Tag Archives: tacoma

A note to the first responders at the Boston Marathon (and everywhere else)

Posted on by
Reply

~
Some first responders at the scene were trained police officers, firefighters, paramedics and EMTs.

Some were race staff and volunteers.

Many more were spectators just waiting for their friends, family and loved ones to cross the finish line in a life affirming event.

Some runners, perhaps having dreamed of this day, this chance to cross the finish line at the Boston Marathon their entire adult lives stopped their forward progress abandoning their dream, the goal they had worked so hard to achieve, in order to help others.

Regardless of title, training or lack thereof, they were all “first responders”.

They will never be able to unsee what they have seen. No matter how tough or experienced some of them may be, they will be haunted to varying degrees by some of the images for the rest of their lives.

To those who were there, who responded, who selflessly gave of yourselves,

Please avail yourselves (if you have not already) of any critical incident stress debriefing offered. If you were a spectator, a participant or anyone else who does not regularly have that offered to you, seek it out through your local EMS agencies.

While some of you who do this professionally already understand the impact and how long it is going to take to process the events of March 15th, 2013, it’s going to be even more challenging than you know to get past what you saw, heard and felt.

As a paramedic for 13 years, I can’t count the number of mass casualty incidents I responded to; to say they are shocking and overwhelming is a gross understatement.

Many years ago at a base station meeting, an emergency room doctor who sees the worst of the worst (in a controlled environment and only one or two at a time) when telling the story of one such event when he was a ride along couldn’t describe the feeling of helplessness he felt when confronted with so much critical trauma, death, dying and chaos. “I don’t know how you people do this day in and day out; I had no idea where to start.” he said.

The helplessness… knowing you can’t help everyone, knowing you can only do so much for so few and that it’s never enough, is a truly devastating feeling.

What makes this even worse for everyone involved in an event such as this, is that these were “your people” your peers, perhaps even someone you knew personally.

That is the worst of the worst, parents responding to calls where children the same age as their own were critically injured; I lost it after a call where a “man” (if you could call him that) beat his 60-something year old mother viciously when she would not give him drug money (I had him bodily removed from the room so that I could work on his mother because I was honestly afraid of what I might do to him); she was the same age and looked like my mother, I had to call her immediately after I got back to the station.

Even worse when it’s someone you know… I responded to a dangerous and accidental drug overdose of one of my friend’s young children. On an even more personal note, my paramedic instructor had a serious heart attack (that required a quadruple bypass) and I was on the unit that responded.

There is more, so much more… I can’t count the number of times (after, always after a call) where I (the allegedly tough as nails medic and incident commander who’d been through it and toughed it out so many times before and always held it together on the call) sat sobbing uncontrollably on the floor of the emergency room bathroom.

I am very damaged from all of this. I have seen things, things that people do to others, to innocents, to children… that are so horrible I can not tell another person because it would quite literally scar them for life. So those things must live inside me, and I must manage them on my own as best I can. (it is never good enough)

How damaged you might ask? Most of my close friends have never seen me hold a baby other than in the process of delivering one in an emergency situation. Most people see a baby and want to hold/cuddle it. I, instinctively check it’s color, make certain that it has a pulse and is breathing and that it has not been abused or injured. I’ll spare you the stories of why I’m that way… you don’t want to know and I would never inflict that on you.

My hope is that all who were there that terrible day are able to seek out whatever help is available to them so that they can process what they experienced and not let it permanently damage their heart and soul.

No matter how old, experienced or tough you are, we all need help processing such things. It is OK to cry, it is OK to lean on others, it is OK, no, it is vital to seek help.

You can only be available to help others, if you are taking good care of yourself.

~L


Share

Guerrilla Urban Farming

Posted on by
2

~
It’s taken almost exactly three years (closed escrow on this place on May 18th 2010) but I finally got rid of all the lawn.

Something that most folks don’t know is that lawn is bad for the environment, just like street and sidewalk, a well manicured lawn on compacted soil is an impervious surface, meaning that water won’t filter through the earth and percolate down to recharge aquifers, it just overwhelms the storm drain system carrying fertilizer, pesticides and dog poop (along with gas/oil/antifreeze and whatever else is on the street) with it out to the Puget Sound via Commencement Bay.

Over the years I’ve been in this house, I’ve been slowly converting lawn in to more useful area; a nice pervious gravel bed under my grape arbor, a fairy garden, adjacent to a small orchard of mixed fruit and one hazelnut tree, and a huge garden area. The only place out back where I now allow grass to grow is in the chicken area so that they can eat fresh greens when free ranging.

I converted the (very small) front yard slope into flower garden the first year I was here, but was left with a huge parking strip full of the offending green stuff. This parking strip is 15 feet deep (measured from the sidewalk to the street) and runs the length of the property.

A neighbor, one bock over on the other side of the street has a wonderful little guerrilla urban farm that I have been admiring since I moved here. It’s hilarious at peak squash season, as the vines go insane and sometimes encroach in to the street. Since the legality of taking over what is essentially city property (but we are required to maintain) for urban farming/gardening in the front, where people can actually [gasp] see it is somewhat questionable, I like the slightly “naughty” feeling… [raises dirt covered fist in the air and yells]…”POWER TO THE PEOPLE! SQUASH IN THE STREET!”

THIS is what I am aspiring to… (you can see my house in the background)

this is not my garden... this is a neighbor one block over (you can see my house in the background) who I aspire to be like

But first, I had to get rid of the stupid lawn…

I was pretty happy to have this be my LAST mow.

gardening - 2013

I didn’t want to dig out the sod or rent a sod cutter (sod this old doesn’t come out easily anyway) and really didn’t want to have to mass apply herbicide, so I decided to use the same technique I used for my actual front yard and garden beds out back, which has worked fabulously.

