August 7, 2014

I don’t really know where to begin…

I saved a big snapping turtle from certain death.

Harry completed three weeks of swimming lessons and with only 2 exceptions, never got his head wet.

We visited the Toy Train Barn in Argyle, WI.

We discovered a mouse nest in Grandma’s new car…the hard way.

We went to the Circus Parade AND the Circus.

Harry got stung by a ground bee. (So did Miss Margie.)

The moles are back in the yard, with a vengeance.

Harry and I have taken up Yoga and bike riding together.

I didn’t even make it to an interview for the latest posted opening where I have dreamed of working since high school.

(These things are not necessarily listed in order of importance.)

…..

I was driving into The Dells (that’s what us locals call Wisconsin Dells) and I was just passing through Rocky Arbor State Park when I saw a large turtle in the middle of the road.

I avoided running over it, but assumed by it’s slow pace and location on a blind corner, that it would certainly not make it to the other side without some assistance.

I pulled over to the side of the road, got out of the 4Runner and waited until a couple of cars passed before walking out to the middle of the road to assess the situation.

It was a snapping turtle and quite sizable, probably the size of a large dinner plate (buffet style).

I bent over and picked it up, placing my hands on either side of his shell, dead center of his body.

He had some pretty long claws on his feet and a very long tail.  

He was not happy about being plucked from the ground and he struggled against my grasp.

His strength startled me a bit, so I hurried to the edge of the road and dropped him down.

He turned his head and opened his mouth sort of hissing at me, snapping his jaws together.

I realized then that I had only placed him adjacent to the road, still too close to passing traffic.

I quickly picked him back up (struggling against my grasp again) and put him down in the grass leading to a pond, certainly where he had intended to go in the first place.

He opened his mouth and snapped at me again.

That’s gratitude for you.

I was pleased to see that upon my return trip by the same route, that he was no where to be seen, hoping that he had returned to the water where he belonged and would stay out of traffic at least for some time to come.

…..

Harry attended three weeks of swimming lessons and if not for the two times that he was under water involuntarily, he would have completed the course never having gotten his head wet.

It was the second week of classes and the teacher (and two other assisting instructors) were helping the children learn the front float using a noodle for buoyancy. The noodle slipped from the teacher’s hands and Harry went into the water, face and head first.

She grabbed him quickly from under the surface, got down into the 3 feet of water so that she was face to face with him and made certain that he was o.k.

She was calmly talking to him and asking him questions to distract him.

He made a quick recovery and continued with the lesson.

The teacher remarked that he was “a good little soldier.”

When I asked him later how it felt to put his head under water, Harry said “It was scary.”

He couldn’t wait to tell Grandma about it, but left out a few details of just how his head got under water in the first place.

It was the third and final week of swimming lessons, when Harry went under water again.

It was about mid-way through the 30 minute lesson, when they were mounting the noodles between their legs (to use as horses) for a race. I was watching from behind the fence with the other parents.

All three instructors had their backs turned to Harry, when the noodle got the best of him and he went under.

NO ONE was watching him.

I screamed his name, “Harry!”

Nothing happened.

I screamed again, “Harry!” …like a banshee at a volume that I did not even know that I was capable of.

Nothing happened.

I screamed a third time before the instructors finally turned to see Harry flailing about and plucked him from under the water.

Three instructors in the water with those children and none of them were really paying attention to the children.

At least all of the children.

I had talked with one of the other parents earlier in the week and we had agreed that those young women (the instructors) were a little too chatty with one another when their eyes should be glued to the little ones in the pool.

There are 800 child deaths from drowning each year.  It takes as little as 20 seconds to drown.

My heart was beating out of my chest.

The instructor, down in the pool again on Harry’s level, asked him repeatedly if he was o.k.

He wanted to race his horse (the noodle that had probably taken him under to begin with).

All three instructors, suddenly paying rapt attention to my son, told him that they would help him.

Harry told them over and over again...3 times, “I want to do it by myself.” 

And he did.

He rode his noodle horse to the end of the pool. 

All by himself.

When the lesson was over, the lead instructor apologized to me “from the bottom of her heart.” 

I apologized to the young woman for screaming, but I added quickly that I was “behind a fence, my child was under water and all three of your backs were turned on him.”

She repeated her apology.

You’d think that something like that would make an impression, but the next day the young women were chatting with one another again, just as they had the day before and the day before that.

