It’s snowing in NW Ohio.
To my family working tonight, be safe out there.
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Retired and Crazy tagged me to do what I can only call the 7′s Meme. How could I not play along?
So, the rules are… (I think…)
Divulge 7 things I plan to do before I die
7 things I do now,
7 things I can’t do,
7 things that attract me to the opposite sex
7 things I say most often
7 celebrities I admire
and 6 (make that seven to satisfy the OCD side of me – Epi) “interesting” things about myself.
7 things I plan to do before I die:
1. Finish Medic School.
2. Visit Paris.
3. Visit Hoover Dam and not cry like a three year old. (Cut me some slack, I was a three year old, sitting on top of her Daddy’s shoulders.)
4. Visit Australia.
5. Have a photograph published somewhere other than the engagement/wedding page of the newspaper.
6. Conquer my fear of flying.
7. Learn how to be completely honest with myself.
7 things I do now:
1. I procrastinate.
2. I second guess myself constantly.
3. I curse like a pissed off Marine.
4. I love my kids more than life itself.
5. I worry too much.
6. I daydream.
7. I’m more likely to cry when I’m tired.
7 things I can’t do:
1. I can’t tolerate stupidity.
2. I can’t jump out of bed in the morning.
3. I can’t remember what my Grandpa’s hands looked like. He died close to twenty years ago.
4. I can’t speak squeeze the trigger of anything larger than a .22 without jumping (just a little).
5. I can’t tell them everything, not yet.
6. I can’t bring myself to eat liver. Or brussel sprouts. I have recently gotten over my aversion to oysters however.
7. I can’t tie my shoes the way that 90% of the public does. I subscribe to the double bunny ears method.
7 things that attract me to the opposite sex:
1. How he carries himself.
2. How he treats those around him.
3. His laugh.
4. His eyes.
5. His height. (Hey, I’m 6’1″… Some things cannot be helped!)
6. His hands.
7. His intelligence.
7 things I say most often:
1. Holy Hell.
2. Promise?
3. The angels will cry for you.
4. Sometime’s life isn’t fair.
5. Because I’m your MOTHER.
6. SHR, don’t put that in your mouth, that’s icky.
7. Frickin’ (With an occasional slip up resulting in the “F-bomb”)
7 celebrities I admire:
I really don’t admire many celebrities… But I’ll try to play.
1. Ronald Reagan.
2. Patrick Dempsey. I admire his face anyway :)
3. Jefferey Dean Morgan. For the same reason as number two.
I can’t come up with anyone else really…
7 interesting things about myself: (Interesting, in my vocabulary, occasionally means odd.)
1. I have a seriously irrational fear of flying.
2. I went to five (yes FIVE) New Kids on The Block concerts. I don’t know if that’s interesting, or scary)
3. I won a trivia contest with the award of a years tuition at the local Community College. They gave me a big check and everything :)
4. I used to know how to play guitar… I wish I would have stuck with it.
5. I was in the Army, and I LOVED D&C.
6. I’ve been stuck on a rollercoaster close to 30 times. (The perils of working at an amusement park!)
7. I yawn when I’m nervous. It’s one of those odd things about me :)
I won’t tag anyone, but if you do plan on playing along, let me know in comments.
(Edited more than few times to update those aircraft I couldn’t identify… Thanks readers :))
My first bit of advice for anyone planning on visiting the museum would be to arrive early.
We didn’t. As a result we weren’t able to visit the R&D and Presidential hangars over at the base. (You now have to catch a ride on a bus to visit them, the last time we visited you were able to drive over on your own. Guess that went out the window with 9/11)
One more thing. Wear comfortable shoes.
The Modern Flight Gallery was beckoning us with stories from the Korean War (which my Grandfather proudly served in), and the Vietnam War (or Conflict if you prefer).
Betty Jo here is an F-82B Twin Mustang. It flew from Hawaii to New York, the longest non-stop flight ever by a prop fighter.
Another one that I can’t identify. I’m sure that I snapped this strictly because anything with Dopey the Dwarf painted on the side of it is automatically cool. Or it could be because it reminds me of how so many ambulance services are run. Flip a coin.
(Okay, so it’s a B-29 Stratofortress. Thank you to Billy Sparks!)
F-22A Raptor. She’s a sexy one. One who really doesn’t belong in this hangar, but I’m guessing that space is kind of scarce right now and this was the only place they had to plop her down.
McHottie giving us a lesson on two-dimensional thrust vectoring nozzles. He’s a walking encyclopedia of aircraft knowledge.
I don’t think that we ever figured out what this thing was… It sure looked cool though. It’s hanging above the F-22, so I’m guessing it’s another one of those aircraft that they couldn’t find room for in the proper gallery.
(Edited once again to add: “The aircraft hanging above the F-22 Raptor appears to be a Boeing Bird of Prey”. — Terenzio Tirta Thanks Terenzio. :)
SA-2 Surface to Air Missle. Probably not something you’d want to see in your rearview mirror.
My baby brother the last time we visited… Just about 10 years ago. Look at that baby face. :) I believe he’s in the F-4 cockpit there.
And for comparison. Still with the baby face. We waited in line for a few minutes for this picture… Behind about twenty Boy Scouts. We have no shame when it comes to the chance to sit in a piece of history.
They had some pretty awesome Sikorsky’s in there as well. Unfortunately my lack of tripod (oops, left it by the back door!) bit me in the butt. Not one of my shots turned out.