I raided my basement, then the Safeway down the street for cardboard boxes which I laid out over the lawn. Once weighted down with topsoil, mulch, or in my case Tagro, it will kill the grass with no cutting, digging or chemicals and then the cardboard and grass will decompose and amend the soil, no tilling required.

That big pile there is 3 cubic yards (that’s 4,800 pounds, over two tons) of Tagro

Gardening - Spring 2013

as it turns out, 3 cubic yards wasn’t quite enough to do it as thick as I wanted…

Gardening - Spring 2013

so I got another 3 cubic yards…

Gardening - Spring 2013

Gardening - Spring 2013

over the course of one afternoon and the following morning, I shoveled 9,600 pounds (oh so close to five tons) of Tagro, thus re-confirming my status as “crazy lady no one wants to mess with” on my block.

It sure felt good when it was all done. (Ibuprofen was my friend that night)

Gardening - Spring 2013

So just like that, I reclaimed 535 square feet of prime, sun filled garden space…

As I was shoveling and shoveling, I fielded a lot of questions from neighbors young and old. “Are you crazy?” and “Can I feel your biceps?” comments aside, they were interested in the process, my reasons for it and what I was going to put there.

I have been thinking about putting up some signs talking about urban farming and what is growing there due to all the interest the project has received thus far.

Anyone who knows me, figures out pretty quickly that I am a very serious and dedicated anti-Monsanto/Big Agra and pro local, healthy, sustainable, non-GMO food activist.

Of course, it was going to be food.

“What!? You’re going to grow food out here where people could steal it?”

If someone is hungry and wants fresh vegetables, they are welcome to them. I have way more than I need from my huge garden out back.

Last summer, my friend Jack, like many in this area had a bumper crop of plums. He harvested all of them, laid them out on a sheet with a sign that said “free”. He even provided plastic bags to carry them home in.

What if everyone who could, grew some of their own food. What if they made the excess available to neighbors who didn’t have the land/skill to do so? What if we taught people how and shared our plant starts and seeds with them, and they in turn did so as well?

Can you imagine how much healthier, happier and more connected our communities would be?

While I’m happy to share food, vandalism and waste would make me very sad , so I am keeping “high temptation” things that could be vandalized out back, such as red tomatoes and corn (the neighbors down the street had some issues with kids picking their corn and throwing it some time back) A neighbor grows his really weird looking, off color tomatoes such as yellow and green zebra out front with no trouble.

I didn’t get my seeds started in time this year, so it was off to my farmers’ market and Gardensphere for as many organic/non gmo starts as I could get…

Gardening - Spring 2013

What I can’t grow from organic starts, will at least be heirloom and open pollinated (those are non-GMO) so that I can save seed.

One of the many scary things about Monsanto’s monopoly and GMO is the loss of genetic diversity. At the rate we are going, the only way to save these wonderful, much tastier and safe heirloom fruits and veggies is to save uncontaminated seed from season to season (you know, like farmers used to be able to do)

Seed saving is vital to the future of our food supply.

I have planted the front garden with broccoli, brussels sprouts, beets, carrots (from seed), radishes (from seed), red onions, walla walla onions, artichokes, zucchini, yellow crookneck squash, butternut squash, kentucky wonder pole beans and snap peas

I roped the area off in order to keep the tender young plants from being tromped on and just to make it pretty, planted double knockout roses in two whiskey barrels I recently acquired. If all goes well, I will be picking up some landscape timbers in the next few days which will help keep the neighbor’s grass out, and keep the dirt in the bed and off the street/sidewalk.

Now I just need everything to grow baby grow…

spring equinox easter 003

Of course, the back yard is getting some new plant action as well…

As a matter of fact, I’m sure that yesterday’s wind and freezing rain storm, and today’s hailstorm are directly related to the fact that I planted tomatoes on Friday. (well, the crappy weather on Saturday is mostly due to the law of nature that says it has to be cold and nasty on Daffodil Parade day)

Gardening - Spring 2013

Gardening - Spring 2013

Gardening - Spring 2013

and don’t forget…

Gardening - Spring 2013

The apples, cherries, plum, peaches, pears and blueberries are blooming.

It’s so amazing out there that I don’t even mind the copious amounts of pollen attacking my sinuses.

More photos of this year’s garden work and things in bloom can be seen by clicking on this link new photos will be added to this set as they are taken.

~L


Share

Life and Death… What would you do?

Posted on by
1

~
I have a lot of fun, hopefully interesting and much less serious things to blog about (and absolutely no time in which to do so), but I read something on a friend’s page today that got me thinking about this.

Said friend just got back from the hospital after a scare that involved chest pain. Nothing conclusive was shown (that’s a good thing) and returning for another test (right away) was recommended.

This got my friend thinking about what she would do if it turned out to be something serious enough to require invasive surgery such as a multiple bypass; (an uncle had one) Would she, at her (retirement) age put herself through such an invasive and recovery intensive procedure such as that, or accept that life is finite and just go on about the act of living?

Hopefully, it is tendon/muscle/ligament and/or irritation of the pleura or pericardium, perhaps/most likely something that is easily fixed by a shot of antibiotics, some mild medication or just rest and recovery and this will all be a mute point for my friend.

Since my cancer scare a year and a half ago, I’ve thought a lot about such things.  What would I do if it it was ovarian cancer?  Would I have chemo?  Would I accept localized radiation?  Or would I just tell everyone I love that I love them, live my life with as much zeal as possible and then go into hospice on a morphine drip when that was no longer possible?

