As our thoughts are with Diane right now I am compelled to think of her thoughts.  I enjoy the blog comments as much as the entries.  Diane, being the keen observer she is, preferred commenting to posting. Here is a smattering, in no particular order, of her wit and wisdom.  I wish I was clever enough to link them properly with their posts, but I’m not.  So I just put the name of the post with the comment.

This first one is my very favorite and gives me food for thought still:

Desert Latitudes:  1/24/05

Peter taught me the difference between boundaries and borders, and I have never been the same.

I think this whole conversation has been about borders. Boundaries simply make us different and valuable and permeable in our differences; borders divide us. Sometimes a fence can be a boundary, sometimes a border; we choose.
Michael showed me a letter to the editor in the Boston Globe, which quoted a mantra in recovery, “Identify, don’t compare.” Boundaries lead to empathy and identification, borders to comparison and competition.
I’m for boundaries, for Peter’s comments, for Indian givers.

Comment by di: fan of boundaries — January 29, 2005 @ 8:46 pm 

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Hey You!:  4/22/07  In response to the poem “Poem about My Rights” by June Jordan:

Hil, Did you get to listen to her reading her own, her own, her own poem? What a powerful use of language and of her own voice. Thanks, Hil, and thank your teacher. I am going to carry this lesson to the anorexic girls I work with, whose bodies are not good enough to go out in without changing, because they are the wrong …..and it’s not good enough that it’s their own.

Comment by anon — April 25, 2007 @ 5:54 pm

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Dirty Dishes: 2/16/05

I don’t know half the people commenting so why should I care who I’m talking too. I feel I have more license to step on toes (obviously) when my real name isn’t there. If I choose to be known I’ll use real name. I like the cleverness of the pseudo’s. No need to turn the blog into a red state. Speaking of which: http://slate.msn.com/id/2103764 Clever.

Comment by anon — February 17, 2005 @ 4:41 pm

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Cell Phone etiquette:  12/4/06

I find all cellphone usage a subsonic aural irritation.

However, I find people talking a subsonic aural irritation, so maybe I am just subsonically irritable.

Comment by anon — December 8, 2006 @ 10:02 am

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 One Horrific Day:  1/20/07

Awful, Chris, for all concerned. What ever happened to the safe and secure childhood? Was it a myth to begin with? In any case, I’m sorry that you and your kids and your town and our world offers everyone so much horror to deal with. Hope normalcy resumes soon so that the kids remember that events like this are the sad exception, not the rule.

Comment by anon — January 20, 2007 @ 8:07 pm

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 Hot Pockets:  2/25/06

Dear HHWH,
The plane on the tarmac doesn’t look so little, but it doesn’t go so high. Instead of saying, “We’ve reached our cruising altitude of 500 feet,” the pilot says, “We are now beginning our descent into the St. Cloud area.” My trip was painless, except for the loss of my suitcase. They haven’t found it yet, but my guess is it went on to Anchorage with the plane from Boston.
Thank you for the flowers and the news and the story about the nickel-hydride batteries (Honey, why did you put them in your pocket?) and the public acknowledgement of affection. 

Love, H:WW

Comment by Homefront — February 25, 2006

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The Malcolm Miller Family Prowler:  2/16/06

Isn’t Helen something, counting on her soundly sleeping self and her little posse to fend off intruders? I would have anxiously called the locksmith to install dead bolts on all the doors and windows, all the time deploring the society of fear and over-reaction to stupid things and under-reaction to huge wrongs that we condone. (Hotel Rwanda via Netflix did me in.)

Comment by homefront:waiting wife — February 16, 2006

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Thanks, Halo:  2/15/06

Halo was the last friend Patti made. I will always value her for her constant love.

Comment by homefront:waiting wife — February 16, 2006

“As we remember James, we hope for peace, strength and courage to rise above the sadness and confusion.”

This afternoon at Lincoln-Sudbury there was a rememberance ceremony for the boy who was killed at the high school on January 19. In the three weeks that have gone by the kids at that school have truly risen to the occasion, and things have gone back to normal as much as they possibly can. I didn’t quite know what to expect during the service, and the reason I went, besides being part of the service, was because my son plays in the concert band (as did James) and I wanted to see him. I didn’t see him, I was in the wrong seat, but my other son, Matthew, who was next to me claimed he saw Michael’s head. I believe him.