I met Harry after his noodle horse adventure, wrapped in his thick towel, outside the boys locker room, gave him a BIG hug and asked him if he was o.k.

“Next time I have to ask for help or I’ll sink,” he said.

And he smiled his little Harry smile.

Sigh.

…..

Mom had researched and found the Toy Train Barn online some time ago.  

When we were unable to go the Circus model train show without paying full admission to the Circus itself, we decided to make the drive to Argyle, WI in order to satiate Harry’s appetite for model trains.

It wasn’t really that far away, about an hour and 45 minutes, but it seemed longer because of the smell that was assaulting our noses from the front of Mom's car.

I told her that she most certainly had something dead under the hood. Whether it was one of the squirrels that we constantly see darting from the garage or a mouse that we thought we had rid the garage of, I was not sure.

She said she was due for an oil change and would have the mechanics check the car for any animal that might have met its demise under the hood.

The Toy Train Barn was a full-size barn and a full-size occupation for the owners it seemed.

There were hundreds of model trains, displayed and running on elaborate tracks through even more elaborate surroundings, including train stations, fairs, construction sites, an outdoor movie theatre, parks and playgrounds, parking lots, a zoo and very detailed buildings comprising cities.

And the stories, told by the wife of the master of the railway, were even more elaborate.

She explained how she’d come home one day to find the microwave missing from the kitchen, bath towels missing from the bathroom, and miscellaneous other motorized appliances disassembled and missing key parts.

Her husband was using the parts to build an animated miniature world in the big red barn.

And that it was.

Almost everything, in every scene, moved.

The Ferris Wheel and the Carousel spun; the elevators on the buildings went up and down; the fire department shot real water at a burning house; a plane flew overhead; cars moved around a race track.

Harry’s favorite was the Amtrak passenger train.

No matter what I introduced to him in scene after scene, displaying antique trains, miniature trains, steam trains, diesel trains, even Thomas the Train, he kept returning to the Amtrak.

He was, however, also very interested in the small scale train track and train that encircled the property.

The Toy Train Barn, Argyle, WI.

I explained to him that normally the train would give children rides, but that the engine that pulled those cars needed new wheels and the owners just couldn’t afford to buy them just yet. 

So it just sat on the track for now.

They assured us that it would be back up and running in 3 months or so.

All in all, a fun day.

Well…except for that pungent smell, of course.

…..

Mom was due for an oil change and certainly wanted to investigate that smell emanating from the engine, so she called the dealership for an appointment.

They were fairly booked up, so she asked me if I could take it over to Baraboo while she was working.

I agreed.

Miss Margie was closed for a day of school that week, the same day of the appointment, so Harry and I set off to pick up Mom’s car at work and take it for the oil change and the investigation of the smell.

We parked our car alongside Mom’s.  I transferred Harry’s car seat from the Toyota, fastened him in and went around the back of the car to the driver’s side.

It was one of the hottest heat index days of the summer (well over 100 degrees) and the car had been sitting outside in direct sunlight for several hours already that day.

I opened the driver’s door, quickly sat down…and just as quickly (after taking one short breath) started to wretch. 

The smell was nearly unbearable.

I sat back down, started the car, put all the windows down and quickly set off so that we could get some fresh air moving around the interior.

As long as we were moving, it wasn’t terrible.

Well, actually…it was terrible.

Harry fell asleep on the way to Baraboo (a 20-30 minute drive) and since he hadn’t had a chance to nap that day, I wanted him to stay asleep as long as possible.

We were a couple of hours early for the 4:30 p.m. appointment, so I drove around the neighborhoods of Baraboo, with Harry sound asleep in the back seat.

When he finally woke, about an hour later, I drove straight to the dealership to beg them for an earlier appointment.

I greeted the guy behind the counter with a big smile saying that we had come early in hopes of an opening in the schedule or a cancellation?

“No,” he responded gruffly. “Nothing open.”

I told him that the smell was awful, that we had had to drive all the way there with all of the windows down just to be able to tolerate being in the car.

The guy behind the counter looked over to another fellow sitting behind the counter, they exchanged a few words, something like “up to you,” and we were in.

Curious.

Waiting patiently.

And waiting still...

Almost an hour and a half later, a muscled, tattooed and pierced greasy mechanic came to the waiting room to give me the news.

They had found a mouse nest.  “Been there awhile,” he explained.

It was behind something called the cowl, under the windshield?

Then he screwed up his face, wrinkled his nose and spoke haltingly about the discovery.

