Currently Reading: "Road to Valor"

By Fulgur Photo-Press. Fotograaf onbekend/Unknown photographer. Collectie SPAARNESTAD PHOTO [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons

Currently Reading: Road to Valor

By,
Jennifer E. Miller

Writing is a struggle these days. I'm at 28,000 words or so in a story, but I am frequently running into writers block. I feel as though I am simply telling a story rather than taking the reader on a journey. In order to jazz up my brain cells, I decided to pick up a book. (I find reading stimulates my creativity.) I choose Road to Valor: A True Story of WWII Italy, the Nazis, and the Cyclist Who Inspired a Nation. 

Somewhere in the internet world, I came across a short video about Gino Bartali, a famous Italian cyclist who used his athletic skills and celebrity to secretly transfer forged identity documents to save his Jewish friends from the Nazis. I'd never heard of Gino Bartali, but then again the only cyclist I'm familiar with is Lance Armstrong. His story sounded interesting and I wanted to learn more.

I'm about a third of the way through the book. Much of the first part discusses Gino Bartali's cycling career and upbringing. As it's a book written based off research, I will admit there were a few confusing parts; but not many. The authors do a good job weaving in the effect of the Fascist Nazi regime as he moves on with everyday life. I bring this up because I hear that word, fascist, thrown around a lot lately. Too loosely, in fact. I understand that many people do not like our new president, but calling our government fascist is far from what the word means. And judging by what Europeans went through coming in to WWII, it's a distant distant cry. 

Mussolini and his government controlled everything in Italy. The government only allowed what they approved in newspapers. Anyone outspoken against the regime was arrested. Sports became political. Cyclists had to show their patronage to the regime by wearing racing jerseys with the Nazi symbol on it. By the time Hilter became involved with Italy, professional cycling dwindled. Very few races were organized. Partly because athletes were drafted into the military, including Gino Bartali, but also because race winners were forced to give up their prize money to the military. Food was scarce as it was rationed for soldiers. 

We do not live in a such a fascist environment today. People are free to speak against our leaders, if they so choose. When was the last time an American was forced to hand over all of their earnings to the government? Food is not scarce; obesity is endemic. And in no way is any ethnic group being rounded up for extermination. While not its central focus, stories, such as Road to Valor, are an important reminder to what harsh words like "fascism" and "racism" actually mean. Are there places in the world where these still happen? Sure. But not via the US government, as some people lead us to believe. 

Other than Anne Frank's story, I don't hear about many WWII Jewish rescue efforts. I look forward to how the rest of Road to Valor unfolds, and if Gino Bartali successfully saves his friends. When I last left off, he cycled into a Italian village with a main train station littered with Nazi soldiers. His celebrity status caused a diversion. Citizens wanted his autograph; so did the soldiers. They left their posts at the station, buying the Jews a few precious minutes to switch trains unnoticed. Hooks you in, huh? 

Copyright 2017 by Jennifer E. Miller

Skills By Association

Skills By Association

by,

Jennifer E. Miller

"I have a very particular set of skills. Skills I have acquired over a very long career. Skills that make me a nightmare for people like you." -Liam Nieson, Taken

Recently, I was informed I have skills by association. Our cat, let’s call her Dasher, unfortunately, has kidney issues. While she is already on special kidney food, she lost weight over the holidays. Upon taking her to the veterinarian's office, he decided to place her on medication. He also suggested giving her subcutaneous fluids to maintain hydration and to keep her little organs functioning longer.

"Subcutaneous means injection, right?" I asked.

"Yes. But if I remember correctly, you said your sister-in-law is a veterinarian?"

"Yeah..."

"You can handle it, then."

There. I have been awarded skills by association. My sister-in-law is a veterinarian; therefore, I am qualified to stick my cat with needles. Mind you my sister-in-law lives three hundred miles away.

Dasher's vet seems confident I can do this. "Lots of other pet owners do it, too. It's a breeze!"

[Vets] have a very particular set of skills. Skills [they] have acquired over a very long career...

He scribbles something, probably illegible, in Dasher's chart and says a tech will be in shortly to show me the ropes. Barking and yipping is heard as he opens the exam room door and shuts it behind him. The room is quiet again except for Dasher's faint little meow as her beady green eyes stare up at me.

...Skills that make me a nightmare for people like you. 

A nightmare. A nightmare. A nightmare.

The trance is broken by the click of the door. The technician, a short blonde-haired girl, walks in with an armful of supplies. She sets them down on the counter and begins speaking rapidly.

"Ok, so the doctor says Dasher is to get fluids. You'll give her..." she checks the chart that had been tucked under her arm. "...two cc's of fluids twice per week."

She whips out one of those bags full of clear liquid that looks like it should hang from an IV rack.