With a picture of a young James projected on a large screen, the service began with Katie Lee Crane, Minister of the First Parish Church in Sudbury telling us to remember what happened that day. Where we were when it happened, how we heard the news, words that were exchanged…I knew him…I didn’t know him…What if it was me…I’m glad it wasn’t me…I can’t believe this happened…I wish this never happened. I have to say she cut to the core very quickly and I didn’t expect it. Then the concert band played a fittingly somber version of Amazing Grace. I wish I knew who did the clarinet solo, she was so moving.

Two teachers and a student got up to speak and things got very intense. The first teacher, who is Michael’s social studies teacher, Ms. Meskoob, got as far as saying she knew how much she loved her students but didn’t know how much so until she lost one. Then she broke down completely, leaving James’ Spanish teacher to read what she had written. Dan, James friend, put his arm around Ms. Meskoob. Very touching moment. Each of them said something from each of James’ teachers…their last interactions with him, the type of student he was. And everyone talked about his smile…how he enjoyed a good laugh. Most heartening was when Dan read remembrances that students handed in about James. James was a Patriots fan and was excited about the upcoming Patriots Colts game, which he never lived to see. Another talked of his helping them with homework in Science and Math, of which he was an excellent student. The overall impression I got was that James was a quiet, kind kid who smiled easily and took things in. There were several that he read and frankly I don’t know how he got through it. But he did. Once Ms. Meskoob regained her composure she said some closing words. By this point we were all sobbing, but only I had a 10 year old next to me patting my back.

The minister then offered a moment of quiet time to “reflect on what we are feeling at this moment”. It was helpful as it gave us a chance to catch our breath. She invited anyone up to say something they might want to say. This part was kind of creepy. This boy got up and he looked just like the killer except he didn’t wear glasses. The killer’s name is Jack and this kids name was Jack. He said they were in Spanish class together and he didn’t know him that well but wished he had. His words were nice but his resemblance to the boy who did it took my breath away. And then the minister asked us to remember that losing James wasn’t the only tragedy in this. That Jack was a tragic figure as well and we need to remember him and his family right now. And to think about what circumstances in his life allowed for this to happen. The service closed with the Band playing something called “Aeries’ Theme” from Final Fantasy, which was a favorite of James’.

Afterward there was a reception and I got a chance to speak with Dr. Ritchie, our stellar superintendant/principal, and thank him for all he’s done. Boy has he aged in 3 weeks. He said he couldn’t take credit…he gave the credit to teachers and parents and of course his students. He chatted with my Matthew for a little bit “Which school are you in” he asked. “Peter Noyes Elementary, 5th grade” answered efficient Matthew, which brought a smile to Dr. R’s face. “We’ll see you in 4 years”.

On the way back to the car, Michael pointed out the bathroom it happened in. I could envision the scenario, as it was off the beaten path a little bit, next to a girls room and a utility closet with the library nearby. Not many classrooms nearby. I could see where it would be an abandoned area at 7:20 in the morning. “There were teachers standing here and here” Michael pointed out to us, “you couldn’t come down here”. Matthew shrugged. We all looked at the floor as if there still might be evidence laying around. To anyone walking into that school it would be just another hallway.

And so closes another chapter. There were no family members of James there. They have kept such a low profile through this whole thing. No negative comments to the press or anything to the press for that matter. ‘How do they get up every day’ a mother asked me as we were walking out. I said they have no choice, they have two other children they are raising. But it’s a valid question…when the shock eventually wears off, and the cards stop coming in, and the press goes away, then what? I suppose that’s when the grieving begins and gravity kicks in and you go on just because that’s what you do.

La Rad

To put it mildly….

Friday (yesterday), I dropped Michael off at school as is our usual routine at about 7:40 AM. When I was driving back home, there were police, ambulances the whole nine yards heading back in the direction I had just left. I never thought something happened at the High School, as I was just there and all seemed normal.