Onward to the Coldwar Gallery.
“McHottie, I’m beginning to think that this B-1 you speak of doesn’t exist… Are you sure it’s not a figment of your imagination?” He’s talked about his time spent as a B-1 Crew Chief for as long as I’ve known him. I knew how excited he was to show us his baby. I just can’t pass up the opportunity to screw with him.
He elbows me and simply points. “Right there, Epi.”
You’re right, McHottie. She’s beautiful. The lines… Awesome. He spent a good half hour visiting with his B-1, I spent half an hour admiring how beautiful she is.
Not a good place to be standing when they fire that bad boy up. Clearly.
“Epi, check this out.” McHottie is pointing up above the B-1
“Holy Cow. Consult the Book of Armaments!” *snort* I never pass up an opportunity to quote some Monty Python.
The above is a Cruise Missile, with a range of 2300 miles. Other than I can’t remember what I read about it.
It was time to move on, we still had a lot of favorites to see… Mine included. Although I have to admit, I’m definitely a fan of the B-1 particularly now that I’ve seen it up close.
But not before a little more shooty goodness. Another possibility for my dream ambulance. I’m not sure what caliber it is, but I have a feeling it could effectively clear traffic for me.
Hello Gorgeous.
This is my favorite aircraft, my baby. The F-16A Fighting Falcon. Lightweight, low cost, and pretty damn good at what it does.
And so sexy.
Yes, I’m a dork. I make no apologies for it.
F-117A Nighthawk. The first stealth aircraft.
F-… I have no idea. If anyone knows what this is let me know :)
(Edited to add: This is the F-102 “Delta Dart”, the fighter GWB flew.
A difficult airplane to fly, it killed more than its fair share of complacent pilots. — Thank you Greybeard, once again!)
Some guy I’m related to in front of the F-15.
And finally, Baby Brother’s “Eleanor” (If you have never seen Gone In 60 Seconds you may not get the reference, my apologies)…
The SR-71 Blackbird. You have to respect an aircraft that is capable of mach 3. That’s over 2,000 mph. Or five miles faster than McHottie’s code three driving. This particular SR-71 flew the first operational sortie.
Baby Brother is a huge fan.
He’s also a big fan of signs. Hugely enthusiastic about them. Yep. That’s him.
And finally, the Convair B-58 Hustler (Thank you, McHottie, I had no idea.) A little googling tells me that this B-58A set three speed records while flying from Los Angeles to New York and back on March 5, 1962. For this effort, the crew received the Bendix and Mackay Trophies for 1962. It was flown to the museum in December 1969.
I love google.
Our time was up. The museum closes at four on Saturdays, and we still wanted to hit the gift shop on the way out. We weren’t going to be able to hit the Missile and Space Gallery, the R&D and Presidential Hangars were already out (bummer, I love walking through those old Air Force One’s…) and the Air Park was out because of the weather.
Still, I’d say that we saw most of what we wanted to see. It was a great way to spend a Saturday afternoon, even with the thousand or so Boy Scouts zipping around. They were very well behaved for the most part.
Thank you, McHottie for playing tour guide. Your insane knowledge of shooty things and aircraft made the experience that much better.
Thank you to my Brother and Sister In Law for providing the vehicle we all piled in to. To my brother, who got to feel my knees in his back for three hours, I’m only a little sorry. :)
(The following would be my ramblings while watching the Extreme Makeover episode tonight, it was filmed about two months ago in my hometown.)
It’s on right now. I’m finding myself hugely emotional already.
Oh Paulie. You’re right. A hero is somebody who gives hope.
Rib is still rediculously hot. Just saying.
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I knew Michael went with them… And I can understand why.
13 kids, Mom and Dad. At Disneyworld. That’s hardly a vacation for the parents. :)
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Toledo Fire Drum and Pipes. Love them.
What they didn’t tell you was so many people turned out for the Braveheart march and demo that they had to turn more than half of them away.
EEEK! Boys in turnout gear!!!!
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It’s surreal to see my hometown on National TV for something other than a riot or a mayor making us look like a bunch of idiots.
And here comes Isoh Impact. Tears.
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Becky, Lynn, Autumn. I saw you girls!!!
2037. There I am :)
2038. Twice more. Yay :) God I’m so easily amused.
Another little tidbit they didn’t share… We screamed “Move that bus” for 45 damn minutes.
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She collects angels. I love that.
The train room was the only room I didn’t get a chance to see.
“I feel like a hero like my dad” *sniffle*
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That is one very green bed.
13 full ride scholarships. Fantastic.
The rain held off just long enough… Welcome home, Frisch Family, welcome home.
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Yesterday I had the privilege of visiting the USAF Museum.
As a student/huge fan of history, the Military, Aircraft and big shooty things… I was in awe.
This place is huge. 
I did not take this picture, clearly. But it does give you an idea of the size of the complex. It’s monstrous. In fact it’s the world’s largest and oldest military aviation museum. (Photo credit goes to the US Air Force. They said it was okay.)
I did not take this picture, clearly. But it does give you an idea of the size of the complex. It’s monstrous. In fact it’s the world’s largest and oldest military aviation museum. (Photo credit goes to the US Air Force. They said it was okay.)
(Again, photo credit to the USAF. From here on out the photos are all mine, hence their occasional blurriness.)
The lobby is basically a large atrium. Icarus greets you in all of his naked glory. Well, there is that lil leaf in front…
Not so much on the backside. He has the body of a Greek God, wouldn’t you say? :)
“Epi?”