“It was disgusting."

"Dead and decaying mice."

"Maggots."

"We did the best we could. They ate the air filter. Need to replace it,” he explained.

Then he added, quite possibly so that he was certain that I truly recognized the import of what he was saying, “It was really disgusting.”

They had sprayed the area with a deodorizer and advised that the windows be kept down on our return trip to dissipate some of that smell.

I was just grateful that we could breathe again…inside the car.

We returned to Mom and gave her the news.

“…My new car…” she sighed.

When I had my oil changed in the 4Runner a couple of days later, I asked the mechanic to check for any signs of mice.

I had to have my air filter replaced too.  Seems that mice had been munching on that, but thankfully hadn’t built any semi-permanent home in my truck.

Country living.

Sigh.

…..

Harry celebrated Circus Week at Miss Margie’s along with two of his little classmates, Emma and Valerie. 

Harry was Ring Master. (Mommy made the hat and costume.)

The Circus has strong roots in Baraboo, the actual home of the Ringling Brothers.

The history is quite fascinating, really.

According to Wikipedia and the Ringling Brothers Circus historical page on its own website, the Ringling Brothers Circus was founded in the US in 1884 by five of the seven Ringling Brothers: Albert, August, Otto, Alfred, Charles, John and Henry.

When the Ringling Brothers began their first circus in 1884 in Baraboo, WI, they united with a famous showman named Yankee Robinson. They traveled the Midwest performing their one ring circus.

By the late 1880s, the circus had established itself as one of the largest and best-run circuses in the country.

Each of the brothers had their own jobs to do each day: Alfred publicized the circus, Gus arranged advertising, placing posters of animals and bright colors several days before the circus came, Al picked the acts, Charles produced the show, Otto was the treasurer, and John supervised transportation. Even though some jobs may have been harder than others, the Ringlings always split the money they earned equally. 

In 1889 two of the brothers went to Philadelphia where they purchased railroad cars and parade equipment. With this change in transportation the circus was no longer limited to moving only 15 to 20 miles a night, and could now skip the really small towns that contained a limited audience in order to play larger towns day after day, greatly increasing the average revenue

In 1907 the brothers purchased the Barnum & Bailey Circus and ran the two circuses separately until they merged them into one unit in 1919, when they also moved the winter quarters to Bridgeport, Connecticut.

The glory days.

As the glory days of the great railroad circuses began to fade, John M. Kelley, personal attorney for the Ringling brothers, who had retired to Baraboo, saw the need to preserve the colorful history of the circus. To this end he joined forces with members of the Gollmar Family, first cousins to the Ringlings and circus owners themselves. The team incorporated Circus World Museum as a historical and educational facility in 1954. Following Circus World’s opening on July 1, 1959, the site was deeded debt-free to the State Historical Society of Wisconsin.

What began in 1959 with less than an acre of land, six old circus wagons and a boatload of passion, has now become an internationally recognized and respected institution encompassing 64 acres, 30 permanent structures, seven winter quarters buildings along Water Street, plus the Ringling Bros. Circus Train shed complex. Circus World is Wisconsin’s National Treasure.

Harry and I have gone to two Ringling Bros. and Barnum & Bailey Circuses in Boston. 

They were enormous, 3-rings performing simultaneously at times, held in the Boston Garden.

A massive production.

They were filled with energy. And even chaotic as each ring featured a performance.

The Baraboo Circus was…quaint.

It’s as I would have imagined it started out so many years ago, on this, its 130th anniversary. 

One ring. A small one.

Not much sparkle or pizzaz. 

No fancy lighting or grand illusions to confuse and excite.

Just a little circus performance in a big red and white tent, situated along the Baraboo River.

There was one clown, two elephants, a balance act and some acrobatics, prancing ponies and hoop-jumping canines (all rescue dogs from the shelter).

Harry got his face painted like a cat, his latest fascination.

Harry the cat.

He liked the bouncy house and the playground the best, things that you, of course, don’t have to attend the Circus for.

It was a customer appreciation day, so admission was free and they served a sack lunch.

All in all, another fun day.

…..

I had just pulled in the driveway at Miss Margie’s as the garage door opened.  

I got out of the 4Runner and walked toward the entrance.

Harry came out of the house and into the garage…crying and holding his leg.

Miss Margie had just texted me, but I’d left my phone at home on the charger.