Michael called me at 9:00 AM as I was on my way out the door to bring Matthew to school. He said someone was stabbed in the boys bathroom. I said do you want me to come get you. He said the school was in lockdown and I couldn’t come get him. At that point, the kids didn’t know who the boys were that were involved or if the stabber was still in the building. An hour later my neighbor called and said the boy who was stabbed had died and they were releasing the kids. He came home somewhat shell shocked. He said they were all in the cafeteria for one hour, then the gym for another hour, then dismissed, with little information. It wasn’t until we saw the press conference that we got names. He was in the same grade with the boy who died but he was new to Sudbury and Michael didn’t know him. He didn’t know the stabber boy either. That boy is on the cover of the major newspapers today, as is his victim.

Everytime they said “15 year old Freshman at Lincoln-Sudbury High School…” I disassociated.

Very tragic for both families. The family of the boy that died, whose name is James, just moved here from Natick. I’m guessing they moved here for the school system. Horrible. The other boy has some serious special needs and doesn’t live in Sudbury, he attended the school through an outreach program. I have not gone anywhere in town, as I’m sure this is all that’s being discussed. Nothing like having the fact that no one is safe -anywhere -ever –brought right to your school’s boys room. Adding to the creepiness of it is that this episode took place in East House…the school is divided into four houses. Michael’s house is East House. It’s probably the bathroom he uses when he uses it. There was another kid in another stall as this was taking place. The stabber boy went into the East House office, blood on his hands yelling “it was an accident”. A knife to the abdomen, heart and slashing of someone’s throat. Quite an accident. I feel so sorry for that kid too. Two lives over. He turned himself in without incident.

To the school’s credit, they did an EXCELLENT job containing those kids, telling them not to talk to the press and getting them out of there in an orderly fashion. Kudos to all of them for keeping our kids safe and for their compassion when I’m sure inside they felt the same feeling I did when Michael called to say someone had been stabbed. They brought hall monitors over from local schools (7 from Acton) to be on the safe side. As it turns out, the school JUST, two days ago, did a Lockdown training session. Prescient?

I am in an altered state by this. I am grateful he didn’t know either boy as that would make it ten times worse. After he came home yesterday he was either texting, IM’ing or on his cell all afternoon. I figure that’s his therapy. Networking. I asked him how he thought school would be come Monday and he said it would probably be very sad. “On one hand, a kid got killed there. But it’s still school.” They have grief counselors there this weekend. I asked him if he felt the need to go he said “No, but you can”. My wise son.

As for Matthew…he informed me he is never using the bathroom at school again.

I wonder what Monday will bring. Probably metal detectors.

While I am by no means comparing, I cannot fathom how Columbine recovered.

By Chris

So my neighbor, Wayne, rings my doorbell this morning. Fortunately not only was I dressed but my tooth was in.

“Your chimney has separated from your house” he says to me. “The top could fall off”.

I didn’t need to finish my cup of coffee as that little piece of news was enough of a jolt. I put my shoes on and followed him across the street to his house to look up at my roof. Keep in mind I don’t have my glasses on, but even without them I could see the leaning tower of pisa that is my chimney. Wayne took down the little house that was across the street from my house and is putting a new little Victorian house up. (which, by the way, he felt compelled to show me the plans for. What is it about people building a new home and their compulsion to show you the damn plans. Can I read a house plan? I said to his girlfriend, also a realtor like Wayne is, “he likes to show his plans…I saw them when he first did them” to which she responded “you’re the one whose going to be looking at the house all the time, I should think you’d want to see the plans”. Well then. After she explained the whole house to me “our bay window will face directly to your driveway”…hint, hint, get out a broom once in a while, all I could think to ask was “what color will it be”. “Beige and barn red”. “That’s nice”.). But I stray. The contractor putting up the new house was the one who noticed the chimney and brought it to Wayne’s attention so he could tell me.

Keep in mind this is the chimney that is attached to my wood stove, which I use all the time. Had I lit a fire, we could have gone up in smoke, because the fire would go up the chimney and no doubt attach itself to my roof.

As we stand looking at my little roof, Wayne says to me “you can see where you are missing flashing”. Do I know what the hell flashing is? Why is he speaking in a foreign language? Apparently it was this loss of flashing that caused the chimney to separate. Who knew.

Wayne: “When your husband comes home he can borrow my ladder so he can go up there and take a look”. Chris: “Have you met my husband?”