I’m pretty sure that in that case, I would chose the latter. As a matter of fact, I am as positive as one can be without actually having to make that decision.

Like my friend, I do not have any children relying on me; if I did, I would most likely feel a different responsibility to them.

During that time, I also watched my close friend Houston battle stage four prostate cancer.  For a year and a half after the diagnosis (when they told him he only had a short few months to live) he was mostly confined to bed in a nursing home and was in and out of hospitals for surgeries and complications of his disease and treatment.

He fought; he fought valiantly and up to the end remained positive and determined to beat it.

With my medical background, I knew that the prognosis and the likelihood of that happening was so miniscule that statisticians would not be able to quantify it. Granted, I have seen miracles, but did not really expect one in his case.

But this was his fight, not mine, his decision, not mine, HIS… NOT MINE. As long as my dear friend wanted to fight, I would be there with him, holding his hand (even when it required a gloves, gown and a mask to do so) and would support his decision 110%.

I know death. I know death all too well. In addition to having danced with it myself on more than one occasion, I have been with people when it came. I have seen the beauty and peace one feels when ready to end the pain and pass over, I have seen and felt the horrible struggle of those clinging to life they were not ready to let go of as it was traumatically torn from them, and I, as as medical professional have had people beg me to let them die in peace with dignity when the law would not allow it. That is the most heartbreaking thing of all.

So while my friend pondered what they would do and I watched mutual, concerned, loving friends beg, plead and demand action, I remembered a choice I made a year and a half ago.

A little known fact about surgery, about general anesthesia. More people die from general anesthesia, than from the illnesses and injures that require the surgery.

When I went in for my first surgery a year and a half ago, I updated my will and my advanced directives.

The most difficult choice, was finding someone to carry out those directives.

I needed someone (and a backup) that “loved me as much as they loved their dog”

That sounds weird.

I needed someone that loved me enough to pull the plug should things go bad.

I could not choose anyone whose religious beliefs would preclude them from doing that.

We take our beloved fur children to the vet and have them “put out of their misery” when their short lives are going to be filled with nothing but pain, misery and suffering, yet only in Oregon and Washington states, do we have a death with dignity law in which we can make that choice for ourselves.

Whilst that choice would be made by only me and my doctor, well ahead of time, the idea behind it is the same.

Do you love me as much as your dog?

Do you love me enough to pull the plug and end all of our suffering?

Luckily, I have dear friends Janet and Betsy who agreed to do that for me should it come to that.

My advanced directives are clear…

WHAT! You don’t have advanced directives?

Fill them out, have them notarized, DO IT NOW!

Having worked in emergency medicine for well over a decade, I (and most, if not all of my colleagues) would prefer to just have “no code” tattooed on my chest.

Since that is not an option, my advanced directives are clear.

No respirator, no feeding tube. If I can’t be brought back with basic CPR and a zap with a defibrillator, save my loved ones and the staff the hassle of trying to bring me back from a vegetative state.

You see, the brain dies after 4-6 minutes without oxygen. You can “save” someone and get their heart beating again, but it does not mean that they will “live”

As a paramedic, I experienced this far too often.

The expectation, the legal mandate was to “save lives”.

In the absence of “no code” orders signed by the patient and the physician (and not expired), at the bedside, we were required to do what we were trained to do.

Yes, it sounds exciting and exhilarating to bring someone back from the dead and get their heart beating again.

The harsh reality is, that in most cases, they “come back” brain dead, only to code over and over again in the ICU as their family mourns their death many times over, and is driven to bankruptcy in the process, or they “live” in a vegetative state in a nursing home being fed through a tube and have their diaper changed by underpaid staff.

I cried far more often for the patients I “saved” than the ones I lost because I did not feel like a hero, I felt like Dr Frankenstein, only prolonging pain and suffering.

I am not afraid of death. I’ve been clinically dead once as a child with a severe allergy/asthma attack brought back to life with an intracardiac injection of epinephrine and as an adult made peace with the fact that the most likely scenario is that I was going to die after a river guiding accident that fractured my spine and pelvis.

and please in the name of all that is sacred to you, harvest my organs and give them to people who need them. What! You don’t have an organ donor card/endorsement on your license? If you are so inclined DO IT NOW!

What I am afraid of, is having a stroke or an accident and not having a choice, putting my friends and loved ones through hell on earth and being a drain on the system.

But back to my friend.

I fully expect her to live a long and productive life and have strongly recommended that she get back in for the tests ASAP. After all, you can’t make a decision if not given all the information you need in which to make it.

But if for some reason, that is not the way it goes and she makes a choice not to undergo something so invasive.

I support her decision.

I will be there for her.

~L


Share

The Saga of Lucky the Rescue Chicken

Posted on by
3

~
It happened one Monday afternoon early last November.

I was in my home office doing market accounting when I heard a huge screaming match erupt in the street out in front of my house.

I walked out on to my front porch and saw a bunch of older teenage girls fighting about some sort of Facebook drama.

I stayed out there just in case it got out of hand, and/or spilled over in to my flower beds.

As the ruckus broke up, a young woman, Danielle, who was not involved walked over to me and and said, “Excuse me… Ma’am…” Worried that she was afraid of being jumped and thinking I might need to bring her into the house or call someone for her, I beckoned her closer.

Then she said it… “Do you want a baby chicken?”

Positive I had not heard her correctly, I asked her to repeat herself.

As she did, she held out her hands; in them she held a scared little baby chick who was only a few days old, nestled in a pillowcase.

