Smoke and Ashes

This afternoon, I was sitting at my desk, training a new employee. It dawned on me I was smelling smoke, and for a fraction of a second, I just assumed someone had burned their popcorn again. Then I recognized the smell of burning brush. I immediately logged onto a local news website and discovered that a brush fire was burning about 3 miles from our office, and we were directly downwind - the smoke had come in through the A/C. The headache that had been threatening all day suddenly emerged to the front of my head. About 40 minutes later, I took a break and got up to walk around a bit. That's when I realized the headache was turning into a migraine - I was getting nauseous. I went to the boss and said, "I'm getting a migraine." He said, "Go home!" So I left work an hour early, knowing I needed to get home before the full migraine hit, and knowing that the freeways would be snarled because of the brushfire. Sure enough, it took me nearly an hour to drive the 10 miles it took me to clear the smokestream, all the while, watching large pieces of ash hit the windshield and break into tiny pieces. It took me two hours to get home (all of 35 miles).

It's amazing the memory our nasal passages have. It was 1980 when I had my Close Encounter with a brush fire. I was volunteering at a week-long summer camp for children and adults with developmental disabilities. We were staying at a private residential school in the foothills in Riverside County. My group was at "Music", outside, when another one of the counselors and I noticed that there was smoke coming up over the ridge above us. The other counselor left to tell the camp director, while the rest of us gathered our campers and told them we were going on a hike - to a football field about 1/4 mile away from the blaze. The camp director evacuated the buildings and had everyone down at the football field fairly quickly, except for a few campers that had to be physically removed from the dorms (some people are awfully cranky when you wake them up from a nap!) We stayed down on that field, leading 175 people in camp songs, for hours. Finally, we got the all-clear from the fire department and heading back to the buildings. As we entered the dorms, I realized that the flames had actually burned all the way up to the building - a short brick wall and a sidewalk were all that had separated the dorms from the brushfire.

Later that evening, after our campers were mostly in bed asleep, a group of us counselors were hanging out on a hiking trail, blowing off some steam and the stress of the day, when another counselor came pounding down the trail toward the buildings, yelling, "There's a hot spot!" That's when I began to panic. I'd held up during the initial fire, even though it was my first experience with anything like that, but the thought of waking up 80 developmentally and physically disabled people and evacuating them was more than I could face. Between the stress and the smoke still in the air, I ended up having a mild asthma attack. Fortunately the Fire Department showed up quickly and put out the glowing tree trunk, and we didn't have to evacuate anyone.

Twenty-seven years later, I still recognize the smell of burning chaparral almost immediately, and my first thought is always of that teenager yelling, "There's a hot spot!" Fortunately, it's not accompanied by a sense of panic.

Toto, I think we're in Kansas

Yesterday morning was beautiful and clear. As I drove to work, I wondered, "What happened to that storm that was supposed to come through on Monday night?" No clouds, no rain, nothin'. At my mid-morning break, I sat in the sun to warm up (our building can get pretty cold inside). During my lunch break, I headed outside and sat down on a bench to read. The clouds had come in, but most of the darkness was over the foothills a couple of miles away. It had gotten cold. A drop of water hit the middle of my page. Next thing I knew, it was raining! so I got up and stood under a nearby tree, thinking, "this too shall pass" because you know it never rains here! Then, the wind kicked up. Did it ever! I gave up and went back in the building; you could hear the wind howling outside. It tore branches off of trees, blew people nearly over, and broke the top off of at least one palm tree that I saw. The drive home several hours later was challenging, since the wind was still blowing pretty hard, and the semi drivers don't know when to stay off the roads!

Old Friends

This weekend, one of my friends that I haven't seen for a while was in town to do a workshop. Chester and I go back a few years - about 10 or so. We've kept in touch all that time, as he moved around the country (he's a minister, and spent most of that time as an interim minister), and for a short time, while he lived only a few miles away from me. During that time when we were in the same time zone, we spent a lot of time on the phone discussing church politics and personalities, and had a few great meals together as we plotted the next anti-racism workshop we would offer.