So Wayne brought his ladder out, climbed up it (this is when I was given “the plans” to look at) and observed the hole that is there. “It doesn’t go through the attic but still you could get rain damage..I can put a tarp over the space for you”. He needed bungee cords to adhere the tarp to the top of the chimney. “I have bungee cords” I express with glee as I can actually do something to help. He was already on my roof with the tarp when I emerged with the bungee cords. “Throw them up here” he says to me. The first one made it up there fine. The second two were victims of my girly throw and ended up in the bushes. “I’ll come down” he says to me.

So now I have a tarp on my roof. Wayne said I need to call a mason. The girlfriend, who in her profession is present at home inspections, told me I need our other chimney repaired as well. Wayne said no she doesn’t. The girlfriend (who I’m sure has a name) points out that this other chimney is also a bit crooked and I’ll be damned if she wasn’t right. Then the girlfriend told me my shingles are beginning to curl and within a few years I’ll need a new roof. “Start a kitty now for the roof” she says to me. I have a kid going to college next year, there will be no new roofs. I wanted to ask what else have you observed over here at my house but I was afraid she’d answer me so I didn’t.

We are not a couple who spend time working outside of our house. We pay people to “mow our lawn” which in fact isn’t even a lawn…it is dirt with crab grass. We put new windows in last year and have still not re-painted the outside trim. Needless to say we never look up at our chimneys. While I appreciate my life and those of my family and pets being spared by fire, thoughts of elderly housing become very appealing and I wonder if we are too young to apply. I can dress for dinner every night, I don’t mind.

So there you have it. My kids college fund is now literally going up the chimney. If anyone knows a good mason, please pass the name along.

Chris
Here is little Dash in his new home.

Last night, due to thunder and lightening all night, we were up quite a bit. He kept barking in his crate, so I’d take him outside or come downstairs with him. Finally Mark said, at 3AM when I brought the dog in our room and that little thing growled at my cat, “just let him bark”. ( Brought back memories of when Matthew was 7 months old and we were transitioning him to a crib. “just let him cry” said Mark then too) And so we put him back in his crate and he finally stopped barking after a half hour. No accidents at all in the house. He is quite a snuggle bunny with such an expressive face. I was singing to him today and he got the same look humans get when I sing…a very judgemental please stop as he cocked his head back and forth. He knows the word “no” and will stop doing whatever he’s doing when he hears it.

He and Belle are getting along but my poor Midnight. The cat has been under furniture all day today hiding from all of us. He’s disgusted with this new addition. I think the puppy has never seen a cat before as this is the only being that has induced a growl from him. It’s such a girly growl compared to Belle, but it’s enough to get the cat’s back up. There are noises coming from my cat I’ve never heard. He growls too. I don’t know how to make this better and am hoping the vet has some good suggestions. We didn’t let the cat out today because we were afraid he wouldn’t come back. And it’s so damn hot to boot.

I hope tonight brings a more restful sleep. Mark likes the puppy, but he likes his cat better and doesn’t appreciate having to look under furniture for him.

As Michael has mentioned I had a slight mishap a couple of weeks ago. And as Michael sometimes does (!) he has asked for documentation. So here goes.