Photobucket

She had been visiting friends/family in Spanaway the previous day, and was being told a story about how all of their chickens (20 of them) had been killed by a pitbull two days prior. At that very moment, they saw the dog playing with something.

It was a baby chick that had somehow survived not only the initial attack, but survived out there alone in the cold November weather, for two days.

Once they got it out of the dog’s jaws, they discovered that it was missing a few feathers and was a bit bloodied up. Not knowing how seriously injured it might have been, they were going to “put it out of it’s misery”. She wasn’t having it, snatched it up and took it home.

She spent the night sleeping with it in a shoebox on her bed. She fed it oatmeal and made sure it had water and was warm (pretty impressive chicken care for a city girl) here in the Hilltop.

She had no idea how she was going to find someone to take care of it, and was carrying it with her everywhere, in hopes that she would find someone in the hood who could take on a baby chick. She was beginning to get discouraged and was not sure what to do.

So as she was just about give up hope, the person she was walking with randomly ended up being accosted over a facebook fight which erupted in the middle of the street.

Unbeknownst to her, she was standing directly in front of the Crazy Hilltop Chicken Lady’s house…

What are the chances? Seriously?

Despite my declaration the previous spring of “No more chickens in the house.” there was no way I was turning this young woman and injured baby chick away.

“Of course, I’ll take the chicken.” I told her.

As I was bringing my brooder cage, heat lamp and chick waterer/feeder up out of the basement, her eyes got really big.

“You have chickens?” she asked in disbelief.

“Yes, sweetie, you ended up at the Crazy Hilltop Chicken Lady’s house.”

Her eyes got even bigger, and for the first of many times, she solemnly declared, “God brought me here.”

Photobucket

I took her out back to meet the rest of the girls, gave her my business card so that she could contact me, and let her know that yes, she could come visit the chick.

I hoped it was a “her” as roosters aren’t allowed in the City of Tacoma. I did make arrangements for one of my farmer friends to take her, in case she turned out to be a he.

We named him or her “Lucky” as it seemed to be the most appropriate name we could come up with.

Whatever injury that little chook had, its lungs were fine; that poor lonely thing cheeped LOUDLY 24/7, probably wondering where all of it’s flock mates were and calling out to them.

Photobucket

It became apparent to me that there was no way I was going to be able to safely introduce her to my flock comprised of much larger, older chickens (you never introduce a single chicken to a flock like that, they’ll get pecked to death)

I promised Danielle that she was indeed saving the chicken by leaving it with me, and I was fond of the cute little cheeper, despite the noise, smell, mess and fact that I didn’t want to have baby chicks in the house again after raising Laverne and Shirley from two day old baby chicks.

About a month later, I was running out of ideas, when I had a chance conversation with my friend Wendy, who lives just down the street from me. About a month before this occurred, they had traumatically lost all of their chickens to a dog attack (neighbor dog that was allowed to roam free, dug into their yard) A friend gave them three young chickens, one of which had died. (it happens)

That’s when we hatched (pun intended) the idea of having Lucky live at their house since she was only a month younger than her chickens and it would be much easier to integrate her into their small flock than my large flock of angry birds. (really, they are vicious little velociraptors)

It took a bit of time and patience on their part, but the other two girls accepted Lucky (once pecking order was established) and now are very protective of her, nestling her between them when they are roosting at night.

I walked over to see her today and am very happy to report that she is happy and healthy in her new home and is indeed one lucky chicken.

Here are a couple of photos from today’s visit.

Photobucket

Photobucket

I also got to meet Rorshach the neighborhood bunny… (who roams freely on that end of the street, but likes Wendy and Todd’s yard best)

Photobucket

Danielle and her mom were getting ready to move from the Hilltop just as this happened, so I’m not certain where she is now.

I just hope she knows what a good thing she did, and learns how well it worked out.

~L


Share

What’s wrong with me? What’s wrong with our culture?

Posted on by
3

~
It was pretty difficult (OK, impossible) not to know that there was a “big game” going on yesterday afternoon for anyone who is plugged in to social media (or who left their home)

Over the course of the day (well, the short amount of time I was either at home or plugged in on my smart phone) I saw many internet memes regarding it…

While I don’t care to waste my time/energy by acknowledging things I have no interest in and actually have disdain for, I did think a couple similar to this were cute and posted one (cute owls and a play on words, what’s not to love)…

I was tempted to post this one, but didn’t feel like expending all that much negative energy since several football fan friends of mine were getting quite upset at the “posers/intellectuals/pretentious folks” posting anti-football rhetoric online.

But to be honest, it’s pretty much the way I felt.

I wasn’t going to speak of said spectacle because I’d prefer to spend my time and energy thinking/talking about other things, but I’ve been seeing a lot of interesting things online today.

In addition to the advertising (much of it extremely sexist if not downright misogynistic) I discovered that Super Bowl Sunday is the number day for sex trafficking; I’m not talking about prostitution here between consenting adults making a business transaction, I’m talking about the sex slave trade including minors. You can read about sex trafficking and the superbowl here

While that sort of horrific thing is going on, I’m reading posts from people who want to boycott GoDaddy.com and have their ads banned because the are “offensive”.

Really? Are those ads as offensive as selling 12 and 14 year old girls as sex slaves?

Even if some of the ads are so offensive as to make banning them and boycotting advertisers something worth doing, the issue runs much deeper than that.

The problem my friends, is not any one advertiser; it’s the culture that surrounds this event.

This is a primitive, testosterone laden ritual where badly behaved “men” are paid obscene amounts of money to play a game and held up as heroes.

Hey, here’s an idea, lets pay/hold up as heroes those who are actually deserving of such praise such as teachers, emergency workers, etc…).