Chester is a fabulous preacher, and has great things to say from the pulpit. He was in our pulpit yesterday, and proved once again that our current minister lacks any kind of preaching skill. We went to lunch with him and a group of folks from the church, and I vented with a couple of the other members as to why I so rarely attend the church anymore (more on that in another post). Then we met up with him again for dinner and some less diplomatic conversation. I wish he didn't live across the country, but the church he is currently serving is a great place for him. It was great to see him and catch up on life.

Bannock

Here's another bit of family tradition I've given up trying to decipher.

This is not your Highlands bannock, which is basically an oatcake made for traveling, that held up nicely in your sporran and required great amounts of mead to assist in the swallowing process.

This is a bannock recipe handed down from my relatives in PEI. It's sort of a sweet shortbread, but it is not a dessert; I guess you could compare it to cornbread, but made with wheat flour instead of corn. My guess is that the original recipe brought over from Ireland met with the breads of the First Nations people in PEI, and this bannock was the hybrid result.

Preheat oven to 325F.
In large mixing bowl, combine 3 cups flour and 3/4 cup of shortening, cutting in the shortening with a pastry knife until the pieces of flour-coated shortening are about the size of a seed bead. To this mixture, add 1/4 cup of white sugar, 3 teaspoons of baking powder, 2 teaspoons of cream of tartar and 1 teaspoon of baking soda. Mix thoroughly. Finally, mix in 1 cup of milk. Blend well! I start out the blending process with a spoon, but after a ball starts to form, I take off my rings, spray my hands with non-stick cooking spray, and get my hands into the gooey mess. Knead dough until well mixed, roll into a ball in your hands, then toss it between your hands until it becomes a rounded circle about an inch and a half thick (think tortillas). Place dough in a non-stick pan and let sit for ten minutes or so. Place pan in preheated oven and bake for 25-30 minutes, or until top springs back from touch. Brush top of the loaf with butter, and return to oven until slightly brown.

The first time I had this bannock was when I was in PEI in 1981. This is the basic recipe, although my cousin used milk fresh from the cows in the barn (whole, unpasteurized milk), fresh butter instead of shortening, and baked it in a wood stove. The version I described is lower in fat. It's always a hit!

St. Patrick's Day

When I was growing up, St. Patrick's Day was a big day. In fact, it was the only day of the year that the extended Murray family got together. We would gather at my great Uncle Johnny's house, eat corned beef and cabbage, potatoes and carrots, and drink green punch. I remember one year in particular, when my cousin Michael (actually my dad's cousin, but he was only 6 months older than me) had all of us kids filling our cups full of green punch, only to find out later that it was the adult punch - spiked with quite a bit of vodka, as I recall. Oy, the headache! I've avoided vodka religiously since then.

This year, my dad decided to make corned beef and cabbage for St. Patrick's Day. So my brother and his wife and two kids, and my wife and I, joined my parents and youngest brother at their home for some hearty fare. My dad had picked up quorn patties for the wife and I (neither of us can eat the corned beef, but we both drool over it), I brought bannock, and my sister-in-law made a green cheesecake with a thin mint crust. Unlike the parties of my childhood, no alcohol was available for consumption. We shared some family stories, skirted around some political issues, and saved the religion discussions for after the more sensitive types had left.

I believe a good time was had by all. I'm not sure how this family tradition of celebrating St. Patrick's Day got started, since the Murray clan is Scottish. Or as my older relatives used to say, "Scots-Irish".

Doing my Civic Duty

I arrived at my local courthouse and stood in line waiting for the doors to open. Got through security without a hitch (woe betide any who think to confiscate my jelly bellies!) and headed up to the 6th floor jury room. And sat. Did a crossword puzzle. Went to the bathroom. Finally they started the orientation process.

Oh. My. Goddess. Is there anyone in the US today doesn't know how to fill in the little bubbles on the census? Even kindergardners are taught how to do that on standardized tests!