“Mmmhmmm…” I’m lost in thought.
“Quit oogling his ass and get moving. We have some ground to cover.”
Okay Okay.
We spent a few minutes in a small exhibit dedicated to Military Photographers (I would have loved that job…) The images in that exhibit were stunning. Here’s two of my favorites:
The caption reads:
The C-17 Globemaster III from the 14th Airlift Squadron, Charleston Air Force Base, S.C., releases flares over the Atlantic Ocean near Charleston during a training mission in May 2006. The “smoke angel” is caused by a vortex from the engines.
USAF photo by Tech. Sgt. Russel E. Cooley IV
The caption reads:
Staff Sgt. Israel del Toro was wounded during combat action in Afghanistan in December 2005 while supporting Operation Enduring Freedom. U.S. Air Force photo by Tech. Sgt. Cecillio M. Ricardo Jr.
I could have spent an hour or two just looking at the amazing photography. I quickly found myself being dragged towards the main exhibits.
The first hangar we visited was the Early Years Gallery covering the Wright Brothers all the way up to just before World War II.
I know absolutely nothing about this particular plane, I just know it was hanging upside down from the ceiling and heading straight for a very large blimp.
Mc Hottie’s favorite exhibit. The one where the Airman gets his ass chewed.
And the butt chewing.
I snapped this shot just because I truly believe ambulances should be armed with them. Hey, it’s just a practice bomb!
An ambulance for that bomb. I believe the last truck I worked in was just about this old.
Next up we had an exhibit about the Holocaust. Extremely moving.
I’m Polish, German, Irish and French Canadian, but I grew up in a neighborhood known as the Polish Village in Toledo. My church has Polish Masses every Sunday. I went to a Catholic grade school for nine years that taught us in very graphic detail about the horrors of the Holocaust.
It was a very moving exhibit to go through.
Arbeit Macht Frei means literally “Work makes (one) free”. It was a common German phrase posted at the entrance to many nazi concentration camps. That’s my baby brother, The Responsible One on the right, McHottie on the left, with my wonderful Sister In Law behind him.
This was a plexiglass case containing an accordian with a story about it being a child’s most prized posession. I would have taken more pictures, but I was too busy crying.
This was the jacket of one of the liberators, a Soldier from Dayton, Ohio.
I wiped my tears away just long enough to retreat from the Holocaust exhibit and run smack dab into this:
If you know what these banners symbolize you’ll know why my tears continued to fall.
They put on the uniform, so that we could continue to enjoy our freedom. Freedom to bitch to our hearts content on our blogs. Freedom to practice and worship whatever faith we choose. Freedom. As a former Army girl, the ex girlfriend (and very good friend) of someone who just reenlisted knowing that he very well might be heading over to Iraq, the Granddaughter of a Korean War Veteran, the very proud cousin of an Enduring Freedom Veteran, and former partner of an Air Force Veteran…
Once again, my cup runneth over. Thank you for the sacrifices you made.
Next up, the Air Powery Gallery. WWII Aircraft mostly.
I have no idea what this is. But it’s shiny. That’s the ADOBSO kicking in again.
(Edited to add: “The first shiny thing is a Seversky P35. It was the first all metal monoplane fighter in the USAAC. As everyone of course knows, Seversky became Republic and Republic produced a lot of planes including the P47.
The P 35 was sold in small numbers to the USAAC and Sweden. By the start of WW II, it was pretty much obsolete. Ironically, a two seat version was sold to Japan before the start of the war. “)
Made me think of Rosie the Riveter.
This is just about a quarter of this particular hangar.
Again, I have no idea what this is… Maybe Greybeard can help out….
Oooooh, shooty things… The card reads:
FP-45 “Liberator” Pistol Originally developed in 1942 for the U.S. Army by the Inland Manufacturing Division of the General Motors Corporation in Dayton, Ohio, this single-shot, smooth bore, .45 caliber pistol had a mysterious history. Intended for mass distribution in enemy-occupied territory to incite revolt and uprisings, the Army referred to it as a “flare pistol” (FP-45) to ensure secrecy. The Frigidaire plant at Dayton chambered the rough barrels, and workers at the Guide Lamp plant at Anderson, Indiana assembled 1 million of these weapons. In Europe, the Allied commanders deemed the mass distribution impractical, and very few FP-45s were delivered to resistance forces. Only Chinese forces received many of these weapons, and most of them were destroyed.
Lord Guard And Guide the Men who Fly. In memory nine who made the desert a highway for our God.
Transported from Wheelus Air Force Base in Libya, it honors the original crew of the “Cursed Plane” The museum has parts of this particular aircraft, a B-24 (Lady Be Good) that disappeared in 1943 over Italy. It wasn’t found until 1959… In Libya. In a desert.
My namesake. The Strawberry Bitch. God I love the art that adorned the sides of aircraft back in the day.
Another bright shiny flying thing I can’t identify, but I’m sure someone out there can.
(Edited to add: “Five By Five” is a P-47 Thunderbolt, more commonly referred to as “The Jug”.
It had 2,000 horsepower hanging on its nose, and was a damn tough airplane. — Thanks Greybeard!)
Ya still with me? Surely someone is. Maybe? I promise there’s more shooty things coming….
I was trying to figure out what the little bombs on the side of this plane meant. I thought instantly of College Football helmets. I’m sure it has something to do with kills or something like that.