This stuff starts in college, when boys are given scholarships to colleges, don’t do the work and instead get passing grades handed to them because they can throw a football.

What does that tell the kid who is working hard to get an education and be a contributing member of society whose place/scholarships if they need it are being used on someone who could care less about an education?

Even worse, those who engage in criminal activity are often excused from having to pay the price because it’s so much more important to throw that ball around and make the team owners big bucks.

What on earth kind of message does this send to our next generation? Crime pays? You can harm anyone anything you want as long as you can throw a ball?

Not only are these guys paid obscene amounts of money to play a game and often be a bad example, but have you seen the price of advertising? 3.8 million dollars for a 30-second spot.

Imagine if all that money was put towards job creation or social structure…

Women of course, are relegated to prancing around in costumes that are barely there for the pleasure of the men both on the field and in the advertising. (great message to send to your daughters guys… “go fetch daddy another beer sweetie and don’t worry about picking up your dignity or self esteem on your way to the kitchen.”

Did you know that due to the combination of testosterone, aggression and alcohol, this day has one of the highest rates for domestic violence calls to local EMS agencies?

I cringed when some acquaintances tried to get me to join their “Women Who Love Football” group (which was pretty much just an excuse to drink) I had to explain to them (and the multitude of friends who invite me to Super Bowl parties every year) that not only do I not “love football” that being in a room full of alcohol fueled fanatics with a too loud big screen TV, eating crap food, glorifying these guys is kind of my idea of hell. I’ve been told by this specific “the women who love football” group, it’s not about loving football, it’s about meeting men and looking at cute butts. (which I can better find on any given day on a man who is out running, cycling, hiking, etc…)

I am perhaps most amused/perplexed by “the women who love football” group in order to “be cool and meet men” than the rest of the fans because what they are supporting in an effort to attract men/get men to like them is so incredibly sexist. (and really, I’d rather attract a man who is out doing something healthy instead of one whose idea of a great way to spend a Sunday afternoon is sitting on his butt getting fat and drunk watching a game)

With that said, those who are on my side of the fence in thinking this is ridiculous and who have better things to do (and who have the audacity to defy social convention and say so), are also regularly accused of thinking we are “too cool” and being called “judgmental” (among other things). [edit-I have received more passionate/angry responses to a blog about not liking football, than I have to all the blogs I've posted about religion, politics, war, drugs, abuse, gun control and other hot topics, which pretty much makes my point about priorities in our culture]

As a woman, my disdain for the event can be written off as “Oh, the poor little girl just doesn’t understand the game (now go bring me another beer sweetie).”

It’s even harder for the men who don’t care for it, because face it. In this football crazed culture if you don’t want to get all testosteroney and root for your team, you are not considered a “real man”.

It does make me wonder how many people feel the same way I do, but are afraid to speak out, lest they be labeled “un-American”, “not a real man”, etc…

At the risk of sounding “pretentious”, I chose to spend my day with my trail running group (actually participating in a sport rather than watching), then working with youth on a community project and finally enjoying dinner and good conversation with a friend.

I refuse to pretend to like something that I actually hold in such disdain because it is primitive, sexist, misogynistic and sending all of the wrong messages to our youth.

If it’s your thing, enjoy… just please leave me out it, and don’t talk to me as if there is something wrong with me for refusing to waste my valuable time and energy on it when I have so much else I could be doing.

If you don’t like any one aspect of it, perhaps it’s time that you take a look at the entire culture surrounding it and decide if your support is part of a larger problem.

~L


Share

Gun Control – A post that will likely piss off both sides…

Posted on by
7

~

I’ve remained silent on the issue of gun control since the Newton CT school shooting.

This is not because I don’t care or don’t have an opinion (I have lots of them) it’s because I see too much emotion, hysteria, knee jerk reactions and unreasonableness on both sides of the issue, and I prefer to wait until a calm, reasonable discussion can be had when topics are this important.

I have opinions that support both sides of the issue, so this post is likely to piss off everyone who has a strong opinion, but such is life.

I am a gun owner. My weapons are registered and I have a concealed carry permit.

I am well trained in not only their use, but in the ethical implications of their use because I am a former federal law enforcement officer.

No matter what a lay person sees on television, you do not “shoot someone in the leg to wound/stop them” or brandish a weapon in an attempt to “scare” them. Pulling a gun ALWAYS escalates a situation.

The ONLY reason to pull a weapon is to STOP the threat (here’s a hint, “shoot to stop” is the phrase that replaced “shoot to kill”) because you believe your life or the life of someone in your care is in imminent danger (and you better be able to articulate that in a court of law)

If someone who is amped up on enough adrenaline to need to pull a weapon in the first place tired to hit an arm or a leg, it’s not going to work; the only safe shot to take in order to hit anything is center of mass (go through some professional tactical training if you don’t believe me)

Even if someone could “shoot to wound” you know what happens? They lose the lawsuit in court because they obviously didn’t feel that their life was threatened or they’d have shot to stop.

There is ONE reason to pull a weapon and that is to kill someone.

If someone is not mentally, physically and emotionally prepared to do that, a gun is not for them and will most likely hurt or kill them or someone else who is not the intended target.

The first day of my law enforcement academy, our RTO asked us a question. “How many of you could take a human life?”

Half of the class either didn’t raise their hands at all or hesitated so long that it was a moot point. Only a handful of the other half, myself included put our hands up without hesitation.

“All of you that hesitated… You’re DEAD… Because the time it took you to decide that, gave someone else the time they needed to kill you.” He chastised.