The text read: 

Just to forewarn you…Harry and I just got stung by a bee.  He’s crying. They came out of the ground under the prickly Barberry Bush.

Anyone who has ever encountered ground bees, knows the pain of their sting.

Everything I’ve read online, however, says the ground bee is calm in nature and not at all aggressive…unless they feel they are being threatened, which I think is quite easily done.

Harry, Miss Margie and Valerie were in the front yard playing when Miss Margie stomped the ground very near that prickly Barberry Bush.

I’m assuming the bees took that to be a threat, because they came out stinging. 

While Valerie ran into the house and escaped the female bee’s wrath (only female ground bees sting), both Miss Margie and Harry were stung.  

Harry on his left calf.  Miss Margie on the ankle.

The pain of the sting came in waves.

I loaded Harry into the 4Runner for the short drive home.

I had brought along his favorite after school snack surprise, Madellines from Starbucks.

He would take a bite or two and then the pain of the sting would return and cause him to burst into tears again.

Then another bite, tears rolling down his cheeks, and soon another mournful cry, “Owwww, Mommy.”  

His little eyes pleading with me to do something.

Harry has become a little bit dramatic about injuries lately.  When he was running down the sidewalk in front of Grandma and I as we searched for a spot to put our folding chairs to watch the Circus parade, Harry fell and scraped his knee.

He cried.

And then he claimed that he couldn’t walk. No matter what I tried, he would not unfold his legs or even put weight on either leg for that matter.

I had to carry him all the way to our parade-watching spot, near the front of the salon where Mom gets her hair done.

He sat on my lap for the hour or so that we waited for the parade to start, and continued on my lap through the entire parade.

One of many incredible old circus wagons.

Marching clowns.

When the parade was over and we wanted to walk to the town square to see some of the activities, Harry would still not unbend his knees to walk.

He was crouched down, knees bent, dragging his little feet across the ground as he held my hand for balance.

He moaned as he took each small step.

We got such looks of pity from passers by, their eyebrows knit together in empathy. 

I’m certain that most people thought that was Harry’s permanent condition.

We finally made it to the square after several minutes, just a block away from our parade spot.

And then…we experienced a miracle.

Harry saw the 4 or 5 bouncy houses set up on the grass. Other children running and jumping.

Suddenly, both legs were miraculously healed.

The recovery lasted only until he was finished bouncing and we returned to the car.  

I had to carry him into the house when we got home. 

“I can’t walk, Mommy.” He whispered through new tears and a pained expression.

It was a similarly dramatic situation following the bee sting.  

He kept his hand over the sting and wouldn’t let me see it, much less put anything on it like ice or a sliced onion.

Grandma Nelson, my father’s mother, used to say that a slice of raw onion took the sting away.

Harry sat for hours in the corner chair, his hand covering the sting, until it was time for bed.

“The bee should say sorry,” he said, his eyes red from crying, more tears streaming down his cheeks.

He showed it briefly to Grandma when she got home from work. Much more than he would do for me. 

When it came time to go upstairs to bed, I had to carry him just like I used to when he was a little baby, up all the stairs and to his bed.

He’d forgotten about it in the morning, but when Grandma asked about it he said, “It feels better.”

He was able to walk and later to run…but he grabbed my hand as we approached the prickly Barberry Bush along the sidewalk leading to Miss Margie’s front door.

Better safe than sorry.

…..

The moles are back in the yard with a vengeance.

There isn’t much more to say than that.

All our efforts…the mole chasers; the sonic sounding and flashing spikes; the solar vibrators…

The moles don’t seem to mind any of them.

And since Mom won’t allow a more permanent solution…I accept defeat.

…..

Before Harry was born, I was doing Hot Yoga (yoga in a really hot and really humid room), usually packed with other sweaty people.

I would take the Red Line from work all the way to almost the other end of the line to take a 90 minute yoga class.

It kicked my butt, as they say.

It was incredibly cleansing…and exhausting all at the same time.

But when it was over, it felt great. I felt great.

I haven’t been getting that much exercise here, not like I used to when I walked and took the train to work and then walked all over the city with Harry on weekends.

I’ve been having some trouble with my hip too.  It’s really painful at night when I’m horizontal. It keeps popping out of where it’s supposed to be and that irritates the entire area.

I’ve gone to a chiropractor a few times and he sets it straight for a little while, but then it’s right back out of where it’s supposed to be again.

I can feel it (and hear it) pop with each step I take.