"See this tube? It connects to the bag like so." Blondey proceeds to demonstrate.

"It opens and shuts like this." She moves a wheel-type clamp over the tube.

"Now the needle goes on." Out of the jumble of supplies is a roughly two-inch plastic green and white tube. She removes the white bottom section and shows me how to attach it to the end of the IV tube. The green portion is the needle cover and she pops it off. What I see resembles the sharpened lead to a pencil without all the wood around it.

"Ok, so what you do is pull the scruff of the cat up a little and--"

"Whoa! I'm supposed to jab her with that thing?!" I exclaim.

"Yeah," she answers nonchalantly. "So you insert it--"

"Wait. I was thinking this was going to be more like inject her with a skinny little syringe."

"No. As I said, you insert it like this under the scruff." She stabs poor Dasher who was unaware an encounter with a fat needle was coming. She didn't like it. Skills that make me a nightmare for people like you.

"Now you open the flow by pushing the wheel clamp back." Blondey said.

The fluids seeped through the tube and under Dasher's skin. Pretty soon a bubble formed under her skin, which is normal, I am told.

Blondey had me try poking Dasher a couple of times to get the knack of it. She said this is a two-person job and make sure to have a helper, and reminded me to use a new needle each time. I was out the door officially crown as the family feline needle stabber. A.k.a. the most dreaded person of the household.

In a few days, it was time to administer fluids to Dasher again. I set up the station by hanging the IV bag on a Christmas stocking nail above the fireplace. T assists me by holding the feline. I can do this! I can do this! I can do this! I tell myself.

I get everything ready as Blondey showed me. Now for the moment of truth. I’m ready to stab Dasher with the needle. I pull up her scruff with my left hand. With my right, I gently insert it under her skin. She tenses up a bit and gives a low growl. I hold the needle in place with my left hand now, and use my right to open the wheel and let the flow down the tube. As soon as it hits her, she yelps and wiggles free. The needle goes flying and spews fluid in a tiny river that goes everywhere except into Dasher. I quickly clamp the wheel back to the close position. The carpet, myself, and T are wet.

"Why did you let her go?!" I demanded.

"What am I supposed to do?" T said.

Your job wasn’t that difficult, I thought to myself.

After an FBI manhunt, er cathunt, we locate Dasher and bring her back to the needle station. This time, we place a towel down on the carpet. I grab cat treats from the pantry and present Dasher with a couple as a peace offering.

On to round two. I repeat the process. She stays put but the fluids are leaking from the injection site; I don’t know why. The liquids are getting the cat wet and saturating the towel. I clamp off the fluids, pull out the needle, and try one last time. Better, but I only get part of the liquids administered. Calling it good for the day, I put the supplies away until next time.

Next time goes worse. Dasher tries to bite us and bounces around like a psychotic squirrel overdosing on a special type of mushroom. She escapes again and the needle spews liquids. Frantic, T tries to grab Dasher while I grab the spraying needle. We meet and by accident T is stabbed. He is not happy. Dasher is pissed. I am frustrated. I decide it’s time to head back to the veterinarian’s office and enlist help because I do not have a very particular set of skills acquired over a very long career. And Dasher made things nightmarish!

The following afternoon Dasher and I are back in the vet’s office. It’s a different technician than Blondey. I explain what I am having trouble with.

"Show me what happens," New Tech says.

I place Dasher on the exam room table, set up the bag, and insert the needle. As I get ready to open up the line and I say, "About now is when Dasher growls and tries to skidaddle."

But she makes me a liar by being a perfect little angel. Cats are never perfect little angels at the vet’s office. Why is she choosing now?

"This isn’t how she acts at home," I say.

The injection site begins to leak again and I ask for some assistance to avoid this. New Tech explains I need to have the needle in all the way under the skin, rather than just halfway. After the practice session is complete and Dasher has her fluids for this go around, we head home, hoping that the next needle jabbing session will be smooth.

A few days pass and it’s that time again. We throw on our rain coats because we’re tired of changing of clothes every time this fluid business day comes around. We set Dasher down and give her a treat first thing, petting her, and lying that she’s a good kitty. I pull up her scruff. I insert the needle. I open the wheel clamp. The flow of fluids begins. It doesn’t leak! Dasher is staying put! The fluid level gradually lowers and reaches the necessary mark on the bag. Success!

I do, in fact, have a very particular set of skills after all.

This Week's Family Outtake

This Week's Family Outtake

By,

Jennifer E. Miller

T and I have been introducing G to 1980s movies we grew up with. I’m sure that decade is considered old and outdated by now. But we are having fun rewatching all these fabulous films.

