The Snow Incident

February 25, 2011 at 6:02pm

 

 

Time: 10 a.m.  My attire: Black dress pants, black pea coat, red knit gloves, and luckily, snow boots instead of my dress shoes.

As I'm on my to work, heading out of the neighborhood nearing Alexis Rd., the small car in front of me fishtails and veers into a yard, deep into the snow.  It's a young guy maybe 18 years old in sweats and a Whitmer knit cap.  I'm the only car around, so I pull off to the side and turn on my hazards while he makes a call on his cell, with no success.  I have a shovel in my trunk and offer to help.

I start digging around his tires while he kicks the snow with his feet too.  We spend 15 minutes alternating use of the shovel, while I get down on one knee and try kicking the snow as well.  I get in the car every couple minutes and reverse while he tries to rock it out.  We have no luck.

Enter a big Dodge Ram with a couple guys wearing baseball hats and Carhartt coats.  They have a hitch and a rope and back up near the car while the young kid gets on the ground trying to find someplace to attach the rope to his rear end.  I stand back and watch now instead of leaving, mainly because I'm nosy and want to see if it works.  I also notice the couple cars that turn into the neighborhood now smile at me sympathetically as they pass.

While this is going on, one of the men in the truck comments on how it's slippery and you just have to drive really slow.  He asks if I know if my car is front- or rear-wheel drive.  I kinked my head to one side like a dog trying to decipher a sound, as I realize his assumption.  I pointed to my car and tell him the one in the street is mine, and it's front-wheel drive, as I chuckle a little and explain I am on my way to work, this kid and I do not know each other, and I just stopped to help because I have a shovel.  He realized his error at this point and pondered for a moment, as if I've just put him in a parallel universe or knocked something off keel.  Wait, the broad in office clothes didn't spin the car into the snow?  I jokingly made a comment about 'damn women drivers' and we moved on.  They got the car back on the road easily as the kid thanked me for trying.  I half laughed all the way to work.

After being without power 4 days this week, displacing my kids, dog (thank you Eric:), and that silly bearded dragon I carted around in a box while keeping him warm with disposable hand warmer squares, having a sick child and a mother with a violent stomach flu, waking up to a once-again dead snowblower this morning, and this morning's incident in my dress clothes, I'm now looking forward to dinner with Eric finally, with a much-needed raspberry lemondrop martini! It appears I've made it through the week.

A Different Kind of Lunch

A Different Kind of Lunch

April 18, 2011 at 10:41pm

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I attended the Lucas County Children's Advocacy Center annual luncheon last week.  Now, I'm not a business executive, nor am I a funder of such organizations. I was invited to be a guest speaker after a string of traumatic family events involving my three daughters and myself.   I am simply a success story.
 
My daughters were invited to attend as well, a first for children at this particular venue.  It is through this program that they received crisis counseling after a violent experience.  We were honored to be invited, but troubled at the idea of giving a 'speech' regarding the events that surrounded such a dark time.  I prepared my own for weeks, trying to decide where to start, what to include, what to leave out, how to deliver a moving message, and yet keep it light enough for my children to hear me discuss in front of hundreds of strangers.  My daughters likewise wrote their own paragraph of thanks.

The luncheon was at the Inverness Club.  The conference room was a bright, cheery one with posh green carpet, white walls, and giant picture windows overlooking the golf course.  The tables were all white linens with colorful pastel tulip arrangements.  It was immensely cheerful and welcoming, yet contradictory to why we were all there.

The first speaker introduced was a woman who'd been abused and had the courage to leave, only to have attempts made on her life and then was forced to take on her attacker via the court system.  Luckily she had an advocate from this organization to attend her court appearances with her while facing this man (monster) across the room in shackles and an orange jumpsuit.  She says she had an angel with her during those days.

The second woman to speak looked to be about 50 years old, and had recently taken in a 6-year-old victim of assault and repeated sexual abuse.  Six years old.  The little girl of course was not in attendance but it was clear from this woman's middle-age perspective that she had needed help in not only raising the girl, but seeing her through the remnants of her ordeal.  The Children's Advocacy Center was there to help.

Then it was my turn.  As I stepped on the small portable stage with the podium and microphone, I realized just how many business suits were in the room, I realized what I was about to share, and I began visibly shaking.  It was embarrassing more than anything. I heard one daughter whisper, "Calm down."  I had so wanted to give a sophisticated, empowering talk.  I lost all train of thought and couldn't even look at the paper I was holding.  I began from memory and just ad-libbed the whole way through.  I saw lots of gasping, mouth-covering, and nodding in agreement as I spoke about the night my daughters lost the parent they knew, figuratively speaking.  I did manage to remember a few of my humorous ice-breaker lines in between though, and got the appropriate laughter in response.  Whew!  I finished up with their current-day childhood successes.  We got lots of "Wow" upon the announcement of my oldest's 4.2 GPA at school.  With the mention of my middle daughter's 3.8 GPA, I was immediately corrected with "3.83."  More laughter.  I then had them step up on the stage and read their own paragraph while I beelined down.  Aaaaand scene!

We must have done something right, maybe moved someone in a new manner they weren't used to, because it was announced immediately after we stepped down that an anonymous business donor had just offered to match a portion of the day's funds raised!  My heart was actually warm.
Sashem Brey was the emcee for the day, and I must add that I have not met such a lovely, warm woman in quite some time.  She gravitated over to my girls more than once, seeming to thoroughly enjoy chatting it up with them in between her duties.  My middle daughter proudly announced that she 'does the video announcements at her school' and planned a career in media. They got along famously.  She left with Ms. Brey's e-mail address and cell phone number. I don't believe this sweetheart of a lady realizes what she may have just done to herself.  My oldest daughter left with a job application for Inverness.  And the youngest, well, she was happy to be carting out a gigantic cookie.

I'm glad we stepped up and shared our story now.  I'm not sure which was worse - thinking about it, or thinking about talking about it.  I'm glad I got it out there for a good cause, and I'm glad it's over.  What I marveled at most was the fact that while I initially knew there were two other women there from crisis backgrounds, I could not tell them from the business executives in attendance until they stepped forward from random tables.  We really are all the same.