Why did I not hesitate? Because I’ve seen what humans are capable of doing to one another. As a paramedic and one who had already worked in field law enforcement, I saw things I can’t tell regular people about at all. In addition to the horrendous things I’ve seen done to others, I’ve had people try to kill me.

Yes, given the right circumstances, I am capable of it.

With that said, I’m grateful that in my years working law enforcement, that I never had to un holster my weapon anywhere but on the range (I’ve had it unsnapped and had my hand on it however) Thankfully, I have been able to defend myself with a baton and/or my hands.

Despite what those who hate police like to think/espouse no one (barring mental illness) wants to take a human life in that manner. Those I have known who have had to make that choice are forever changed, forever haunted and damaged by the most terrible (and split second) decision one can be required to make.

The first thing that the self proclaimed constitutional scholars throw out there is the second amendment to the constitution.

Let’s take a look at it, shall we?

A well regulated militia being necessary to the security of a free state, the right of the people to keep and bear arms shall not be infringed

The words that so many zealots find inconvenient is the part about the “well regulated militia”. This does not appear to give everyone the right to an insane arsenal of assault weapons.

With that said, there are many texts that list the following pre constitution reasons for the right to bear arms (sorry, if it’s not getting graded or paid for, I’m not citing multiple sources on my lunch break… you all know how to use the internet)

• Enabling the people to organize a militia system
• participating in law enforcement;
• deterring tyrannical government;
• repelling invasion;
• suppressing insurrection, allegedly including slave revolts;
• facilitating a natural right of self-defense;

I didn’t see hunting on that list, but I would add it myself.

Sorry folks, but cruelly treated factory farmed meat is much less humane and healthy than hunting.

But in the name of brevity (and to illustrate my point), let’s just say that we have no right to bear arms except as part of a “well organized militia”.

Let’s say that “guns are banned”.

I ask those who want “all guns off the street” how exactly they plan on facilitating that plan of action?

The guns are already out there people…

Folks, the genie is out of the bottle…

Should the military go door to door and search every home, every car, go through every back alley and dig holes in people’s back yards?

There’s another “pesky” little constitutional issue there; it’s called the 4th amendment which protects us from unreasonable search and seizure.

The right of the people to be secure in their persons, houses, papers, and effects, against unreasonable searches and seizures, shall not be violated, and no Warrants shall issue, but upon probable cause, supported by Oath or affirmation, and particularly describing the place to be searched, and the persons or things to be seized.

As much as I hate to say it, “If guns are outlawed, only outlaws will have guns.” it’s true.

Yes, horrific incidents occur when legally purchased guns are stolen/not secured, but in my opinion, the answer to that is education and to enforce the laws that we already have.

All you’re going to have by pushing for a total gun ban is unarmed innocent people who are easy prey for the criminals (who do not acquire their weaponry through legal channels in the first place)

The whole idea of “arming teachers” is ludicrous at best; dangerous and negligent in common practice and criminal at worst.

The fact is, that not everyone is cut out to safely and responsibly carry/handle/use a fire arm. Putting them in the hands of people who are not is no solution, it just exacerbates the problem.

I have mixed feelings on gun registration. On one hand, we have to register our cars; on the other, it’s an expensive program, another layer of government and will have no effect on criminals.

I wish I had an “easy” solution for all of this, but I don’t believe there is one.

So here are a few ideas I have floating around in my head.

* Education

* Training

* Teaching our children to value human life

* Better mental health care for EVERYONE

* Enforce the laws we already have on the books

* Hold people responsible for their weapons/choices

* Stop glorifying “thug life”

I’m sure I’ve pissed everyone on both sides off with this post.

GOOD! That means I’ve made you think.

We need people to calm the heck down (the hysterical partisan BS I’ve seen from both sides doesn’t do anyone any good), think rationally and work cooperatively together for solutions.

~L


Share

One Perfect Christmas Moment

Posted on by
1

~
Sometimes when we least expect it, something amazing and profound hits us out of the blue, more often than not, it comes from a source that we least expect.

I am one of “those people” who prefers to use the words “Happy Holidays” to greet people during the winter holiday season in order to respect and acknowledge the fact that the season is shared by many faiths and traditions. It’s not a “war on Christmas”, it’s merely being inclusive and respectful.

I am not a Christian, but I do celebrate Christmas as a holiday of shared seasonal traditions. I celebrate it as a season of light, hope and ideally, peace on earth. To me, rebirth and renewal is a universal concept.

On Christmas morning, I walked to my neighborhood corner market to pick up something for a celebration that I was going to attend later in the day.  The weather was beautiful, the air was crisp and clean, and I was still enjoying fond memories of a celebration with good friends the night before.

As I looked out on to the deep blue waters of Commencement Bay, I also contemplated all the stress and depression that many people feel at this time of year, and how truly sad that is. I thought of all the pressure that our society puts on people to be happy and have the “perfect” holiday, and how many end up disappointed and frustrated. I thought of those who have lost loved ones, and for whom this time of year brings only painful memories of loss.; and as I watched a homeless man digging in the trash, I thought sadly of those who don’t even have a home and a hot meal. It seemed so wrong to me that a season that is supposed to be about happiness and joy brings stress, depression and sadness to so many. I was feeling pretty darn jaded.

I was distracted from my train of thought when I stopped to chat with a friend from work at the little coffee shop on the corner, and was then greeted by familiar faces and smiles at our little neighborhood market. I made my purchases and began my walk back home, my mind drifting back to the sadness I was thinking about earlier..

And then, I heard it on the air.

At first it was faint and distant; then it began go gain strength and seemed to be coming from all around me.