Fiery Ginger.
Another namesake.
The WWII hangar was incredible, but we were pretty anxious to get moving towards the next exhibit.
Modern Flight. Awesome stuff, and it reminded me of my Grandpa who fought in Korea.
Okay, I’m ready for bed. For those of you still reading, I promise to finish tomorrow.
Here’s the one and only pic of me taken today.
There ya go anon. :P
BTW… Screw you. I was tired.
I spent close to six hours in the backseat of a car.
As exciting as that sounds to some, trust me…. It wasn’t… I was next to Former Partner McHottie for most of those hours.
We went to the USAF Museum in Dayton. And the time spent in the museum was AWESOME (mostly in part to McHottie’s insane knowledge of anything with wings or which destroys something).
Most of the time spent in the car was dedicated to picking on me. I’m an easy target. It’s okay.
Thank you, Baby Brother and McHottie. I have a feeling you’ll soon be good friends.
Oh, and I hate you both. Pictures to come tomorrow.
Today I spent quality time with my son playing Guitar Hero World Tour, and introduced him to Bon Jovi. Two birds with one stone.
My daughter is still talking about last nights encounter with Santa. She’s excited, and I’m excited that she is.
I’m doing okay, I really am. I think I’ve finally recovered from the cold that’s kicked my ass for the last two weeks. I’ve been terribly stressed, and that’s let up a bit in the last two or three days. I can finally feel the muscles in my shoulders and neck give a little. Like I’m getting a really good backrub.
I hope you’re all having a wonderful weekend :)
Thank you to my blog twin, Sam, Medix311, Chapati, and Ninja Medic for the Bookworm award.
(Somehow I managed to completely miss Chapati and Ninja Medic the first time around. I’m so sorry. Ya know how they say the mind is the first thing to go, right? At least I still have nice hair :))
You love me, you really love me!!! Sorry, dating myself there.
Rules are as follows. Pass it on to five other bloggers, and tell them to open the nearest book to page 56. Write out the fifth sentence on that page, and also the next two to five sentences. The CLOSEST BOOK, NOT YOUR FAVORITE, OR MOST INTELLECTUAL!
I have two books sitting on my desk, the closest being the phone book. Technically it’s a book, but for the purposes of this award I’m going to grab the one next to it.
Life, Death, and Everything In Between: A Paramedic’s Memoirs. Some Medic wrote it. I can’t remember his name. (Sort of unrelated, if any of my local readers wouldn’t mind, could you click on that book link and check out the helicopter at the top of the site… Looks very much like Lifeflight, doesn’t it??? Sorry, my ADOBSO is flaring up again.)
Page 56… Oh, this is gonna be good. Fifth sentence (and a few more, hey, rules are rules!)…
“Unit Two, go ahead,” Bobby answers, groaning.
“Respond to Crossroads on a Priority One. Back up Unit One on a motor vehicle accident.” Well, we figured it was too good to last. Sigh!
I quickly collapse the poles and stow them under the bench seat as Bobby stows the cooler. I gather up the stringer of fish, and not knowing what to do with them, drop them in a biohazard bag and put them under the seat with the fishing poles.
*snip*
If you haven’t purchased that Medic’s book, you’re truly missing out. It’s one of my favorites, which is why it’s sitting on my desk, next to the phone book.
My five picks:
Jay G. from Marooned. You never know what you might get there on any given day, and that’s why I read his posts every day. Kids (and they are mighty cute, I might add), Politics, Guns, Food… You name it.
Lucy from Lucy’s Logic. Her photography is stunning and her words are just as beautiful.
Hammer. Because he’s Hammer. Hopefully he comes back soon, I’ve missed his posts.
Detail Medic, once again. Because I want to be her. I might have mentioned that once or twice.
And finally, I’d be out of my mind to not mention AD. I’m sure that he’s already gotten it ten times over, but there’s a reason for that.
I might bitch and whine about living in Toledo, but the truth is (at least to some of my online friends), I’m a lucky girl.
I live within thirty minutes of both Cabela’s and Bass Pro. Bass Pro is closer (about fifteen minutes) so tonight they won.
Hang in there folks, it’s worth it.
The entrance is stunning… Even more so at night. My favorite part is the sign that reads “Welcome Fishermen, Hunters, And Other Liars.” Like EMT’s. Or so I’ve heard.
A ginormous 30+ foot Christmas tree greets you at the entrance. It was beautiful… I was using a 50mm lens, so this was the best I could do. It’s the top quarter.
And then there’s the fireplace. I love this fireplace, and the table that sits in front of it, fashioned out of an old door… It’s beautiful. If you squint you can see my coffee sitting in the lower left corner.
But we weren’t there to admire “some old table”, we were there to see the Big Guy… You know… Santa. There were Reindeer tracks on the ground to direct us to his location. The kiddos excitedly followed them.
We were greeted with a veritable Christmas Shangri-La. Santa, Guns, and RC cars. They didn’t know what to do first. Being my children, they instantly zeroed in on weapons and made a bee line for them.
That right there, my friends and neighbors, is my little princess, with a pink crossbow. She’s a rockstar folks. Check out her third shot:
I wish I could say it was my shot, but I’d be lying. Hey, the sight was off, she adjusted for it, and I didn’t. :)
Before my three-year-old completely humiliated myself and her Brother, we decided to go check out the other attractions. Like her other favorite thing. Trains.
