I was the catcher) during the winter.
So...these days, when I hear snow is on the way, my heart leaps! I love to go out and walk in it while it's falling or right after it's fallen, when it is pure, fresh...draped over tree branches and piled on stoops.
We get at least one decent snow in brownstone Brooklyn every year. Enough to slow the city and bring everyone out on cross country skills. But not like we did even ten years ago....1/10/2009
A Special Sighting
While waiting for the snow Saturday, I took a look out the front room window and thought I saw something sitting on top of the church cross
So I ran and grabbed my camera, hoping I could get a better look...
Sure enough! One of the hawks from the park had come out to roam the neighborhood!
And then he returned home...
IBaby
I discovered a new use for the IPhone.
Coming home on the "A" train this week, a young couple gets on at Canal Street with a cute little girl in a stroller. I'd guess the baby was about 18 months old. Well, after about three stops and a slow moving train, the baby starts to fuss.
So dad pulls out an IPhone, holds it in front of the baby and the baby starts touching the screen. I'm curious, so I move to stand alongside the father and peer over at what the baby is so fascinated with.
The baby is touching the screen and scrolling through pictures of herself! It kept her happy the remaining five stops!
So there you have it - yet another use for the IPhone and how we're 'hooking' babies on our technological gadgets at such a young age!
PS: The screen of the IPhone was smashed in the corner. I guess they'll have to make a child-proof Iphone going forward!
Coming home on the "A" train this week, a young couple gets on at Canal Street with a cute little girl in a stroller. I'd guess the baby was about 18 months old. Well, after about three stops and a slow moving train, the baby starts to fuss.
So dad pulls out an IPhone, holds it in front of the baby and the baby starts touching the screen. I'm curious, so I move to stand alongside the father and peer over at what the baby is so fascinated with.
The baby is touching the screen and scrolling through pictures of herself! It kept her happy the remaining five stops!
So there you have it - yet another use for the IPhone and how we're 'hooking' babies on our technological gadgets at such a young age!
PS: The screen of the IPhone was smashed in the corner. I guess they'll have to make a child-proof Iphone going forward!
IBaby
I discovered a new use for the IPhone.
Coming home on the "A" train this week, a young couple gets on at Canal Street with a cute little girl in a stroller. I'd guess the baby was about 18 months old. Well, after about three stops and a slow moving train, the baby starts to fuss.
So dad pulls out an IPhone, holds it in front of the baby and the baby starts touching the screen. I'm curious, so I move to stand alongside the father and peer over at what the baby is so fascinated with.
The baby is touching the screen and scrolling through pictures of herself! It kept her happy the remaining five stops!
So there you have it - yet another use for the IPhone and how we're 'hooking' babies on our technological gadgets at such a young age!
PS: The screen of the IPhone was smashed in the corner. I guess they'll have to make a child-proof Iphone going forward!
Coming home on the "A" train this week, a young couple gets on at Canal Street with a cute little girl in a stroller. I'd guess the baby was about 18 months old. Well, after about three stops and a slow moving train, the baby starts to fuss.
So dad pulls out an IPhone, holds it in front of the baby and the baby starts touching the screen. I'm curious, so I move to stand alongside the father and peer over at what the baby is so fascinated with.
The baby is touching the screen and scrolling through pictures of herself! It kept her happy the remaining five stops!
So there you have it - yet another use for the IPhone and how we're 'hooking' babies on our technological gadgets at such a young age!
PS: The screen of the IPhone was smashed in the corner. I guess they'll have to make a child-proof Iphone going forward!
1/02/2009
Unspoken Messages
What signs did your lost one leave behind?
Maybe it's dads. Maybe it's men in general (sorry guys). Certainly it was true with my dad: few words spoken.
Not that he couldn't talk a lot. In fact, with dad, 2,000% more after the head injury he sustained in 1984. A head-on collision with an 18-wheeler and dad's Nissan Sentra did it. Thank God for the firewall on that Sentra! The car's engine was reduced to about 16" but the firewall kept it from coming into the car and unto dad's lap.
The jolt bruised dad's brain (the right side), resulting in having to put a shunt in to drain off the fluid that was collecting. Dad lived with a little dent in his head from that day forward.
That and the ability to talk and talk and talk. But mostly to non-family people. He could chat with the best of them. And yet, with family, he remained a man of extraordinarily few words.
Mostly gestures.
When he as angry, he would sit with his coat on in the house 24/7. When he was sad, he went to his room and lay on the bed, sulking.
Talking about how he felt about his children...well, that was a whole other thing. Then dad remained relatively quiet.
So imagine my amazement when we went to the bedroom where my dad last lived. There, on the window sill, were 3 clay art projects that my brothers and I did when we were in...ohhh...1st or 2nd grade.
Who knew that they still existed? Yet there they were. Right above his bed.
Who needs words?
Maybe it's dads. Maybe it's men in general (sorry guys). Certainly it was true with my dad: few words spoken.
Not that he couldn't talk a lot. In fact, with dad, 2,000% more after the head injury he sustained in 1984. A head-on collision with an 18-wheeler and dad's Nissan Sentra did it. Thank God for the firewall on that Sentra! The car's engine was reduced to about 16" but the firewall kept it from coming into the car and unto dad's lap.
The jolt bruised dad's brain (the right side), resulting in having to put a shunt in to drain off the fluid that was collecting. Dad lived with a little dent in his head from that day forward.
That and the ability to talk and talk and talk. But mostly to non-family people. He could chat with the best of them. And yet, with family, he remained a man of extraordinarily few words.
Mostly gestures.
When he as angry, he would sit with his coat on in the house 24/7. When he was sad, he went to his room and lay on the bed, sulking.
Talking about how he felt about his children...well, that was a whole other thing. Then dad remained relatively quiet.
So imagine my amazement when we went to the bedroom where my dad last lived. There, on the window sill, were 3 clay art projects that my brothers and I did when we were in...ohhh...1st or 2nd grade.
Who knew that they still existed? Yet there they were. Right above his bed.
Who needs words?
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