Icing it helps, but exercise is the real cure.

So, to that end, I bought a Yoga mat (of course, I have several Yoga mats in storage) and have started practicing again.

There are all sorts of proven benefits from Yoga, not the least of which is strength conditioning (elongating your muscles) and peace of mind.

It helps your posture.  It can help you lose weight and maintain the loss.

I know that Yoga is great in the morning to wake your body from the a sleepy fog, but it’s been great for me right before bed.

It’s stretching and strengthening the area around my hip and I sleep better, without all the pain.

The first night I started, Harry was right there with me and has been ever since.

He imitated my every move and kept the pace too.

He helps me count to hold poses and then he suggests and demonstrates new poses, giving them each a name that he’s made up himself.

If it’s getting late and I haven’t mentioned Yoga, Harry will remind me that it’s time.

It makes me smile…doing Yoga with my son.

Maybe it will be something that he continues as he grows.

Or maybe he’ll invent his own version of Yoga, just like his Godfather Essdras did back in Boston.

…..

Harry and I have also taken up biking.

I was going through a tough stretch mentally…still am from time to time.

Feeling starved intellectually.

Feeling isolated from friends and colleagues.

Feeling very humbled by this whole process of being unemployed and searching for a new job.

Feeling a little panicked about money and the future.

Feeling frustrated.

Feeling bored.

I needed something, in addition to the Yoga, that would give my mind a rest.

To calm me and my thoughts.

My brother has been doing a lot of biking in Chicago and he’s said that it’s really helped him to clear his thoughts, relax a little and enjoy his surroundings.

I had gone with him, the last time he visited, to a bike shop in Baraboo called The Wildside. He had brought his bike and he needed a new tire tube and a tune up.

The fellows there were really great; friendly, genuine, very knowledgable and just plain nice.

After a lot of thought (and running the idea by my Mother…even at 54, I’m still concerned about what she might think and I didn’t want her to think I was being irresponsible by spending money on a bike right now), I bought a bike. 

And something called a Trail Along for Harry to ride.

I’d done a lot of research about how to take Harry with me, so that this could be something that we do together. He was just outgrowing the little trailers that you tow behind. The many other devices that attach to the adult’s bike just didn’t seem safe.

Our bike(s).

The Trail Along is a half-bike (the back half…with a wheel, chain, pedals and seat) that connects onto the seat post of my bike with a long metal arm.

Harry can peddle, or not.

I do all the work and it’s not too bad pulling him along.

Wisconsin is beautiful countryside.

Bucolic.

There are hundreds of little country roads to explore.

There are lots and lots and lots of hills too.

Harry and I are building up our endurance, almost every day, riding farther than we did before.

He loves it.

I have a little rear view mirror, so I can watch him riding behind me.

We can talk easily and he likes to sing when we ride.

I love that I can take him with me, and I love that I can just take off during the day and enjoy the view…rest my brain and breathe just a little bit more easily.

…..

August is a difficult time to find a new job.

Not that any other month has been easier, but it seems that most of the business world takes vacation in August.  

The job postings slow down and budgeting season begins.

Everyone starts to panic about how to keep costs flat. 

I still check the usual places…every…single…day.

Websites that are specific to journalism, publishing, media and communications. 

Websites for every single magazine that uses photographs well.

Websites for government jobs.

Non Profit websites.

Online versions of everything I can think of.

I get a minimum of one hundred job search listings in email alerts every day from sites where I’ve created a profile, that I sift through laboriously. 

I’d say 90% of them aren’t useful and the other 10% are repeated over and over again in each of the alerts.

I’ve got 25 of them in my inbox right now.

Every once in a while there will be a listing that intrigues me, but those are infrequent at best.

I read article after article about writing a cover letter with impact, how to “stand out from the crowd,” how to “ace” an interview. How to update your resume with “key words” that recruiters search for.

I try to make a concrete contact with someone “in the business” each day.

Send an email, connect on LinkedIn…something to keep me literally “connected” to the world that I want to get back to.

I didn’t even make it to an interview for the latest posting at the organization where I have dreamed of working since high school.

That was really heartbreaking…

Everybody here tries to buoy my spirits by saying that there is something out there for me and that it will become clear soon.

It’s always the timing of things in life that has frustrated me.

Things I want, not happening on my schedule.

I can be very patient with Harry, but very impatient about circumstances.

That may just be another of the seemingly hundreds of lessons I’m learning right now.