They had trains. Lots of them. With itty bitty little villages set up. Future Cardiologist reminded me that we actually own a train set… I wonder where that disappeared to. I have a feeling I know, but I’m not going to go down that road. That’s another post entirely.
Being my children, they were soon pulling me to another area. Yep. More guns.
Yep. That says Red Ryder. If you haven’t seen the movie, you should. It’s a classic :)
And once again, that’s my little princess. FC wasn’t nearly as intrigued by the guns as she was.
Her Mom wasn’t much better. True, the targets were all of 3 yards away, but still. It was free, and it was fun.
And I didn’t do so bad, for a kid :)
Our time in Christmas Nirvana was quickly coming to an end. There was more of the store to check out… Like a Christmas tree decorated with shotgun shells and pheasant feathers. It rocked. I want one.
And the baby bdu gear, which instantly made me think of AD and his beautiful little girl.
Soon it was time to go… Far too soon. I could spend a few hours here. And a few thousand on one of those platinum visa’s I hear about but don’t have (for reasons like this).
“Mommom, what’s that noise?” My little princess was pulling at my sleeve. The sound was that of a Bellringer. The first that I’ve heard this season. FC is familiar with them, She isn’t.
I folded up two one dollar bills and tucked them in my kiddos hands. “When we go outside, you both will pull this money out of your pockets and stuff them into the red bucket, do you understand?”
FC nodded. The Princess was a little less willing. But eventually she stuffed her dollar in.
We headed for the car. FC was the first to ask, “Mom, why did we put that money in those buckets? Where does it go?”
It was cold, the wind was blowing, and the little one wasn’t exactly happy to be leaving without her pink crossbow, but this was one of those teaching moments.
“Well, FC… There are families who don’t have a warm house to live in. You know that, right?” I was now pulling them across the crosswalk (in true form, fish lined. You just have to see it.)
“Yeah, I know.”
“Well, those people ringing those bells… They give that money to the people who need it the most.” I really didn’t know how else to put it.
“But we need money, don’t we?”
Damn, he got me.
“Well, FC, we have a car, and gas, and a warm house to sleep in. There are people who need to take the bus to get to where they need to go. There are people who don’t have ANY house to sleep in. Or a bed. Or clothes to change into. I’d say we’re pretty lucky, wouldn’t you?” We were almost to the car. He stopped just long enough to admire that heap of crap that I curse on a daily basis.
“Yeah, Mom… We’re lucky.”
With that, I buckled the little one in while FC did it himself. And we drove home. She wasn’t happy, but they both were was surprisingly silent.
It was a good night. Truly.
More Dead Denny?
Is it my friggin’ BIRTHDAY? SERIOUSLY????
The Toledo Edition that I was fortunate enough to take part in will be aired this Sunday at 8pm Eastern Time.
I’ve already caught myself in a preview, I dare you to find me on Sunday.
A nifty prize goes to the first sighting. :)
(Okay, I’m starting to think I should have named this post “A Redneck Love Story” – Epi
Edited again: Thanks David for the POTD nod!)
“What do you mean, pregnant?!?! I’m not pregnant, do the test again.” I was quickly approaching frantic.
That poor Doctor, I’m sure that I was the highlight of his day. He told me in the calmest, most rational voice that he could muster that I was in fact, pregnant. And no, they didn’t need to test me again.
“But I’m CATHOLIC.” I blurted out.
Yeah right Epi, that’s about as far from a “Get Out Of Pregnancy Free” card as you can get. Guess again, girly.
“Been having sex?” He countered, less than impressed with my argument.
“Oh yeah. There is that. But we used… ya know. Protection.” It came out as a whisper.
No amount of Novena’s was going to get me out of this one.
Now I just had to tell Him.
Four days later….
“What’s wrong with you? You’ve been so quiet lately…” We were in bed watching some late night comedian. (Or was it South Park. I can’t remember for certain.) What I do remember was Mr. Epi’s concern over my sudden withdrawal. I also remember the date. July 1st, 1999.
I hadn’t told him yet, hell, I hadn’t told anyone. Looking back, I just didn’t know how. I was terrified. It didn’t matter how well I thought I knew him. This was life altering stuff, and the truth was, I was quickly figuring out that I didn’t know him as well as I thought I did.
“Uhm… Did you notice that I didn’t have anything to drink last night while you and Jackass friend were drinking?” I was shaking. Terrified. I did mention I was terrified, didn’t I?
“Come to think of it…”
“Okay… And I haven’t had as much as ONE cigarette in four days, right?”
And that’s when the future Mr. Epi had his first lightbulb moment of our relationship.
“OH SHIT.” His face instantly fell.
You know the saying Hope for the best and expect the worst? That pretty much sums up how I had been feeling up until that point. Now I just wanted to die. “Yeah, Oh shit,” I replied. I rolled over in bed and tried to fall asleep.
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My assumption that since he had already proposed that he would automatically marry me because I was knocked up was… less than accurate. He was young remember, just 19. I was young myself, just two years older. Both of us are the children of very devout Catholics (while not being nearly as devout ourselves. Obviously.)
He was making it very clear to me that even though he loved me “More than life itself”, he didn’t love me enough to actually marry me. Even if I was pregnant. This caused major arguments for the first time in our now year-long relationship. I’m sure that it didn’t have anything to do with the fact that for the first time in our, yes, very short relationship, I was very cranky, very tired, and possibly a touch irrational.