Music, bells, magic.

I live in an old, historic neighborhood where most of the buildings are at least 100 years old. It contains several beautiful old churches.

Resounding across the waters of Commencement Bay, the castle that is now Stadium High School and the old brick buildings filled with history, was “Gloria, In Excelious Deo…” coming from real bells in an old church (I don’t know which one) that has an organ controlling the bells. Next I heard, “Joy to the World” and was reminded that this indeed is a season of hope for many traditions.

I stopped walking and just stood there to listen, appreciate the world around me and experience something that was very powerful. It was then that I noticed other people stopped on the streets, also mesmerized by the magical sounds. They came out of their businesses and homes to sit on the stoops and listen, some even pulled their cars to the side of the road and turned off their engines.  Everyone, regardless of their religious upbringing, traditions or even current life circumstances was smiling in shared joy for the beauty in the air surrounding us. Most of us did not know nor had even seen each other before that moment; yet we felt an undeniable connection of the spirit.

For one brief moment, the world stood still, filled with peace, love and joy.

It doesn’t matter which church, religion, tradition or building that joyful sound came from. There are certain messages in this world that are universal.

If only we could all share more moments like the one I experienced Christmas morning in a tiny Tacoma neighborhood.

The world would be a better place.

~L


Share

ATS Bellydance Flash Mob at the Proctor Farmers’ Market

Posted on by
Reply

~
It was a cool, drizzly day and the market was bustling with activity. Shoppers were enjoying a morning of live music provided by Annie Henry, a beekeeping talk by Gary Violette of Heaenly Honey Farms whilst shopping for fresh, local organic produce, meats and cheeses.

Suddenly, the sound of middle eastern fusion music filled the market, and a woman appeared out of the crowd and began to dance.

Soon, more and more women (and one man) emerged from the crowd moving rhythmically to the music; as the tempo changed the dancers began moving faster and playing zills (finger cymbals) as they formed lines as if two groups were dueling.

As soon as it was over, the dancers faded back into the crowd, almost as if they hadn’t been there at all…

This non-political event was part of a worldwide effort.

All over the world, at the exact same time (well, except Australia, New Zealand and anyplace else across the international date line who did it the day before) this type of dance, ATS (American Tribal Style) bellydance, to the same song “Bay City Shimmy” (fat chance bellydance version) was flash mobbed.

Some groups wore fabulous costumes, and others like our local Seattle/Tacoma group chose to wear their troupe shirts with some fancy accents that could easily be concealed under coats and jackets lending the element of surprise for the mob.

One Song-One Dance-One World United

atsflashmob

You can see video from all over the world on the event’s Facebook page.

Photobucket

Photobucket

Photobucket

~L


Share

You Go Girl (or Hills are my Bitch)

Posted on by
1

~
Why yes, the catch phrase is dated (early 1990’s if my memory serves me) but it is the name of a pretty kick ass half marathon and 10K race event which made it’s third appearance in Tacoma last Sunday.

One of the great things about this race is that this year it benefitted the YWCA of Pierce County one of the most worthwhile organizations in town.

I was grateful that for the second time in two weeks, a women’s race did Not give us pink shirts. In addition to my disdain for anything that could possibly be perceived as supporting the Komen Foundation, pink is just way too over done.

I was excited to see a super pretty purple long sleeve tech shirt (the Iron girl shirts were more of a lavender color) Apparently, purple is the go to color for women’s races this year.

apparently purple is the go to color for women's races this year

While it is billed as specifically a women’s race, men were allowed to enter (and were encouraged to dress the part)

I saw a lot of men, most of whom were supporting wives, girlfriends, mothers and sisters, or on teams that were supporting fundraising efforts sporting shiny skirts or tutus… (honestly, I had some serous tutu envy going on)

I met up with Carmel, Kathleen, Lauralee and Brian at the start. This was Carmel’s first ever 10K so it was a big day for her. I believe it was also Kathleen’s first 10K (which she totally rocked by the way)

Photobucket

Derek from the Tacoma Runners came by to say hello and cheer us on at the start.

I had been very disciplined in my nutrition and hydration efforts to eliminate the need to waste time (and possibly miss the start) by standing in the port a potty lines and had peed three times that morning before the race, so I was certain I was good to go.

As soon as the darn National Anthem plays, my bladder knows I am at a race and immediately gets excited and wants to go.

I did not have time to entertain such silliness.

I left my friends (who were doing the 10K) and moved up into the 2:30 pace group for the half marathon. Given that I was not properly trained up for this race, was not well rested, and had some old injuries nagging at me, I decided to keep it nice and slow. I just wanted to finish this thing uninjured. This race was about coming back full circle from the health and surgical issues, not about killing myself for a specific time on the clock. (I honestly didn’t expect to finish in 2:30; it was my “ideal and I wasn’t going to kill myself for it)

let's do this thing

And we were off (for once, a decent race picture of me…)

Photobucket

We headed South on Market Street (from the start at 9th and Market) out to Jefferson where we had a turn around.

This is when the realization that there is no way to “take it easy” during a ten hour work day managing a Farmers’ Market that requires you to be on your feet all day (pedometer says I walked 8 ½ miles the day before) and that doing my ten mile long run (they day after a 10K race and way too close to the actual half marathon) did not give my legs even close to sufficient recovery time.

They felt like lead. They felt like angry, stiff, tired lead; but by golly, I was going to do this, so I told them to shut up.

The out and back on this course was not demoralizing like it is on some courses [cough… Portland Race for the Roses… Great Kilted Run…] but was a great opportunity to wave, shout out encouragement and high five friends we didn’t manage to see at the starting line. And yes… shouts of “You Go Girl!” were uttered.