So far, the watchlist includes: Honey I Shrunk the Kids, Harry and the Hendersons, Back to the Future 1, 2, and 3, The Princess Bride, and Flight of the Navigator. Coming up next is Overboard and Field of Dreams. Yes, I’m aware of Indiana Jones, E.T., and Goonies. We currently feel these are a bit scary. She has previously seen The Great Outdoors and Annie, but those might make another living room comeback.

It took some convincing for her agree to watch most of these, but she really enjoyed the stories, crazy hair styles, and weird looking phones. You know, the ones with a cord that hang on the wall. Or the blue box with a folding door, otherwise known as a payphone. It struck me as interesting, that she didn’t pay too much attention to fashion quirks of the decade. She saw the characters for what they were; families, kids, etc. I found that sincere and sweet.

I jumped out of the decade, by mistake, this week when I borrowed Cool Runnings from the library. (I thought it was 1989ish but it debuted in 1993.) It’s a comedy film about the triumph of achievement, loosely based off the first Jamaican bobsled team at the Calgary Olympics. I loved John Candy’s statement to Derice during the Olympics: “If you’re not good enough without [the gold medal], you won’t be good enough with it.”

The film integrated actual footage of the bobsled’s crash into the Hollywood takes, and G became curious about it. Since there is this awesome find-a-video-about-anything site, called YouTube, I found the aforementioned 'actual footage' quickly. We cringed quite a bit as we watched it. G commented that it seemed much more real than the movie. Well, go figure.

Then she asked if bobsledding was the only sport Jamaica participated in. I’ll wait until you stop laughing, too.

“Don’t you remember the runners we watched in the Olympics last year?” I asked.

I got a confused look in return.

“Does Usain Bolt ring a bell?”

“Oh yeahhhhh! He was super fast, but I think I can run faster than him.”

In your dreams, kid.

Next she requested to watch Usain Bolt’s 2016 Olympic sprints on YouTube followed by the women sprinters; also notably from Jamaica. A switch to women's gymnastic concluded our Olympic flashback and I shuffled her off to bed for the night.

The following morning, I needed to chat with Microsoft customer service. Out of politeness, the agent asked how my day was going. I said if it stopped snowing, things would improve. She got excited about snow because she was from, none other than, Jamaica! Obviously, they don’t experience the true charm of winter. She seemed jipped not knowing what snow is like. I told her that, while it looks pretty, it can make driving difficult, causing schools to make parents’ worst nightmare come true by cancelling classes for the entire day. I would gladly trade my frosty white winter wonderland for a breezy tropical island right about now.

A friend of mine said that Jamaicans don’t leave the island much because it's simply too costly to do so. I wondered why that is. This led my thoughts to those lizards that can run over water. Since Jamaica produces such good athletes, the residents should be able to run like Usain Bolt and sprint their way to a vacation. That’s certainly more cost effective.

See what watching all these classic films leads to?

Make Groundhog Day Great Again

Photo: Pixabay under the Creative Commons license CC0 Public Domain

Make Groundhog Day Great Again

By,

Jennifer E. Miller

This Groundhog Day business is a sham. Punxsutawney Phil showed his shadow on February 2nd, condemning us to six more agonizing weeks of winter. At first I just set aside the prediction since Groundhog Day is simply a fun superstition. Then the next morning arrived--with snow. On the snowy drive to school, my second grader responded to my superstition comment with, "Have you LOOKED outside, Mom! It's all Phil's fault!" Since the snow fell all day long, I'm incline to agree with her. By the time school was out, there was four inches on the ground. 

What is the big deal, you ask. Isn't it obvious? Six more weeks of winter jeopardizes future holidays like St. Patrick's Day and Easter. Paddy the Leprechaun and the Easter Bunny need all the snow gone, not beginning to melt away. The shamrocks need time to sprout. Paddy needs to place the pot of gold and paint the blue sky with rainbows. In addition, he prepares the city for the St. Patrick's Day Parade. Snow and grey skies do not help. Six weeks from now is cutting it way too close and is completely unacceptable, Mr. Groundhog.

When Spring is delayed, how is the Easter Bunny supposed to get all the cute little chicks, baby bunnies, and new birds comfortable? Huh? And what about our egg hunts? The Easter Bunny can't hop around in snow to hide them; his tracks would show and kids would know exactly where to find the eggs. There would be no searching involved. See how lousy this Phil character is making our lives?

In response to this malarkey, and show support toward other holidays, I began protesting immediately. I marched around angrily picketing with signs telling the snow to go pound sand. When it continued falling even harder, I rioted instead. As it turned out, my bottle rockets and Molotov cocktails were quickly snuffed out after coming in contact with the snow. The snow that stupid groundhog brought. Thanks a lot, Punxsutawney Phil. Next year, you are obligated to Make Groundhog Day Great Again!


Copyright 2017 by Jennifer E. Miller