A sample…
“What’s that smell?” Mr. Epi, err… Future Mr. Epi is sitting in the recliner watching TV.
I’m half asleep on the couch. And nauseated. “Mmmm… I dunno.”
“Weren’t you making something in the kitchen?” Mr. Epi takes a long draw off a bottle of Bud Light that he wasn’t even old enough to drink legally.
“Oh SHIT. The noodles!” I jump to my feet and sleepily stagger towards the kitchen.
(Thirty seconds later…)
*Hysterical sobbing heard from the kitchen, Mr. Epi cautiously approaches the scene of the crime against noodles* “Uhm… Epi? You okay Baby?”
“NO, I’m NOT okay. Why didn’t you tell me I was boiling noodles for the second time today? Jesus what’s wrong with YOU?”
And scene.
Yeah, I wouldn’t have married me either.
**********
It was September, 1999, and we were attending a very close relatives wedding. Something that is for an as to yet unwed Catholic Mom-to-Be… well… Emotional. To say the very least.
I cried before Mass.
I cried during Mass.
I cried after Mass.
My closest cousin was marrying his pregnant girlfriend. I know how that sounds… Believe me. It might have been a Catholic wedding, but it was a redneck reception. What was killing me (other than the fact that she was due the same day I was, February 29th, 2000), was the fact that I knew her from high school, and oh, by the way, her baby wouldn’t be born out of wedlock.
Hey, I didn’t say I was rational, remember?
I was one of a small handful of sober people at the reception (with the exception of the Bride, I said we were rednecks, not white trash).
At one point I pulled my sombrero-wearing-extremely-intoxicated-future husband aside and begged him to marry me.
“Why don’t you want to marry me now? You wanted to marry me a few months ago. You know I love you. You know that you’re the only person I want to spend the rest of my life with. This is your baby. Don’t you want to be a family?”
“Yeeeesssshhhh I waaahnnt to marrry you. Whhhhyyyyy would you shhhaaaay I don’t want to marrrrry youuu?” Before I could answer, my cousin was pulling my sombrero-wearing-future-husband away to join into a chorus of “You’ve Lost That Loving Feeling” by the Righteous Brothers.
Not exactly a scene from “Love Story”, but being the irritable cranky irrational pregnant girl I was, I planned on holding him to it.
Except that he forgot about it the next day.
Sure, he treated me like a Princess. Anything I needed and he did it. He rubbed my feet, my back, my head… He didn’t tease me for sleeping just about every second that I wasn’t working. He didn’t even tease me when I called him in tears after tossing my cookies outside of the Amish Meat Market after a call for work.
He was doing what he promised my very threatening Father he’d do. He was taking care of me.
Despite his effort to take care of me, our fights were occurring on a pretty frequent basis. We’d argue over one insignificant thing or another, and I’d do what I do best to this day. I’d take off. I’d run and hide.
And then a few weeks after my Cousin’s wedding… Something changed in Future Mr. Epi. At almost the very second I became resigned to the fact that I would be an unwed Mother (Horrors!), he did something I never expected.
I was walking to the kitchen with a glass, preparing to do a sink full of dishes. He stood in the doorway, effectively blocking it. I might be obnoxiously tall (6’1″), but he’s still a good four inches taller.
I wasn’t in the mood to be playful at that particular moment. To this day, doing dishes brings out the cranky in me. I really wish I had a dishwasher.
I looked him directly in the chin. “What…do…you… want? And no, I’m not in the mood for sex.”
“So when are you gonna marry me?” He had this cheesy blissful grin on his face.
“Uhhhm… Huh?” I’m a woman of many words, clearly. I really didn’t know what else to say.
He took the glass out of my hand and set it on the kitchen table behind him and pulled me close. “I said, When are you going to marry me?”
I blinked.
“Epi?”
“Really? Because I know that I said I just wanted to marry you for the epidural your insurance would pay for, butImighthavebeenlying.” Being hugely emotional, I could feel tears coming, and quickly.
“It was never that I didn’t want to marry you. I love you, Epi. You know that, right?”
“Do you promise?” A somewhat juvenile statement to make, but one that he knew the importance of. A promise is a promise. It was then and it has been to this day.
“I promise.”
In a three minute ceremony in the Mayor’s office two days later I married him. Two of his friends, the jackass and the man who would become my Son’s Godfather were there as witnesses. No flowers, no pictures, none of my friends or family. The only memento I had was the marriage license.
And you know what? It didn’t matter one bit to me.
**********
Married life really wasn’t much different than the two of us living in sin. Well, there were less arguments, oddly enough, but in general things were good. We complimented each other well.
He knew that I was obsessed with anything with wings and would call me outside when a C-130 was coming in to land so that I could take pictures. (The benefit of living in the flight path of a very nearby Air Guard base.)
I knew how much he hated to do laundry or iron anything, so I would keep his clothes clean and pressed. And I’d cook. And I’d clean. And do other wifely things.
When our job presented us with the opportunity to move back to Toledo we jumped at it. I was now VERY pregnant, and had no friends or family nearby. His family and friends were a short drive away, but he knew that this was something we had to do. We would both get a pay increase (He would be my supervisor now, technically,) and I would get more hours. And I wouldn’t have to consult a map whenever I’d leave for a call.
We packed up our belongings and moved with three days notice. No small feat, believe me.