In addition to the tired legs, I was uncomfortably warm for that early in the morning. I overheard one woman comment about how hot and muggy it was, and I replied, “Oh, good! I was afraid I was having a hot flash.” That comment garnered lots of laughs from the large number of “women of a certain age” who were running near us.

Once we got back to the starting line (which had already been packed up and moved to the finish, my bladder made it known that it was not messing around, so I was able to quickly duck into one of the (now line free) port a potties to take care of business. Of course, even though I was probably in there 30 seconds or so, I lost my pace group, which was probably for the best, considering my legs were so fatigued and at risk of injury.

We headed up a small hill (well, small for Tacoma) into Wright Park and ran a loop around the site of my hamster on a treadmill long run.

I ran into Kathleen in the park and ran with her until after we went down 15th St to Dock Street, she left me in the dust as she headed for the finish like at Thea’s Park for her great 10K finish time.

OK, now we’ve hit the part of the out and back course that was a bit demoralizing. We had to run past the finish line with it’s cheering, shiny things, food and drink and run up a series of overpasses for the long haul down Shuster Parkway/Ruston Way.

By this time it was getting warmer out and the breeze off the water could not clear out the horrid air quality from all the fires just on the other side of the Cascades which had put our region into the “Unhealthy for Sensitive Individuals” alert status all week. Several of us got wheezy on our Thursday night run and I could see people starting to have breathing issues on this stretch of the course. I was lucky (and taking it very easy) and didn’t have any issues.

This part of the course was another opportunity to wave, high five and shout out support to other runners; it is also where we got our first look at the leaders in the half marathon. I saw my pace group go by and realized that I wasn’t that far off (still under no delusion that I’d make a 2:30 time)

There were a lot of very colorful costumes and interesting people to chat with. It wasn’t just the men wearing tutus, many of the women were as well. I really should have worn one. How often do grown women have an opportunity to wear tutus? We should seize them whenever possible.

This was an area of the course where loved ones came to offer support (food, water, signs) to their wives, girlfriends, mothers, daughters and sisters who were running the race.

One gentleman in particular (who was not wearing a tutu) was running with his daughter.

The sign said “My daughter Marissa just turned 13 and is running her first half marathon.”

What a GREAT dad! I got a bit misty over that one. I yelled out “Great Job Marissa!” and added a “Great job Dad!” to it.

Once I hit the turn around, I knew that I was going to make it (well, I knew I’d make it, even if I had to crawl)

Sadly this was where those who were having issues with heat, air quality, under training, weight started to have issues. One woman who was obviously in distress yelled at her daughter who was offering to run up to her with the cold drink so she didn’t have to stop. Another woman when asked by her family how she was doing replied with something less than positive.

I tired to encourage her and tell her she could do this. That’s when when she dropped back and I’m pretty sure I heard her barf.

As I was pushing up one of the ugly overpasses one of the Half Fanatic pacers was running back down the race course to cheer some folks on, looked at me and said, “Way to power up that hill.” I looked at her, smiled and said, “Hills are my Bitch” and she laughed.

Near the end of the course, on a steady incline there was a bit of shade provided by a wall separating the elevated roadway that we all migrated towards. It was a cruel trick as the wall provided a small sliver of shade, but completely blocked the breeze and radiated heat.

Finally, the final bridge overpass came into view and we could hear the cheering of the crowd.

I had enough left in me for a sprint to the finish crossing the line at 2:38 which was not that far off my ideal time for this race.

Doug from Tacoma Runners was there at the finish to offer congratulations and support.

I found Kelly (we had seen each other on the out and back portions of the course) who was way speedier than me today.

758

After some water, grapes and visiting, it was time to walk up the hill (no way was I cramming my angry legs into a school bus for the shuttle) to meet Carmel for our traditional celebration of a race well run, Pizza and Beer at the Harmon Tap Room (whilst wearing our medals of course).

finisher medals and well deserved beer

Yes, I know I said that I wasn’t fully recovered from all the medical/stress/surgery crap until I did that triathlon, but now I REALLY feel recovered because one of the last races I ran before it all started was a half marathon.

Here’s my “coming back” medal count so far.

Not bad for a woman who in January could not even take her own trash out :)

medal count 2012 (the year of recovery) 002

Next Weekend, the Run for a Soldier Half Marathon (I decided that I wanted my “Half Fanatic” status) and then moving into some serious training for the Seattle Marathon.

~L


Share

Fire Dancing

Posted on by
Reply

~
I finished up the summer season by preforming at one of my favorite events/venues, a large annual luau held in Puyallup.

Of course, this doesn’t mean that performance season is over (Halloween, Equinox, Solstice, First Night all fabulous fire opportunities), this was just the last hurrah of summer (and so much fun).

Photobucket

Photo below is courtesy of Sharon Uhlig of Third Eye Imaging… (I love how she captured the ring of fire)

photo by Sharon Uhlig Third Eye Imaging

I’ve added a couple of new toys tools to the mix, one of my favorites being the windfire rings (I just love something that I can toss into the air on fire ;)

Mickie Smith got some good video, so I was able to update my promo video. I still need to get someone to shoot video of the palm torch and levi wand and would like some video with the staff and hoop taken when it’s darker out (big thanks to Zach Ouellette for the video of those that I do have)

If anyone wants to give my YouTube video some love by watching it on the site and/or providing a link so that it moves up in the search engine rankings, that would be awesome.

And of course, if someone wants to hire me, all the info you need is available by clicking here – Fire Dancing by Wild Celtic Rose

~ L


Share