I heard the break. The same sound that delights one as a child when we crack our knuckles. Only louder. It was 8:15 AM and I was going (rushing, trotting) down the stairs I have been going down for nearly 12 years (who knew I needed more practice). It was just me and my Matthew and he had a much looked forward to field trip to the Butterfly Museum that day. I was rushing because I had to get his lunch packed, something I never do as he prefers to buy lunch. Anyway, his backpack was downstairs and this was my destination. My left foot slipped third step from the bottom and my right leg went under me. As I say I heard the break. I also felt heat rising from my legs on up. I asked Matthew to get me an ice pack at which point I passed out. I didn’t think you could pass out when you were in a seated position but apparently you can. I came to with Matthew standing over me screaming “Mom, Mom, Mom”. Did I mention I heard the break? I told Matthew to go to the phone and call his grandmother as I didn’t want him calling 911 because I knew it would scare him. Lo and behold, there is no dial tone. I thought my phone was out of order but in fact the teen-age daughter had left a phone off the hook the previous night, which wouldn’t be figured out until much later when it didn’t matter anymore. So, panic setting in and my ankle turning into a softball, I had to ask Matthew to find my cell phone. When it was unfindable I needed him to go the neighbors. He went to two houses and came back, sobbing, saying that no one answered the door. So I sent him across the street to the people we don’t know well and the next thing I hear an adult male in my house saying “hello, does someone need help”. “I’m down here (literally)” I reply. He went in my freezer and with Matthew’s help locating plastic bags, gave me ice for my ankle. He tells me his name is Greg. I tell him I’m Chris. I ask Greg to call my cell phone so at least we located it. But at the bottom of my stairs I had no reception, so it was a moot point. He called my mother-in-law who, as she has done countless times in our adult lives, came to the rescue. Greg left and it was me and Matthew. “Mom, did I miss the bus?” he asked me as he was pacing around with his backpack on his back. “Yes you did Matthew. But I promise we’ll make it up to you and take you to the Butterfly Museum ourselves”. “I want to go to school” he replied. This poor kid desperately needed things to be normal while his mother, in pain but if I say so myself holding it together quite well, was on the floor unable to move. I hugged him. He asked me if I needed anything. A wet, cold face cloth I replied. He brought it to me. In the meantime I dialed Mark’s number at work and sent Matthew upstairs to actually place the call and tell Daddy to come home. Which he very calmly did. My mother-in-law arrived and called 911. It must have been a tremendous relief for Matthew when Nana came as he disappeared from the downstairs as fast as he could. Ambulances, etc, arrived immediately. By the way, when you call 911 from a cell phone the state police come as well. Who knew.

So now these lovely paramedics who cannot possibly be paid enough to do everything they do got me upstairs in a stair chair. Quite unnerving for both them and me. I gave a shout goodbye out to Matthew and told him I was going to be fine. He yelled goodbye from behind a closed door. He later told me that he watched them all come in the house but he just couldn’t watch them take me out of the house “it would have added to my stress”. I told him that even Batman had to stay in the Bat cave sometimes and it was quite alright.

So off I go in the back of the ambulance, clutching the face cloth that Matthew had given me. I was in the hands of driver Bobby and Frank, who gave me a bucket as the ride was making me nauseous. While I was waiting to be x-rayed Mark showed up. This is when I finally fell apart. I told him how brave Matthew had been and he said when he got to the house Matthew had given him a big hug and grilled him about what his where-abouts would be the rest of the day. An ER doctor came and started to question me on what happened. Upon hearing that I passed out, and making sure that I passed out after the fall and not before the fall, the conversation went as follows:

ER Doc: “Have you ever passed out from pain before”
Me: “no. I’ve never passed out before”
Mark (from across the room where I was sure he had glazed over): “yes you have”.
Me: “I have?”
Mark: “yes, that time in that class”

And it came back to me in all its humiliating splendor. Back in 1984 I was taking an aerobics class at the Joy of Movement in Watertown, pulled a hamstring, and came to surrounded by paramedics. My friend Laurin was with me and either from the circumstance or relief from the fact that I was okay, was laughing hysterically. I relayed the story to the ER doc who also got a chuckle out of this.

After the x-ray came back I was told I was lucky (not exactly how I would describe how I felt). It was a clean ankle break, distal right fibula. Call an orthopedist, here are your narcotics, a 20 second lesson on how to use crutches, the knee length boot was put on and they sent me home. I was still clutching the blue face cloth Matthew had given me. I gave it to Mark, who put it in the bucket the ambulance man had given me, they wheeled me out of there, and home I went.

When I got home, my father-in-law had joined my mother-in-law and they had brought Matthew out to breakfast. They then went to the grocery store and loaded us up with food. Matthew wouldn’t come near me. He wouldn’t for days. If I asked for a hug they were given with him bending over and his arms outstretched so as not to get near me. He told me he was scared when my leg hurt and he didn’t want to be near my leg. Who could blame him. I spent a lot of time telling him how brave he was and how proud of him I am and how there can be emergencies but life goes back to normal afterward. Still, Mark and I are concerned that his college fund is now his post traumatic stress fund.

My mother-in-law is taking Matthew to the Butterfly Museum next week.

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