Life in Toledo came with a learning curve for Mr. Epi. While he had visited several times, he had NO idea where he was going at any given point. He would have to call me constantly for directions. Kind of like I had to when we moved to Mansfield. Only Toledo is four times the size of Mansfield, give or take a bit. He’s a smart guy, he caught on quickly.
**********
Before we knew it I was 36 weeks pregnant.
And sicker than hell.
I woke up with two stuffy ears, including one that hurt like hell, a fever, and a cough. When you add that to being EXTREMELY pregnant, it equals misery. I called my PCP immediately. His nurse and I have been friends for a while, she found room for me in his schedule.
I sat with a box of tissues in one of the exam rooms. When his nurse came in she had to take my BP three times. Not a good sign.
When he came in, he didn’t recognize me. TRULY not a good sign.
Once he realized who I was, and that my BP was sky high for a pregnant girl, he lost it. He was ready to call an ambulance to take me directly to L&D. I had to promise to name my child after him and that I would drive to the hospital and only to the hospital for him to allow me to leave on my own.
My BP was 210/120. Far too high.
**********
This is turning out to be a little more emotionally taxing that I had originally thought. For those of you truly interested, I promise to finish it soon.
David at Authorblog put up some beautiful shots this morning… Mine aren’t exactly in the same spirit, but they are of a similar subject.
I’ve always been fascinated by the insides of things. People, computers, pianos….
There’s just something so striking (pun intended?) about the inner workings of pianos… They’re works of art.
Inside and out.
That right there is my little man. On TV. Again. He’s the cute one in the middle.
It helps when your Papa is the chief photographer for the local ABC affiliate.
Hello, My name is Epi, and I have a confession to make.
While I love my kids and I believe strongly in being an active participant in their education….
I hate school concerts. Hate them.
The school where FC goes is a brand new charter school. FC was in their first kindergarten class. He’s now in the third grade, and the growing pains the school has experienced in the beginning really haven’t been resolved, particularly when it comes to the school concerts. They never have enough seating, resulting in at least 100 people lining the walls in the gym. The PA system is always set to a level just below that of a jet engine preparing to take off (and this is coming from a girl who used to sit up against the speakers at the hard rock concerts that would come to town). You can’t hear the kids actually singing.
Tonight was no different. Up until the last song.
The music teacher stood up with the microphone and announced, “Please stand while our Third Graders sing the National Anthem.”
Without any backup music, and without the words in front of them, more than 90 eight and nine year olds stood in front of us facing their flag, and proudly sang the Star Spangled Banner.
At first it was just their young voices, by the third line, the entire audience was singing along with them. Many with their hands over their hearts, myself included.
And I might have shed a tear or two.
That’s FC in the back row, in front of the doorway with the diamond print sweater on. My pseudo adopted son, J, is to his left.
I was so proud.
**********
“Mom? Are you a Veteran?” We were preparing to leave… Just ten short steps from the front doors.
“Well, Baby, it depends on what you believe a Veteran is. I was in the Army, but I never served in a war.”
“But you were in the Army… That was hard wasn’t it?” I could see the wheels turning in his head.
“Well, parts of it were hard. But what I did in the Army wasn’t like what your Grandpa or my Grandpa, or my cousin C, or Matty had to do. They chose to leave their friends and family to go to a whole other country to fight so that we could have the rights we have. Has your teacher talked about that at all?” I didn’t know what else to say to him in that crowded hallway.
How do you explain what sacrifice really means to an eight-year-old?
“But Mom, Mrs. K told us that anyone who has ever been in the Army is a Veteran. And Veterans are heroes.” His eyes were so bright… I hadn’t spent alot of time talking about my time in the Army with him. He had seen pictures, heard a few stories and for a period of time he loved to wear a hat I kept, but that’s about it. It just hadn’t come up very often in the past.
I swallowed hard. What do I say to him?
“She’s right honey… Veterans are heroes.”
“Really??? So you’re a hero too??? Come look at this!!!! It’s for you!” He was dragging me down the main hallway towards what they call the “middle hall”. When I saw what he was presenting me with, it took my breath away. Where a stark white wall used to be was this:
Once again, I didn’t know what to say. All I could squeek out was, “Thank you, FC.”
My cup runneth over, Baby.
While quickly skimming over some blog posts I came across this from Bernice… It got me thinking about the last time I sat down and really thought about what makes me happy.
Tackle hugs from my kids.
A clean house.
The feeling of sand between my toes and warm salt water rushing over my feet.
Actually hitting a target when I squeeze the trigger :)
My little ones saying “Please,” and “Thank You,” without prompting.
Downloading pictures from my camera and finding that they reflect what I was trying to catch when I snapped the shutter.
Standing next to my brother in church and trying not to laugh when he makes up lyrics to the polish hymns.
Stepping off of an airplane in a city I’ve never been to. (With the exception of Columbia, SC.)
Freshly cut grass.
Flying across my Dad’s fields on a snowmobile.
Cute new shoes that don’t kill my feet or make me obscenely tall.
A freshly painted room with no paint on the wood floors.
Reconnecting with people I thought were long lost.
Meet my Aunt.
She’s a fantastic Mother.
She’s a beautiful woman.
She works her ass off every single day.
She’s a two time Cancer Survivor.
And yesterday was her birthday. 53 years old.
Happy Birthday, Auntie.
It’s snowing.
For all of my friends who are out on a truck tonight, be safe out there. People are driving like idiots already.
