The 3AM Phone Call

It happened.

Actually, it was a midnight phonecall that demanded action at 3 AM.

It'll never make the news because its not big enough.

Neither Pres Obama or Sec State Clinton answered.

Kate did.

"There was a tragedy, someone has died. Despite the tragedy, they donated their organs for transplant, and a kidney is available that matches your daughter. We need her here between 5 and 6AM".

The call came from 2 hours away.

So they left at 3AM and are waiting for a noon time surgery.

What a miracle.

Thank God it was Kate who answered the call and not either the Pres or SecState.

Hey Mom, guess what!?

So no sooner had I finished the last post and I'm sitting in the livingroom with my wife. My 6 year old liddle darling comes out of the powder room and announces "Hey Mom - I just peed out of my butt!!

We looked at each other, holding onto the thread of seriousness that hung us precariously away from utter hysterical peals of laughter. My wife says "oh, you still have (insert the "d" word)?"

"Yes, but I'm not doing that anymore Mom."

I wonder if I stirred something up.

Hey Poppa, does this hurt?

The "boys will be boys" thing is interesting. Now that I am thrust into the role of father to 5 boys between ages 6 and 12 I have this ever raucous bunch of minor testosterone wielding beings who are something akin to a small herd of puppies. While at age 55, the more you "rough house" the tired-er you get, for this set the more they rough house the more energy they have...kind of like one of those little friction motored cars where you rub it on the floor to wind it up and -zoom...

A piece or reality hit the other day when my 19 year old left for boot camp. We took him to the airport, and the boys, whose interest in his future was limited to how many time he was actually going to get to shoot the gun, bemoaned on the ride home "who are we going to fight with now?"

Turns out its me.

I'm up to it. With some limits. In the spirit of "never let them see you sweat", I roll around and fling, push, twist, knock, and otherwise take it, always appearing to be invincible. At a time of my choosing, I find a reason to depart the area, find the aspirin, and hope the next round waits till I have recovered my fatherly invincibility.

My son returns in February.

Ok. Ok......

I sat on the beach all day knowing that the time had come - I need to get things wrapped up to move our family of 12 back into the van, the jeep, and the trailer we haul everything in. On the packup-to-go-to-the-beach end it's a bit more complicated, lots of decisions being made as to what to bring, etc. Additionally, there's a constant wondering as to whether everything will fit while leaving room for the fam to sit the 6 hours of the trip. Coming home it is somewhat easier...everything that is left needs to come home, and if we got it here we must have room for it.

Nonetheless, I sat there all day waiting for the moment when I would get started. It was easiest to sit there enjoying the yells and screams and shrieks of the kids and the fun, knowing that if I started the process somehow the vacation would end sooner.

As it turned out, around 4 this afternoon a large, black cloud came from nowhere and cleared everyone off the beach. It rained long enough for me to put the top back on the jeep and for the day to be declared over. As soon as we got started moving crates and passing out jobs the cloud moved off with it's payload of rain and the sun shone.

Message delivered - message received.

We're done.

When pigs fly

So our social engineers are planning to "declare" a pandemic because of the swine flu. It's a prerequisite for them to take control when and where they want to in order to avert the disaster about to be unleashed. Of course, one of the smaller issues is that this flu isn't really that different than most. According to the BBC "Although most sufferers experience normal flu symptoms and make a full recovery, the WHO has confirmed 141 deaths from 27,737 cases."

One hundred forty one deaths out of 27,737 cases? We kill more babies each day in America in the name of choice. Are we stupid?

Since the press blamed the flu vaccine shortage a few years ago on Pres Bush (I guess he brews it in the back room of the oval office), our change President wants to make sure no one blames him. He will use this bent statistic to make federal guarantees for drug companies, who we know only work in the interest of the public, so that they produce enough vaccine whether we need it or not, or whether it works of not. The PR will be good for his survival, since we all know him being sustained in elected office is the objective, and the beneficiary will be the manufacturers, who will be stimulated...both economically and in the voting booth.

Chriat?

So since Daimler couldn't make Chrysler work for them, now Fiat is going to take a shot. It'll be just like them to pull it off. The working man's car that has been the mainstay in Europe forever will be able to do what the snob couldn't, just like the same snob can't compete with the working class cars on the continent. When Fiat seemed to be down and out they pulled it out and are now renowned for their R&D, a fitting place to be as they snap up the bargains of the industry. My '85 Alfa Romeo may be able to see it's younger cousins running around West Virginia soon...!

Can I drive?

I painfully agree to go on the "double" go cart with my 10 year old grand daughter, and worse - I agree to let he drive. After getting her assurance that she wouldn't kill me I then recognized the next difficulty - the passenger seat is not intended for adult men - so I squeeze behind the placebo steering wheel and reach to put on the shoulder belt (realizing more than ever how important it is), finding that it won't close around me due to it's years of use for little kids in the salt air.

I sigh as we prepare to take off.

There is some relief (for my safety) as we take off and she has both feet firmly planted on the gas AND the brake. I tell her (yelling in a coach-like manner) "take your foot off that pedal" and she took it off the gas, stopping us as everyone passes us. Again, in a "coachlike" way I grab the wheel, twisting it toward the inside lane, cutting off someone who has lapped us twice already, instructing her in a not-so-gentle-panic to press the gas as hard as she can and not let up we steer on the inside track and finish second.

Second to the last.

She loved it.