An hour and fifteen minutes after they started orientation, they informed us that they expected to call three panels that day. They called the first jury panel at around 9:30. My mantra as they started calling names was, "I need coffee and a break." The laws of attraction, you know. If you say, "Don't call my name," the universe doesn't hear the "don't" - just "call my name" - and wham! you get what you didn't want. They called about 75 names. They didn't call mine. So I got my coffee and my break :-)

Then I sat. Did crossword puzzles. Read my book. Talked to a friend from church who also had to show up. (My co-worker who had to show up was called on the first panel.) I refused to pay $6 an hour to use the computer terminals. At 11:45 they released us for lunch until 1:30. The cafeteria had a veggie burger and fries special. Guess what I had for lunch? (Why do short order cooks think veggie burgers have to cook as long as beef burgers do? Needless to say, the patty was a bit on the crunchy side.) Called my wife. Called my dad. Went back inside about 1:20.

1:30 came around. No announcements. Okay. I sat. I did another crossword puzzle. I went outside on the patio to soak up some sun. I sat. I read my book and ate jelly beans. I waited for them to call the other two panels.

The last time I actually had to serve jury duty, as opposed to just "calling in", they called my name for a panel at 4:00 pm and made me return the next day for the panel interviews. I did NOT want this to happen again.

At 3:15, they finally turned the PA system back on and called everyone into the jury room. Here we go, I thought.

"We have just received clearance to release all of you. Your jury duty is completed."

Loud clapping and cheering ensued.

"I can tell by the sound in this room that you are all sorely disappointed by this news."

Ah, a would-be comedian. Don't quit your day job, honey.

I collected my proof of jury duty and headed home. Unlike my usual Friday night commute (which can take up to two and a half hours to go 36 miles), I was home in 10 minutes. The positive side of having to show up for jury duty 3 miles away on a Friday!

So much for TGIF

About a month ago, I got a jury summons in the mail.

Sigh.

I went to my manager and then my supervisor, trying to get the required information. Does my employer pay me for jury duty? Yes, but only for 6 hours a day. How many days does my employer pay for jury duty? Unlimited.

Unlimited??????? Shit.

I called in and registered, and made a note to myself to call in the weekend before.

So last Saturday, I called in: "You do not need to report for jury duty on Monday."

Yeah!!!!

Monday night, I called in: "You do not need to report for jury duty on Tuesday."

"You do not need to report for jury duty on Wednesday."

"You do not need to report for jury duty on Thursday."

At this point, if memory serves me, I should be free and clear. But no, "please call back on Thursday."

Last night, I dialed the number, put in my id and pin, "Please report for jury duty tomorrow, Friday."

WTF? Who calls a jury pool on Friday?

Now I'm annoyed and irritated. This means they've gone through the whole week's jury pool and haven't come up with enough jurors for this week's docket. There must be some hella cases going on.

I'm packing up my book (Sarum, by Edward Rutherford, a nice BIG book), a few crossword puzzles, and a big bag of jelly bellies and heading to the courthouse today.

Ch-ch-ch-changes

I got into work this morning, and made my daily check of email and blog posts, and then headed for my usual morning crossword puzzle. What's this? blocked by Barracuda??!!!!???? Naturally I then tried several other sites - all the same result. I IM'd several colleagues to see if they'd gotten the same messages. Yep. Grrrrrrrrrrr.

I work in a call center. Sometimes I can be on hold for over an hour at a time. I can't read a book, because it's too frustrating to have my story interrupted every time the phone rings. It's impossible to blog (except on breaks) for the same reason. I've been killing my hold times by doing crossword puzzles on line and playing bookworm. No more. Now I'm stuck with playing free cell all day.

It turns out the IT guys got tired of cleaning up the viruses rampant on certain websites people were going to (like myspace) and in the games people were downloading (wtf did they do that for????) so now none of us get to play games anymore. We can still play the games in the Windows programs. Yuck. I asked my boss if they could install some more games system-wide that are "safe". They'll see what they can do.

If the next time you see me, I'm bald, you'll know why.

My Internet Subculture

Which internet subculture do I belong to? [CLICK] You are a Trekkie! It's a geek, Jim! You probably have a starfleet uniform and a tricorder. Bonus points if you speak klingon. One day you will walk down the aisle with your buttertroll trekkie partner, humming to the Yoyager theme. More Quizzes at Go-Quiz.com