Tonight was an Aunt’s Birthday (Happy Birthday Aunt Sue!!!!). We met up at Tango’s, a cool Mexican restaurant with fantastic (although slightly overpriced) margaritas and even better food.
My family, as tradition dictates, was obnoxiously loud. Nothing new there. Even after 32 years their behavior manages to mortify me in public.
Even in a mostly empty restaurant. I apologized to the waitress, and tipped her huge.
**********
While I finish up a post that’s taking entirely too long, a little Post Secret awesomeness.
Although I have to wonder if I was regretless if I would care about what “messed up” would feel like…
Just sayin.
After reading a very interesting article about suggestions he has to improve the safety of HEMS by Brian Bledsoe (a hero of mine), and a lovely story about a 92-year-old woman who voted from the back of an ambulance on Election Day (She voted as a Democrat, I wont hold it against her)…
I saw a link for this. Apparently Stryker is advertising that their Power-Pro stretchers will reduce injuries to Medics by 50% (compared to the non-powered cots) or they’ll pay the difference in cost to replace the powered stretchers with the non-powered versions.
Uhm… a few questions.
First of all, what if the service you work for actively discourages anyone (basic, intermediate or medic) to file a workers comp claim.
Secondly… How many Medic’s do you know who actually lift?
Okay, I kid, I kid. Seriously. Medic Matthew, Rebel, AD… I’m kidding. Mwah. Smoochies and all that.
And for the record, yes, I realize that I’m not lifting anything right now.
Who do I love more…
The red-headed Army surgeon with the blue eyes…
Or…
OH MY GOD. Is that Denny? It is. It’s dead Denny.
I’m in my happy place now. Even if it’s just for an episode.
By the way, he was ridiculously hot in PS I Love You.
(Edited to add: Yes, I realize this was a totally girly post. But if you watched this and didn’t shed at least one tear towards the end, you might not have a soul.)
“Epi, we have to be very careful with Maria, her nurses and sister watch us like hawks. A crew last week hit the door with her cot and the nurse was on the phone with dispatch before they even left the house.” Sara knows the patient well, she’s been taking her to dialysis and doctor appointments for a few years now.
I had not had the pleasure of meeting her yet.
Sara wasn’t the only one who knew and loved Maria. Many of the crews who had been around longer than a few months loved her. There’s something about going into a persons home a few times a week and seeing them in their natural environment. Not a nursing home room, not a hospital room. Really talking to those family members, the ones who often know just as much about the illness as the patient does.
“Of course I’ll be very careful, Sara.” I didn’t know what else to say. I was a little nervous about what I would be walking in to.
I was driving a Mod for one of the first times ever. Something that already had my nerves raw. At the Little Private Service that Could, I had a brand new Vanbulance which I loved. Backing in the huge truck I was now driving was something I wasn’t yet comfortable with. We pulled up to Maria’s house, a ranch on a narrow street lined with cars.
“Okay, Epi, back in. And for the love of God, try not to tear the lawn up or hit her sisters Caddy.” Sara winked at me.
I paused long enough to rub my temples and check the mirrors. Three attempts later and the truck was parked, lawn and Cadillac intact. I watched in the rear view mirror as the garage door behind us opened.
We walked the stretcher into the garage and through the open door leading to Maria’s living room.
“Hey Francine, Jeff, this is Epi, she’s my partner for today.” Sara introduced me as we maneuvered the stretcher around a recliner. I paused long enough to shake hands with both Jeff and Francine.
“I hope she won’t be driving, I saw her trying to back in.” Francine laughed. I couldn’t blame her. It wasn’t my best performance behind the wheel.
“No Ma’am,” I smiled, I’ll be in back with Maria.
“But you’re new, wouldn’t it be better if Sara rode in back?” Francine stammered.
“Ma’am, I am new to the company, and I’m new to the larger trucks. But I’m not a new EMT. I promise to take great care of her.” I made eye contact with both of them, I wanted to put them at ease.
“Pipe down, Francine, I’ll be fine.” The weak voice came from Maria, laying in her hospital bed in the living room.
“How are you today Maria?” Sara was fussing over her, arranging the several layers of blankets that enveloped her tiny body.
“Oh, I’m doing well, thanks. How are you two young ladies?” Maria had a wonderful smile and bright clear eyes that day. She took a few minutes to show off pictures of her beautiful Granddaughter, who appeared to be roughly my daughter’s age.
“Her pride and joy,” Francine quipped.
That’s how I choose to remember her. Alert, relatively pain free, and gushing about her Grandbaby.
**********
I haven’t seen Maria in months, I believe the last time I had the privilege of caring for her was in June.
She was in pain. We didn’t talk about her Granddaughter. We didn’t talk at all. I did my best to keep her comfortable. She was on oxygen at that point, and even in the summer heat she shivered. I would pile on the blankets and stroke her hand. Every bump we would hit in the road would cause her to cry out.
**********
While talking to McHottie last night our conversation turned to some of our favorite regulars. He mentioned Maria, and I decided to do a quick search online.
You know the search… I tentatively typed in her last name and hit enter.
She’s finally at peace. I’m sad that I didn’t get a chance to say goodbye to her, but I’m happy that she’s at peace, finally. I’ll remember her the way she was the day I first met her.
It’s November 5th.
The sun is out.
I’m in NW Ohio and I’m wearing shorts. 75 degrees outside. On November 5th.
Maybe I don’t live in the wrong climate :) Now if I could find 75 degrees year round I’d be set.
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